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LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UN I VER5ITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
DEMOS 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
DEMOS 
 
 A STORY OF ENGLISH SOCIALISM 
 
 Jene maclien Partei ; welch' unerlaubtes Beginnen ! 
 Aber unsre Partei, freilich, versteht sich von selbst ' 
 
 Goethe 
 
 IN THEEE VOLUMES 
 YOL. I. 
 
 LONDO]^ 
 
 SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE 
 
 1886 
 
 [All rights reservedl 
 

 DEMOS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Stanbury Hill, remote but two hours' walk 
 from a region blasted with mine and factory 
 and furnace, shelters with its western slope a 
 fair green valley, a land of meadows and orchard, 
 untouched by poisonous breath. At its foot 
 lies the village of Wanley. The opposite side 
 ;-of the hollow is clad with native wood, skirt- 
 ; ing for more than a mile the bank of a shallow 
 ^ stream, a tributary of the Severn. Wanley con- 
 sists in the main of one long street ; the houses 
 ^ are stone-built, with mullioned windows, here 
 ; and there showing a picturesque gable or a 
 /^ quaint old chimney. The oldest buildings are 
 ^ four cottages which stand at the end of the 
 ^street ; once upon a time they formed the 
 country residence of the abbots of Bel wick. 
 > The abbey of that name still claims for its 
 ruined self a portion of earth's surface ; but, as 
 ^ VOL. I. - B 
 
 6^ 
 
 < 
 
2 DEMOS 
 
 it had the misfortune to be erected above the 
 thickest coal-seam in England, its walls are 
 blackened with the fume of collieries and shaken 
 by the strain of mighty engines. Climb Stanbury 
 Hill at nightfall, and, looking eastward, you 
 behold far off a dusky ruddiness in the sky, 
 like the last of an angry sunset ; with a glass 
 you can catch glimpses of little tongues of 
 flame, leaping and quivering on the horizon. 
 That is Belwick. The good abbots, who were 
 wont to come out in the summer time to Wanley, 
 would be at a loss to recognise their consecrated 
 home in those sooty relics. Belwick, with its 
 hundred and fifty fire-vomiting blast-furnaces, 
 would to their eyes more nearly resemble a 
 certain igneous realm of which they thought 
 much in their sojourn upon earth, and which, 
 we may assure ourselves, they dream not of in 
 the quietness of their last long sleep. 
 
 A large house, which stands aloof from the 
 village and a little above it, is Wanley Manor. 
 The county history tells us that Wanley was 
 given in the fifteenth century to that same 
 religious foundation, and that at the dissolution 
 of monasteries the Manor passed into the hands 
 of Queen Catherine. The house is half-tim- 
 bered ; from the height above it looks old and 
 peaceful amid its immemorial trees. Towards 
 the end of the eighteenth century it became 
 the home of a family named Eldon, the estate 
 
DEMOS 3 
 
 including the greater part of the valley below. 
 But an Eldon who came into possession when 
 William IV. was King brought the fortunes of 
 his house to a low ebb, and his son, seeking to 
 improve matters by abandoning his prejudices 
 and entering upon commercial speculation, in 
 the end left a widow and two boys with little 
 more to live upon than the income which arose 
 from Mrs. Eldon's settlements. The manor was 
 shortly after this purchased by a Mr, Mutimer, 
 a Bel wick ironmaster ; but Mrs. Eldon and her 
 boys still inhabited the house, in consequence 
 of certain events which will shortly be narrated. 
 Wanley would have mourned their departure ; 
 they were the aristocracy of the neighbourhood, 
 and to have them ousted by a name which no 
 one knew, a name connected only with blast- 
 furnaces, would have made a distinct fall in 
 the tone of Wanley society. Fortunately no 
 changes were made in the structure by its 
 new owner. Not far from it you see the 
 church and the vicarage, these also unmo- 
 lested in their quiet age. Wanley, it is to be 
 feared, lags far behind the times — painfully 
 so, when one knows for a certainty that the 
 valley upon which it looks conceals treasures 
 of coal, of ironstone — blackband, to be techni- 
 cal — and of fireclay. Some ten years ago it 
 seemed as if better things were in store ; there 
 was a chance that the vale might for ever cast 
 
 B 2 
 
4 DEMOS 
 
 off its foolisli greenery, and begin vomiting 
 smoke and flames in humble imitation of its 
 metropolis beyond the hills. There are men in 
 Belwick who have an angry feeling whenever 
 Wanley is mentioned to them. 
 
 After the inhabitants of the Manor, the most 
 respected of those who dwelt in Wanley were 
 the Walthams. At the time of which I speak, 
 this family consisted of a middle-aged lady ; her 
 son, of one-and-twenty ; and her daughter, just 
 eighteen. They had resided here for httle more 
 than two years, but a gentility which marked 
 their speech and demeanour, and the fact that 
 they were well acquainted with the Eldons, 
 from the first caused them to be looked up to. 
 It was conjectured, and soon confirmed by Mrs. 
 Waltham's own admissions, that they had 
 known a larger way of living than that to 
 which they adapted themselves in the little 
 house on the side of Stanbury Hill, whence they 
 looked over the village street. Mr. Waltham 
 had, in fact, been a junior partner in a Belwick 
 firm, which came to grief. He saved enough 
 out of the wreck to make a modest competency 
 for his family, and would doubtless in time have 
 retrieved his fortune, but death was beforehand 
 with him. His wife, in the second year of her 
 widowhood, came with her daughter Adela to 
 Wanley ; her son Alfred had gone to com- 
 mercial work in Belwick. Mrs. Waltham was 
 
DEMOS 5 
 
 a prudent woman, and tenacious of ideas which 
 recommended themselves to her practical in- 
 stincts ; such an idea had much to do with her 
 settlement in the remote village, which she 
 would not have chosen for her abode out of 
 love of its old-world quietness. But at the 
 Manor was Hubert Eldon. Hubert was four 
 years older than Adela. He had no fortune of 
 his own, but it was tolerably certain that some 
 day he would be enormously rich, and there 
 was small likelihood that he would marry till 
 that expected change in his position came 
 about. 
 
 On the afternoon of a certain Good Friday, 
 Mrs. Waltham sat at her open window, enjoy- 
 ing the air and busy with many thoughts, 
 among other things w^ondering who was likely 
 to drop in for a cup of tea. It was a late 
 Easter, and warm spring weather had already 
 clothed the valley with greenness ; to-day the 
 sun was almost hot, and the west wind brought 
 many a sweet odour from gardens near and 
 far. From her sitting-room Mrs. Waltham 
 had the best view to be obtained from any 
 house in Wanley ; she looked, as I have said, 
 right over the village street, and on either hand 
 the valley spread before her a charming pro- 
 spect. Opposite was the wooded slope, freshen- 
 ing now with exquisite shades of new-born 
 leafage ; looking north, she saw fruit-gardens, 
 
6 DEMOS 
 
 making tender harmonies ; southwards spread 
 verdure and tillage. Yet something there was 
 which disturbed the otherwise perfect unity of 
 the scene, an unaccustomed trouble to the eye. 
 In the very midst of the vale, perhaps a quarter 
 of a mile to the south of the village, one saw 
 what looked like the beginning of some engi- 
 neering enterprise — a great thro wing-up of earth, 
 and tlie commencement of a roadway on which 
 metal rails were laid. What was being done .^ 
 The work seemed too extensive for a mere 
 scheme of drainac^e. Whatever the undertakino^ 
 might be, it was now at a stand-still, seeing that 
 old Mr. Mutimer, the owner of the land, had 
 been in his grave just three days, and no one 
 as yet could say whether his heir would or 
 would not pursue this novel project. Mrs. 
 Waltham herself felt that the view was spoilt, 
 though her appreciation of nature was not of 
 the keenest, and she would never have thought 
 of objecting to a scheme which would produce 
 money at the cost of the merely beautiful. 
 
 ' I scarcely think Hubert will continue it,' 
 she was musing to herself. 'He has enough 
 without that, and his tastes don't lie in that 
 direction.' 
 
 She had on her lap a local paper, at which 
 she glanced every now and then ; but her state 
 of mind was evidently restless. The road on 
 either side of which stood the houses of the 
 
DEMOS 7 
 
 village led on to the Manor, and in that direc- 
 tion Mrs. Waltham gazed frequently. The 
 church clock chimed half-past four, and shortly 
 after a rosy-cheeked young girl came at a 
 quick step up the gravelled pathway which 
 made the approach to the Walthams' cottage. 
 She saw Mrs. Waltham at the window, and, 
 when she was near, spoke. 
 
 ' Is Adela at home ? ' 
 
 ' No, Letty ; she's gone for a walk with her 
 brother.' 
 
 ' I'm so sorry ! ' said the girl, whose voice 
 was as sweet as her face was pretty. 'We 
 wanted her to come for croquet. Yet I was 
 half afraid to come and ask her whilst Mr. 
 Alfred was at home.' 
 
 She laughed, and at the same time blushed 
 a little. 
 
 ' Why should you be afraid of Alfred .^ ' 
 asked Mrs. Waltham graciously. 
 
 ' Oh, I don't know.' 
 
 She turned it off, and spoke quickly of 
 another subject. 
 
 ' How did you like Mr. Wy vern this morn- 
 ing?' 
 
 It was a new vicar, who had been in Wan- 
 ley but a couple of days, and had this morning 
 officiated for the first time at the church. 
 
 ' What a voice he has ! ' was the lady's 
 reply. 
 
8 DEMOS 
 
 ' Hasn't he ? And such a hairy man I 
 They say he's very learned ; but his sermon 
 was very simple — didn't you think so ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I liked it. Only he pronounces cer- 
 tain words strangely/ 
 
 ' Oh, has Mr. Eldon come yet ? ' was the 
 young lady's next question. 
 
 ' He hadn't arrived this morning. Isn't it 
 extraordinary ? He must be out of England.' 
 
 ' But surely Mrs. Eldon knows his address, 
 and he can't be so very far away.' 
 
 As she spoke she looked down the path- 
 way by which she had come, and of a sudden 
 her face exhibited alarm. 
 
 ' Oh, Mrs. Waltham ! ' she whispered hur- 
 riedly. ' If Mr. Wyvern isn't coming to see 
 you ! I'm afraid to meet him. Do let me pop 
 in and hide till I can get away without being 
 seen.' 
 
 The front door stood ajar, and the girl at 
 once ran into the house. Mrs. Waltham came 
 into the passage laughing. 
 
 ' May I go to the top of the stairs ? ' asked 
 the other nervously. ' You know how absurdly 
 shy I am. No, I'll run out into the garden 
 behind ; then I can steal round as soon as he 
 comes in.* 
 
 She escaped, and in a minute or two the 
 new vicar presented himself at the door. A 
 little maid might well have some apprehension 
 
DEMOS , 9 
 
 in facing him, for Mr. Wyvern was of vast 
 proportions and leonine in aspect. With the 
 exception of one ungloved hand and the scant 
 portions of his face which were not hidden by- 
 hair, he was wholly black in hue ; an enormous 
 beard, the colour of jet, concealed the linen 
 about his throat, and a veritable mane, dark as 
 night, fell upon his shoulders. His features 
 were not ill-matched with this sable garniture ; 
 their expression was a fixed severity : his eye 
 regarded you with stern scrutiny, and passed 
 from the examination to a melancholy reflec- 
 tiveness. Yet his appearance was suggestive of 
 anything but ill-nature ; contradictory though 
 it may seem, the face was a pleasant one, in- 
 viting to confidence, to respect ; if he could 
 only have smiled, the tender humanity which 
 lurked in the lines of his countenance would 
 have become evident. His age was probably 
 a little short of fifty. 
 
 A servant replied to his knock, and, after 
 falling back in a momentary alarm, introduced 
 him to the sitting-room. He took Mrs. Wal- 
 tham's hand silently, fixed upon her the full 
 orbs of his dark eyes, and then, whilst still re- 
 taining her fingers, looked thoughtfully about 
 the room. It was a pleasant little parlour, 
 with many an evidence of refinement in those 
 who occupied it. Mr. Wyvern showed some- 
 thing like a look of satisfaction. He seated 
 
lo DEMOS 
 
 himself, and tlie cliair creaked ominously be- 
 neath him. Then he again scrutinised Mrs. 
 Waltham. 
 
 She was a lady of fair complexion, with a 
 double chin. Her dress suggested elegant 
 tastes, and her hand was as smooth and delicate 
 as a lady's should be. A long gold chain de- 
 scended from her neck to the watch-pocket 
 at her waist, and her fingers exhibited several 
 rings. She bore the reverend gentleman's 
 scrutiny with modest grace, almost as if it 
 flattered her. And indeed there was nothing 
 whatever of ill-breeding in Mr. Wy vern's mqde 
 of instituting acquaintance with his parishioner ; 
 one felt that he was a man of pronounced 
 originality, and that he might be trusted in his 
 variance from the wonted modes. 
 
 The view from the windows gave him a 
 subject for his first remarks. Mrs. Waltham 
 had been in some fear of a question which 
 would go to the roots of her soul's history ; it 
 would have been in keeping with his visage. 
 But, with native acuteness, she soon discovered 
 that Mr. Wyvern's gaze had very little to do 
 with the immediate subject of his thought, or, 
 what was much the same thing, that he seldom 
 gave the whole of his attention to the matter 
 outwardly calhng for it. He was a man of 
 profound mental absences ; he could make re- 
 plies, even put queries, and all the while be 
 
DEMOS n 
 
 brooding intensely upon a wholly different 
 subject. Mrs. Waltliam did not altogether 
 rehsh it ; she was in the habit of being heard 
 with deference ; but, to be sure, a clergyman 
 only talked of worldly things by way of con- 
 cession. It certainly seemed so in this clergy- 
 man's case. 
 
 'Your prospect,' Mr. Wyvern remarked 
 presently, ' will not be improved by the w^orks 
 below.' 
 
 His voice was very deep, and all his words 
 were weighed in the utterance. This delibera- 
 tion at times led to pecuharities of emphasis 
 in single words. Probably he was a man of 
 philological crotchets ; he said, for instance, 
 ' pro-spect.' 
 
 ' I scarcely think Mr. Eldon will go on with 
 the mining,' repHed Mrs. Waltham. 
 
 'Ah! you think not?' 
 
 ' I am quite sure he said that unconsciously,' 
 the lady remarked to herself. ' He's thinking 
 of some quite different affair.' 
 
 ' Mr. Eldon,' the clergyman resumed, fixing 
 upon her an absent eye, ' is Mr. Mutimer's son- 
 in-law, I understand ? ' 
 
 ' His brother, Mr. Godfrey Eldon, was,' Mrs. 
 Waltham corrected. 
 
 ' Ah ! the one that died ? ' 
 
 He said it questioningly ; then added — 
 
 ' I have a difficulty in mastering details of 
 
12 DEMOS 
 
 this kind. You would do me a great kindness 
 in explaining to me briefly of whom the family 
 at the Manor at present consists ? ' 
 
 Mrs. Waltham was delighted to talk on such 
 a subject. 
 
 ' Only of Mrs. Eldon and her son, Mr. Hu- 
 bert Eldon. The elder sou, Godfrey, was lost in 
 a shipwreck, on a voyage to New Zealand.' 
 
 ' He was a sailor ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, no ! ' said the lady, with a smile. ' He 
 was in business at Belwick. It was shortly after 
 his marriacre with Miss Mutimer that he took 
 the voyage — partly for his health, partly -to 
 examine some property his father had had an 
 interest in. Old Mr. Eldon engaged in specu- 
 lations — I believe it was flax-growing. The 
 results, unfortunately, were anything but satis- 
 factory. It was that which led to his son 
 entering business — quite a new thing in their 
 family. Wasn't it very sad .^ Poor Godfrey 
 and his young wife both drowned ! The mar- 
 riage was, as you may imagine, not altogether 
 a welcome one to Mrs. Eldon ; Mr. Mutimer 
 was quite a self-made man, quite. I under- 
 stand he has relations in London of the very 
 poorest class — labouring people.' 
 
 ' They probably benefit by his will .^ ' 
 
 ' I can't say. In any case, to a very small 
 extent. It has for a long time been understood 
 that Hubert Eldon inherits.' 
 
DEMOS 13 
 
 ' Singular ? ' murmured the clergyman, still 
 in the same absent way. 
 
 ' Is it not ! He took so to the young 
 fellows ; no doubt he was flattered to be allied 
 to them. And then he was passionately de- 
 voted to his daughter ; if only for her sake, 
 he would have done his utmost for the 
 family.' 
 
 ' I understand that Mr. Mutimer purchased 
 the Manor from them ? ' 
 
 'That w^as before the maniage. Godfrey 
 Eldon sold it ; he had his father's taste for 
 speculation, I fancy, and wanted capital. Then 
 Mr. Mutimer begged them to remain in the 
 house. He certainly was a wonderfully kind 
 old — old gentleman ; his behaviour to Mrs. 
 Eldon was always the perfection of courtesy. 
 A stranger would find it difficult to understand 
 how she could get on so well with him, but 
 their sorrows brought them together, and Mr. 
 Mu timer's generosity w^as really noble. If I 
 had not known his origin, I should certainly 
 have taken him for a county gentleman.' 
 
 ' Yet he proposed to mine in the valley,' 
 observed Mr. Wyvern, half to himself, casting 
 a glance at the windows. 
 
 Mrs. Waltham did not at first see the con- 
 nection between this and what she had been 
 saying. Then it occurred to her that Mr. 
 Wyvern was aristocratic in his views. 
 
14 DEMOS 
 
 ' To be sure,' she said, ' one expects to find 
 a little of the original— of the money-making 
 spirit. Of course such a thing would never 
 have suggested itself to the Eldons. And in 
 fact very little of the lands remained to them. 
 Mr. Mutimer bought a great deal from other 
 people.' 
 
 As Mr. Wyvern sat brooding, Mrs. Waltham 
 
 asked — 
 
 ' You have seen ]\Irs. Eldon ? ' 
 
 'Not yet. She is too unwell to receive 
 visits.' 
 
 ' Yes, poor thing, she is a great invalid.- I 
 
 thought, perhaps, you But I know she 
 
 likes to be very quiet. What a strange thing 
 about Mr. Eldon, is it not? You know that 
 he has never come yet ; not even to the 
 funeral.' 
 
 ' Singular ! ' 
 
 ' An inexplicable thing ! There has never 
 been a shadow of disagreement between 
 them.' 
 
 ' Mr. Eldon is abroad, I believe ? ' said the 
 clergyman musingly.' 
 
 'Abroad? Oh dear, no ! At least, I . 
 
 Is there news of his being abroad? ' 
 
 Mr. Wyvern merely shook his head. 
 
 ' As far as we know,' Mrs. Waltham con- 
 tinued, rather disturbed by the suggestion, ' he 
 is at Oxford.' 
 
DEMOS 15 
 
 ' A student ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. He is quite a youth — only two-and- 
 twenty.' 
 
 There was a knock at the door, and a maid- 
 servant entered to ask if she should lay the 
 table for tea. Mrs. Waltham assented ; then, 
 to her visitor — 
 
 ' You will do us the pleasure of drinking a 
 cup of tea, Mr. Wyvern ? we make a meal of 
 it, in the country way. My boy and girl are 
 sure to be in directly.' 
 
 ' I should like to make their acquaintance,' 
 was the grave response. 
 
 'Alfred, my son,' the lady proceeded, 'is 
 with us for his Easter holiday. Belwick is so 
 short a distance away, and yet too far to allow 
 of his living here, unfortunately.' 
 
 ' His age ? ' 
 
 ' Just one-and-twenty.' 
 
 ' The same age as my own boy.' 
 
 '.Oh, you have a son ? ' 
 
 ' A youngster, studying music in Germany. 
 I have just been spending a fortnight with 
 him.' 
 
 ' How delightful ! If only poor Alfred 
 could have pursued some, more — more liberal 
 occupation ! Unhappily, we had small choice. 
 Friends were good enough to offer him excep- 
 tional advantages not long after his father's 
 death, and I was only too glad to accept the 
 
i6 DEMOS 
 
 opening. I believe lie is a clever boy ; only 
 such a dreadful Eadical.' She laughed, with a 
 deprecatory motion of the hands. ' Poor Adela 
 and he are at daggers drawn ; no doubt it is 
 some terrible argument that detains them now 
 on the road. I can't think how he got his 
 views ; certainly his father never inculcated 
 them.' 
 
 'The air, Mrs. Waltham, the air,' mur- 
 mured the clergyman. 
 
 The lady was not quite sure that she under- 
 stood the remark, but the necessity of reply 
 was obviated by the entrance of the young 
 man in question. Alfred was somewhat under- 
 grown, but of solid build. He walked in a 
 sturdy and rather aggressive way, and his 
 plump face seemed to indicate an intelligence, 
 bright, indeed, but of the less refined order. 
 His head was held stiffly, and his whole bearing 
 betrayed a desire to make the most of his 
 defective stature. His shake of the hand was 
 an abrupt downward jerk, like a pull at a bell- 
 rope. In the smile with which he met Mr. 
 Wyvern a supercilious frame of mind was not 
 altogether concealed ; he seemed anxious to 
 have it understood that in him the clerical 
 attire inspired nothing whatever of superstitious 
 reverence. Eeverence, in truth, was not Mr. 
 Waltham's faihng. 
 
 Mr. Wyvern, as his habit was at introduc- 
 
DEMOS 
 
 17 
 
 tions, spoke no words, but held the youth's 
 hand for a few moments and looked him in the 
 eyes. Alfred turned his head aside uneasily, 
 and was a trifle ruddy in the cheeks when at 
 length he regained his liberty. 
 
 ' By-the-by,' he remarked to his mother 
 when he had seated himself, with crossed legs, 
 * Eldon has turned up at last. He passed us in 
 a cab, or so Adela said. I didn't catch a 
 glimpse of the individual.' 
 
 ' Eeally ! ' exclaimed Mrs. Waltham. ' He 
 was comincf from Agworth station ? ' 
 
 ' I suppose so. There was a trunk on the 
 four-wheeler. Adela says he looked ill, though 
 I don't see how she discovered so much.' 
 
 ' I have no doubt she is right. He must 
 have been ill.' 
 
 Mr. Wyvern, in contrast with his habit, 
 was paying marked attention ; he leaned for- 
 ward, with a hand on each knee. In the 
 ^meanwhile the preparations for tea had pro- 
 gressed, and as Mrs. Waltham rose at the sight 
 of the teapot being brought in, her daughter 
 entered the room. Adela was taller by half a 
 head than her brother ; she was slim and grace- 
 ful. The air had made her face bloom, and 
 the smile which was added as she drew near 
 to the vicar enhanced the charm of a counte- 
 nance at all times charming. She was not 
 less than ladylike in self-possession, but Mr. 
 
 VOL. I. c 
 
1 8 DEMOS 
 
 Wyvern's towering sableness clearly awed her a 
 little. For an instant her eyes drooped, but at 
 once she raised them and met the severe gaze 
 with unflinching orbs. Eeleasing her hand, 
 Mr. Wyvern performed a singular little cere- 
 mony : he laid his right palm very gently ou 
 her nutbrown hair, and his lips moved. At 
 the same time he all but smiled. 
 
 Alfred's face was a delightful study the 
 while; it said so clearly, 'Confound the par- 
 son's impudence ! ' Mrs. Waltham, on the other 
 hand, looked pleased as she rustled to her 
 place at the tea-tray. 
 
 ' So Mr. Eldon has come ? ' she said, glancing 
 at Adela. ' Alfred says he looks ill.' 
 
 ' Mother,' interposed the young man, ' pray 
 be accurate. I distinctly stated that I did not 
 even see him, and should not have known that 
 it was he at all. Adela is responsible for that 
 assertion.' 
 
 ' I just saw his face,' the girl said naturally. 
 ' I thought he looked ill.' 
 
 Mr. Wyvern addressed to her a question 
 about her walk, and for a few minutes they 
 conversed together. There was a fresh sim- 
 plicity in Adela's way of speaking which har- 
 monised well with her appearance and with the 
 scene in which she moved. A gentle English 
 girl, this dainty home, set in so fair and peaceful 
 a corner of the world, was just the abode one 
 
DEMOS 19 
 
 would have choseu for her. Her beauty seemed 
 a part of the burgeoning springthne. She was 
 not hivish of her smiles ; a timid seriousness 
 marked her manner to the clergyman, and she 
 replied to his deliberately-posed questions with 
 a gravity respectful alike of herself and of him. 
 
 In front of Mr. Yv^yvern stood a large cake, 
 of which a portion was already shced. The 
 vicar, at Adela's invitation, accepted a piece of 
 the cake; having eaten this, he accepted another ; 
 then yet another. His absence had come back 
 upon him, and as he talked he continued to eat 
 portions of the cake, till but a small fraction of 
 the original structure remained on the dish. 
 Alfred, keenly observant of what was going on, 
 pursed his lips from time to time and looked at 
 his mother with exaggerated gravity, leading 
 her eyes to the vanishing cake. Even Adela 
 could not but remark the reverend gentleman's 
 abnormal appetite, but she steadily discouraged 
 her brother's attempts to draw her into the joke. 
 At length it came to pass that Mr. Wyvern 
 himself, stretching his hand mechanically to the 
 dish, became aware that he had exhibited liis 
 appreciation of the sweet food in a degree 
 not altogether sanctioned by usage. He fixed 
 his eyes en the tablecloth, and was silent for a 
 while. 
 
 As soon as the vicar had taken his depar- 
 
 c 2 
 
20 DEMOS 
 
 ture Alfred threw himself into a chair, thrust 
 out his legs, and exploded in laughter. 
 
 ' By Jove ! ' he shouted. ' If that man 
 doesn't experience symptoms of disorder ! 
 Why, I should be prostrate for a week if I 
 consumed a quarter of what he has put out of 
 sight.' 
 
 ' Alfred, you are shockingly rude,' reproved 
 his mother, though herself laughing. 'Mr. 
 Wyvern is absorbed in thought.' 
 
 'Well, he has taken the best means, I 
 should say, to remind himself of actualities,' 
 rejoined the youth. ' But what a man he is ! 
 How did he behave in church this morning ? ' 
 
 ' You should have come to see,' said Mrs. 
 Waltham, mildly censuring her son's disregard 
 of the means of grace. 
 
 ' I like Mr. Wyvern,' observed Adela, who 
 was standing at the window looking out upon 
 the dusking valley. 
 
 ' Oh, you would like any man in parsonical 
 livery,' scoffed her brother. 
 
 Alfred shortly betook himself to the garden^ 
 where, in spite of a decided freshness in the 
 atmosphere, he walked for half-an-hour smok- 
 ing a pipe. When he entered the house again, 
 he met Adela at the foot of the stairs. 
 
 'Mrs. Mewling has just come in,' she 
 whispered. 
 
 ' All right, I'll come up with you,' was the 
 
DEMOS 21 
 
 reply. Heaven defend me from her small- 
 talk!' 
 
 They ascended to a very httle room, which 
 made a kmd of boudoir for Adela. Alfred 
 struck a match and lit a lamp, disclosing a nest 
 of wonderful purity and neatness. On the 
 table a drawing-board was slanted ; it showed 
 a text of Scripture in process of ' illumination.' 
 
 ' Still at that kind of thing ! ' exclaimed 
 Alfred. ' My good child, if you want to paint, 
 why don't you paint in earnest? Eeally, 
 Adela, I must enter a protest! Eemember 
 that you are eighteen years of age.' 
 
 ' I don't forget it, Alfred.' 
 
 ' At eight-and-twenty, at eight-and-thirty, 
 you propose still to be at the same stage of 
 development ? ' 
 
 ' I don't think we'll talk of it,' said the girl 
 quietly. ' We don't understand each other.' 
 
 ' Of course not, but we might, if only you'd 
 read sensible books that I could give you.' 
 
 Adela shook her head. The philosophical 
 youth sank into his favourite attitude — legs 
 extended, hands in pockets, nose in air. 
 
 ' So, I suppose,' he said presently, ' that 
 fellow really has been ill ? ' 
 
 Adela was sitting in thought ; she looked 
 up with a shadow of annoyance on her face. 
 
 'That fellow?' 
 
 ' Eldon, you know.' 
 
22 DEMOS 
 
 'I want to ask you a question/ said his 
 sister, interlocking her fingers and pressing 
 them against her throat. ' Why do you always 
 speak in a contemptuous way of Mr. Eldon ? ' 
 
 ' You know I don't like the individual.' 
 
 ' What cause has " the individual " given 
 you?' 
 
 ' He's a snob.' 
 
 * I'm not sure that I know what that means,' 
 replied Adela, after thinking for a moment with 
 downcast eyes. 
 
 ' Because you never read anything. He's 
 a fellow who raises a great edifice of pretence 
 on rotten foundations.' 
 
 'What can you mean? Mr. Eldon is a 
 gentleman. What pretence is he guilty of? ' 
 
 ' Gentleman ! ' uttered her brother with 
 much scorn. ' Upon my word, that is the 
 vulgarest of denominations ! Who doesn't call 
 himself so nowadays ! A man's a man, I 
 take it, and what need is there to lengthen the 
 name ? Thank the powers, we don't live in 
 feudal ages. Besides, he doesn't seem to me to 
 be what you imply.' 
 
 Adela had taken a book ; in turning over 
 the pages, she said — 
 
 ' No doubt you mean, Alfred, that, for some 
 reason, you are determined to view him with 
 prejudice.' 
 
 ' The reason is obvious enough. The fellow's 
 
DEMOS 23 
 
 behaviour is detestable ; he looks at you from 
 head to foot as if you were applying for a place 
 in his stable. Whenever I want an example of 
 a contemptible aristocrat, there's Eldon ready- 
 made. Contemptible, because he's such a 
 sham ; as if everybody didn't know his history 
 and his circumstances ! ' 
 
 ' Everybody doesn't regard them as you do. 
 There is nothing whatever dishonourable in his 
 position.' 
 
 ' Not in sponging on a rich old plebeian, a 
 man he despises, and living in idleness at his 
 expense ? ' 
 
 ' I don't believe Mr. Eldon does anything of 
 the kind. Since his brother's death he has had 
 a sufficient income of his own, so mother says.' 
 
 ' Sufficient income of his own ! Bah ! Five 
 or six hundred a year ; likely he lives on that ! 
 Besides, haven't they soaped old Mutimer into 
 leaving them all his property.^ The whole 
 affair is the best illustration one could possibly 
 have of what aristocrats are brought to in a 
 democratic age. First of all, Godfrey Eldon 
 marries Mu timer's daughter ; you are at liberty 
 to believe, if you like, that he would have 
 married her just the same if she hadn't had a 
 penny. The old fellow is flattered. They see 
 the hold they have, and stickto him like leeches. 
 All for want of money, of course. Our aristocrats 
 begin to see that they can't get on without 
 
24 DEMOS 
 
 money nowadays ; tliey can't live on family 
 records, and tliey find that people won't toady 
 to them in the old way just on account of 
 their name. Why, it began with Eldon's 
 father — didn't he put his pride in his pocket, 
 and try to make cash by speculation ? Now I 
 can respect him : he at all events faced the 
 facts of the case honestly. The despicable thing 
 in this Hubert Eldon is that, having got money 
 once more, and in the dirtiest way, he puts 
 on the top-sawyer just as if there was nothing 
 to be ashamed of. If he and his mother were 
 living in a small way on their few hundreds a 
 3"ear, he might haw-haw as much as he liked, 
 and I should only laugh at him ; he'd be a 
 fool, but an honest one. But catch them doing 
 that ! Family pride's too insubstantial a thing, 
 you see. Well, as I said, they illustrate the 
 natural course of things, the transition from the 
 old age to the new. If Eldon has sons, they'll 
 go in for commerce, and make themselves, if 
 they can, millionaires ; but by that time they'll 
 dispense with airs and insolence — see if they 
 don't.' 
 
 Adela kept her eyes on the pages before 
 her, but she was listening intently. A sort of 
 verisimilitude in the picture drawn by her 
 Eadical-minded brother could not escape her ; 
 her thought was troubled. When she spoke 
 it was without resentment, but gravely. 
 
DEMOS 
 
 25 
 
 ' I don't like this spirit in judging of people. 
 You know quite well, Alfred, liow easy it is to 
 see the whole story in quite another way. You 
 begin by a harsh and worldly judgment, and 
 it leads you to misrepresent all that follows. I 
 refuse to believe that Godrey Eldon married 
 Mrs. Mutimer's daughter for her money.' 
 
 Alfred laughed aloud. 
 
 ' Of course you do, sister Adela ! Women 
 won't admit such things ; that's tlieir aristocratic 
 feeling ! ' 
 
 ' And is that, too, worthless and a sham .^ 
 Will that, too, be done away with in the new 
 age ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, depend upon it ! When women are 
 educated, they will take the world as it is, and 
 decline to live on illusions.' 
 
 ' Then how glad I am to have been left 
 without education ! ' 
 
 In the meantime a conversation of a very 
 lively kind was in progress between Mrs. 
 Waltham and her visitor Mrs. Mewling. The 
 latter was a lady whose position much resembled 
 Mrs. Waltham's : she inhabited a small house 
 in the village street, and spent most of her time 
 in going about to hear or to tell some new 
 thing. She came in this evening with a look 
 presageful of news indeed. 
 
 'I've been to Belwick to-day,' she began, 
 sitting very close to Mrs. Waltham, whose lap 
 
26 DEMOS 
 
 slie kept touching as slie spoke with excited 
 fluency. ' I've seen Mrs. Yottle. My dear, what 
 do you think she has told me ? ' 
 
 Mrs. Yottle was the wife of a legal gentle- 
 man who had been in Mr. Mutimer's confidence. 
 Mrs. Waltham at once divined intelhgence 
 affecting the Eldons. 
 
 ' What ? ' she asked eagerly. 
 
 ' You'd never dream such a thing ! what 
 will come to pass! An unthought-of possi- 
 bility ! ' She went on crescendo. ' My dear Mrs. 
 Waltham, Mr. Mutimer has left no will ! ' 
 
 It was as if an electric shock had passed 
 from the tips of her fingers into her hearer's 
 frame. Mrs. Waltham paled. 
 
 ' That cannot be true ! ' she whispered, in- 
 capable of utterance above breath. 
 
 ' Oh, but there's not a doubt of it ! ' Knowing 
 that the news would be particularly unpalatable 
 to Mrs. Waltham, she proceeded to dwell upon 
 it with dancing eyes. ' Search has been going 
 on since the day of the death : not a corner 
 that hasn't been rummaged, not a drawer that 
 hasn't been turned out, not a book in the 
 library that hasn't been shaken, not a wall 
 that hasn't been examined for secret doors ! 
 Mr. Mutimer has died intestate ! ' 
 
 The other lady was mute. 
 
 ' And shall I tell you how it came about P 
 Two days before his death, he had his will from 
 
DEMOS 27 
 
 Mr. Yottle, saying he wanted to make changes — 
 probably to execute a new will altogether. My 
 dear, he destroyed it, and death surprised him 
 before he could make another.' 
 
 ' He wished to make changes ? ' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' Mrs. Mewling drew out the ex- 
 clamation, shaking her raised finger, pursing 
 her lips. * And of that, too, I can tell you the 
 reason. Mr. Mutimer was anything but pleased 
 w^ith young Eldon. That young man, let me 
 tell you, has been conducting himself — oh, 
 shockingly ! Now you wouldn't dream of 
 repeating this ? ' , 
 
 ' Certainly not.' 
 
 ' It seems that news came not so very long- 
 ago of a certain actress, singer, — something of 
 the kind, you understand ? Friends thought it 
 their duty — rightly, of course, — to inform Mr. 
 Mutimer. I can't say exactly who did it ; but 
 we know that Hubert Eldon is not regarded 
 affectionately by a good many people. My 
 dear, he has been out of Enc^land for more than 
 a month, living — oh, such extravagance ! And 
 the moral question, too ! You know — those 
 women ! Someone, they say, of European 
 reputation; of course no names are breathed. 
 For my part, I can't say I am surprised. Young 
 men, you know ; and particularly young men 
 of that kind ! Well, it has cost him a pretty 
 penny ; he'll remember it as long as he lives.' 
 
28 DEMOS 
 
 ' Then the property will go ' 
 
 ' Yes, to the working people in London ; 
 the roughest of the rough, they say ! What will 
 happen? It will be impossible for us to live 
 here if they come and settle at the Manor. 
 The neighbourhood will be intolerable. Think 
 of the rag-tag-and-bobtail they will bring with 
 them ! ' 
 
 'But Hubert!' ejaculated Mrs. Waltham, 
 whom this vision of barbaric onset affected 
 little in the crashing together of a great airy 
 castle. 
 
 ' Well, my dear, after all he still has more 
 to depend upon than many we could instance. 
 Probably he will take to the law, — that is, if 
 he ever returns to England.' 
 
 ' He is at the Manor,' said Mrs. Waltham, 
 with none of the pleasure it would ordinarily 
 have given her to be first with an item of news. 
 ' He came this afternoon.' 
 
 ' He did ! Who has seen him ? ' 
 
 ' Alfred and Adela passed him on the road. 
 He was in a cab.' 
 
 ' I feel for his poor mother. What a meet- 
 incT it will be ! But then we must remember 
 that they had no actual claim on the inheritance. 
 Of course it will be a most grievous disappoint- 
 ment, but what is life made of? I'm afraid 
 some people will be anything but grieved. We 
 must confess that Hubert has not been exactly 
 
DEMOS 29 
 
 popular ; and I rather wonder at it ; I'm sure 
 he might have been if he had hked. Just a 
 little too — too self-conscious, don't you think ? 
 Of course it was quite a mistake, but people had 
 an idea that he presumed on wealth which was 
 not his own. Well, well, we quiet folk look 
 on, don't we ? It's rather like a play.' 
 
 Presently Mrs. Mewling leaned forward yet 
 more confidentially. 
 
 ' My dear, you won't be offended ? You 
 don't mind a question ? There wasn't anything 
 definite ? — Adela, I mean.' 
 
 ' Nothmg, nothing whatever! ' Mrs. Waltham 
 asserted with vigour. 
 
 ' Ha ! ' Mrs. Mewling sighed deeply. ' How 
 relieved I am ! I did so fear ! ' 
 
 'Nothing whatever,' the other lady re- 
 peated. 
 
 ' Thank goodness ! Then there is no need 
 to breathe a word of those shocking matters. 
 But they do get abroad so ! ' 
 
 A reflection Mrs. Mewling was justified in 
 making. 
 
30 
 
 DEMOS 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 The cab whicli had passed Adela and her 
 brother at a short distance from Wanley brought 
 faces to the windows or door of almost every 
 house as it rolled through the village street. 
 The direction in which it was going, the trunk 
 on the roof, the certainty that it had come from 
 Agworth station, suggested to everyone that 
 young Eldon sat within. The occupant had, 
 however, put up both windows just before 
 entering the village, and sight of him was not 
 obtained. Wanley had abundant matter for 
 gossip that evening. Hubert's return, giving a 
 keener edge to the mystery of his so long delay, 
 w^ould alone have sufficed to wagging tongues ; 
 but, in addition, Mrs. Mewhng w\as on the war- 
 path, and the intelligence she spread was of a 
 kind to run like wildfire. 
 
 The approach to the Manor was a carriage- 
 road, obliquely ascending the hill from a point 
 some quarter of a mile beyond the cottages 
 which once Iioused Bel wick's abbots. Of the 
 
DEMOS 31 
 
 house scarcely a glimpse could be caught till 
 you were well within the gates, so thickly was 
 it embosomed in trees. This afternoon it wore 
 a cheerless face ; most of the blinds were still 
 down, and the dwelhog might have been un- 
 occupied, for any sign of human activity that 
 the eye could catch. There was no porch at 
 the main entrance, and the heavy nail -studded 
 door greeted a visitor somewhat sombrely. On 
 the front of a gable stood the w^ords ' Nisi 
 Dominus.' 
 
 The vehicle drew up, and there descended 
 a young man of pale countenance, his attire in- 
 dicating long and hasty travel. He pulled 
 vigorously at the end of a hanging bell-chain, 
 and the door was immediately opened by a 
 man-servant in black. Hubert, for he it was, 
 pointed to his trunk, and, whilst it was being 
 carried into the house, took some loose coin 
 from his pocket. He handed the driver a 
 sovereign. 
 
 ' I have no change, sir,' said the man after 
 examining the coin. 
 
 But Hubert had already turned away ; he 
 merely waved his hand, and entered the house. 
 For a drive of two miles, the cabman held him- 
 self tolerably paid. 
 
 The hall was dusky, and seemed in need of 
 fresh air. Hubert threw off his hat, gloves, 
 and overcoat ; then for the first time spoke to 
 
3^ DEMOS 
 
 the servant, who stood in an attitude of ex- 
 pectancy. 
 
 ' Mrs. Eldon is at home ? ' 
 
 ' At home, sir, but very unwell. She de- 
 sires me to say that she fears she may not be 
 able to see you this evening.' 
 
 ' Is there a fire anywhere ? ' 
 
 ' Only in the library, sir.' 
 
 ' I will dine there. And let a fire be lit in 
 my bedroom.' 
 
 ' Yes, sir. Will you dine at once, sir ? ' 
 
 ' In an hour. Something hglit ; I don't care 
 what it is.' 
 
 ' Shall the fire be lit in your bedroom at 
 once, sir ? ' 
 
 ' At once, and a hot bath prepared. Come 
 to the hbrary and tell me when it is ready.' 
 
 The servant silently departed. Hubert 
 walked across the hall, giving a glance here and 
 there, and entered the library. Nothing had 
 been altered here since his father's, nay, since 
 his grandfather's, time. That grandfather — his 
 name Hubert — had combined strong intellectual 
 tendencies with the extravagant tastes which 
 gave his already tottering house the decisive 
 push. The large collection of superbly-bound 
 books which this room contained were nearly all 
 of his purchasing, for prior to his time the Eldons 
 had not been wont to concern themselves with 
 things of the mind. Hubert, after walking to 
 
DEMOS 33 
 
 the window and looking out for a moment on 
 a side lawn, pushed a small couch near to the 
 fireplace, and threw himself down at full length, 
 his hands beneath his head. In a moment his 
 position seemed to have become uneasy ; he 
 turned upon his side, uttering an exclamation 
 as if of pain. A minute or two and again he 
 moved, this time with more evident impatience. 
 The next thing he did was to rise, step to the 
 bell, and ring it violently. 
 
 The same servant appeared. 
 
 ' Isn't the bath ready .^ ' Hubert asked. 
 His former mode of speaking had been brief 
 and decided ; he was now almost imperious. 
 
 ' I beheve it will be in a moment, sir,' was 
 the reply, marked, perhaps, by just a little 
 failure in the complete subservience expected. 
 
 Hubert looked at the man for an instant 
 with contracted brows, but merely said — 
 ' Tell them to be quick.' 
 
 The man returned in less than three minutes 
 with a satisfactory announcement, and Eldon 
 went upstairs to refresh himself 
 
 Two hours later he had dined, with obvious 
 lack of appetite, and was deriving but slight 
 satisfaction from a cigar, when the servant 
 entered with a message from Mrs. Eldon : she 
 desired to see her son. 
 
 Hubert threw his cigar aside, and made a 
 gesture expressing his wish to be led to his 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
34 
 
 DEMOS 
 
 mother's room. The man conducted him to 
 the landing at the head of the first flight of 
 stairs ; there a female servant was waiting, who, 
 after a respectful movement, led the way to a 
 door at a few yards' distance. She opened it 
 and drew back. Hubert passed into the room. 
 
 It was furnished in a very old-fashioned style 
 — heavily, richly, and with ornaments seemingly 
 procured rather as evidences of wealth than of 
 taste ; successive Mrs. Eldons had used it as a 
 boudoir. The present lady of that name sat 
 in a great chair near the fire. Though not yet 
 fifty, she looked at least ten years older ; her 
 hair had streaks of white, and her thin deli- 
 cate features were much lined and wasted. It 
 would not be enough to say that she had 
 evidently once been beautiful, for in truth she 
 was so still, with a spiritual beauty of a very rare 
 type. Just now her face was set in a sternness 
 which did not seem an expression natural to it ; 
 the fine lips were much more akin to smiling 
 sweetness, and the brows accepted with repug- 
 nance anything but the stamp of thoughtful 
 charity. 
 
 After the first glance at Hubert she 
 dropped her eyes. He, stepping quickly across 
 the floor, put his lips to her cheek ; she did 
 not move her head, nor raise her hand to take 
 his. 
 
 ' Will you sit there, Hubert ? ' she said, 
 
DEMOS 35 
 
 pointing to a chair which was placed opposite 
 hers. The resemblance between her present 
 mode of indicating a wish and her son's way of 
 speaking to the servant below was very striking ; 
 even the quahty of their voices had much in 
 common, for Hubert's was rather high-pitched. 
 In face, however, the young man did not 
 strongly evidence their relation to each other : 
 he was not handsome, and had straight low 
 brows, which made his aspect at first for- 
 bidding. 
 
 ' Why have you not come to me before 
 this ? ' Mrs. Eldon asked when her son had 
 seated himself, with his eyes turned upon the 
 fire. 
 
 ' I was unable to, mother. I have been 
 ill.' 
 
 She cast a glance at him. There was no 
 doubting the truth of what he said ; at this 
 moment he looked feeble and pain-worn. 
 
 ' Where did your illness come upon you ? ' 
 she asked, her tone unsoftened. 
 
 ' In Germany. I started only a few hours 
 after receiving the letter in which you told me 
 of the death.' 
 
 ' My other letters you paid no heed to ? ' 
 
 ' I could not reply to them.' 
 
 He spoke after hesitation, but firmly, as 
 one does who has something to brave out. 
 
 ' It would have been better for you if you 
 
36 DEMOS 
 
 had been able, Hubert. Your refusal has cost 
 you dear.' 
 
 He looked up inquiringly. 
 
 ' Mr. Mutimer,' his mother conthiued, a 
 tremor in her voice, ' destroyed his will a day 
 or two before he died.' 
 
 Hubert said nothing. His fingers, locked 
 together before him, twitched a little ; his face 
 gave no sign. 
 
 ' Had you come to me at once,' Mrs. Eldon 
 pursued, ' had you listened to my entreaties, to 
 my commands ' — her voice rang right queenly 
 — ' this would not have happened. Mr. Mu- 
 timer behaved as generously as he always has. 
 As soon as there came to him certain news of 
 you, he told me everything. I refused to 
 believe what people were saying, and he too 
 wished to do so. He would not write to you 
 himself; there was one all-sufficient test, he 
 held, and that was a summons from your 
 mother. It was a test of your honour, Hubert 
 — and you failed under it.' 
 
 He made no answer. 
 
 ' You received my letters ? ' she went on to 
 ask. ' I heard you had gone from England, 
 and could only hope your letters would be for- 
 warded. Did you get them .^ ' 
 
 ' With the delay of only a day or two.' 
 
 ' And deliberately you put me aside ? ' 
 
 ' I did.' 
 
DEMOS 37 
 
 She looked at him dow for several moments. 
 Her eyes grew moist. Then she resumed, in a 
 lower voice — 
 
 ' I said nothing of what was at stake, though 
 I knew. Mr. Mutimer was perfectly open 
 with me. " I have trusted him imphcitly," he 
 said, " because I believe him as staunch and 
 true as his brother. I make no allowances for 
 what are called young man's follies : he must 
 be above anything of that kind. If he is not — 
 well, I have been mistaken in him, and I can't 
 deal with him as I wish to do." You know 
 what he was, Hubert, and you can imagine 
 him speaking those words. We waited. The 
 bad news was confirmed, and from you there 
 came nothing. I would not hint at the loss 
 you were incurring ; of my own purpose I 
 should have refrained from doing so, and Mr. 
 Mutimer forbade me to appeal to anything 
 but your better self. If you would not come 
 to me because I wished it, I could not involve 
 you and myself in shame by seeing you yield 
 to sordid motives.' 
 
 Hubert raised his head. A chokini? voice 
 kept him silent, for a moment only. 
 
 ' Mother, the loss is nothing to you ; you 
 are above regrets of that kind ; and for myself, 
 I am almost glad to have lost it.' 
 
 ' In very truth,' answered the mother, ' I 
 care little about the wealth you might have 
 
38 DEMOS 
 
 possessed. What I do care for is the loss of all 
 the hopes I had built upon you. I thought you 
 honour itself ; I thought you high - minded. 
 Young as you are, I let you go from me with- 
 out a fear. Hubert, I would have staked my 
 life that no shadow of disgrace would ever fall 
 upon your head! You have taken from me 
 the last comfort of my age.' 
 
 He uttered words she could not catch. 
 
 ' The purity of your soul was precious to 
 me,' she continued, her accents strugghng 
 against weakness ; ' I thought I had seen in 
 you a love of that chastity without which a man 
 is nothing ; and I ever did my best to keep 
 your eyes upon a noble ideal of womanhood. 
 You have fallen. The simpler duty, the point 
 of every- da}^ honour, I could not suppose that 
 you would fail in. From the day when you 
 came of age, when Mr. Mutimer spoke to you, 
 saying that in every respect you would be as 
 his son, and you, for your part, accepted what 
 he offered, you owed it to him to respect the 
 lightest of his reasonable wishes. The wish 
 which was supreme in him you have utterly 
 disregarded. Is it that you failed to understand 
 him ? I have thought of late of a way you had 
 now and then when you spoke to me about 
 him ; it has occurred to me that perhaps you did 
 him less than justice. Eegard his position and 
 mine, and tell me whether you think he could 
 
DEMOS 39 
 
 have become so much to us if he had not been 
 a gentleman in the highest sense of the word. 
 When Godfrey first of all brought me that pro- 
 posal from him that we should still remain in 
 this house, it seemed to me the most impossible 
 thing. You know what it was that induced me 
 to assent, and what led to his becoming so 
 intimate with us. Since then it has been hard 
 for me to remember that he was not one of our 
 family. His weak points it was not difficult to 
 discover ; but I fear you did not understand 
 what was noblest in his character. Uprightness, 
 clean-heartedness, good faith — these things he 
 prized before everything. In you, in one of 
 your birth, he looked to find them in perfection. 
 Hubert, I stood shamed before him.' 
 
 The young man breathed hard, as if in 
 physical pain. His eyes were fixed in a wide 
 absent gaze. Mrs. Eldon had lost all the severity 
 of her face ; the profound sorrow of a pure and 
 noble nature was alone to be read there now. 
 
 ' What,' she contmued — ' what is this class 
 distinction upon which we pride ourselves ? 
 What does it mean, if not that our opportu- 
 nities lead us to see truths to which the eyes of 
 the poor and ignorant are blind ? Is there 
 nothing in it, after all — in our pride of birth and 
 station ? That is what people are saying now- 
 adays : you yourself have jested to me about 
 our privileges. You almost make me dread 
 
40 DEMOS 
 
 that you were right. Look back at that man, 
 whom I came to honour as my own father. 
 He began hfe as a toiler with his hands. Only 
 a fortnight ago he was telling me stories of his 
 boyhood, of seventy years since. He was with- 
 out education ; his ideas of truth and goodness 
 he had to find within his own heart. Could 
 anything exceed the noble simplicity of his 
 respect for me, for you boys. We were poor, but 
 it seemed to him that we had from naturcwhat 
 no money could buy. He was wi"ong ; his faith 
 misled him. No, not wrong with regard to all 
 of us ; my boy Godfrey was indeed all that he 
 believed. But think of himself ; what advan- 
 tage have we over him? I know no longer 
 what to believe. Oh, Hubert ! ' 
 
 He left his chair and v/alked to a more 
 distant part of the room, where he was beyond 
 the range of lamp and fireliglit. Standing 
 here, he pressed his hand against his side, still 
 breathing hard, and with difficulty suppressing 
 a groan. 
 
 He came a step or two nearer. 
 
 ' Mother,' he said, hurriedly, ' I am still far 
 from well. Let me leave you : speak to me 
 again to-morrow.' 
 
 Mrs. Eldon made an effort to rise, looking 
 anxiously into the gloom where he stood. She 
 was all but standing upright — a thing slie had 
 not done for a long time — when Hubert sprang 
 
DEMOS 41 
 
 towards hei\ seizing her hands, then supporting 
 her in his arms. Her self-command gave way 
 at length, and she wept. 
 
 Hubert placed her gently in the chair and 
 knelt beside her. He could find no words, but 
 once or twice raised his face and kissed her. 
 
 ' What caused your illness ? ' she asked, 
 speaking as one wearied with suffering. She 
 lay back, and her eyes were closed. 
 
 ' I cannot say,' he answered. ' Do not 
 speak of me. In 3^our last letter there was no 
 account of how he died.' 
 
 ' It was in church, at the morning service. 
 The pew-opener found him sitting there dead, 
 when all had gone away.' 
 
 ' But the vicar could see into the pew from 
 the pulpit ? The death must have been very 
 peaceful.' 
 
 ' No, he could not see ; the front curtains 
 were drawn.' 
 
 ' Why was that, I wonder ? ' 
 
 Mrs. Eldon shook her head. 
 
 ' Are you in pain .^ ' she asked suddenly. 
 ' Why do you breathe so strangely ? ' 
 
 ' A little pain. Oh, nothing ; I will see 
 Manns to-morrow.' 
 
 His mother gazed long and steadily into 
 his eyes, and this time he bore her look. 
 
 ' Mother, you have not kissed me,' he whis- 
 pered. 
 
42 DEMOS 
 
 ' And cannot, dear. There is too much 
 between us.' 
 
 His head fell upon her lap. 
 
 ' Hubert ! ' 
 
 He pressed her hand. 
 
 ' How shall I live when you have gone from 
 me again ? When you say good-bye, it will be 
 as if I parted from you for ever.' 
 
 Hubert was silent. 
 
 ' Unless,' she continued — ' unless I have 
 your promise that you will no longer dishonour 
 yourself.' 
 
 He rose from her side and stood in front of 
 the fire ; his mother looked and saw that he 
 trembled. 
 
 ' No promise, Hubert,' she said, ' that you 
 cannot keep. Eather than that, we will accept 
 our fate, and be nothing to each other.' 
 
 ' You know very well, mother, that that is 
 impossible. I cannot speak to you of what 
 drove me to disregard your letters. I love and 
 honour you, and shall have to change my 
 nature before I cease to do so.' 
 
 ' To me, Hubert, you seem already to have 
 changed. I scarcely know you.' 
 
 ' I can't defend myself to you,' he said 
 sadly. ' We think so differently on subjects 
 which allow of no compromise, that, even if I 
 could speak openly, you would only condemn 
 me the more.' 
 
DEMOS 43 
 
 His mother turned upon him a grief-stricken 
 and wondering face. 
 
 ' Since when have we differed so ? ' she 
 asked. ' What has made us strangers to each 
 other's thoughts ? Surely, surely you are at one 
 with me in condemning all that has led to this ? 
 If your character has been too weak to resist 
 temptation, you cannot have learnt to make 
 evil your good ? ' 
 
 He kept silence. 
 
 ' You refuse me that last hope .^ ' 
 
 Hubert moved impatiently. 
 
 ' Mother, I can't see beyond to-day ! I 
 know nothing of what is before me. It is the 
 idlest trifling with words to say one will do 
 this or that, when action in no way depends on 
 one's own calmer thought. In this moment I 
 could promise anything you ask ; if I had my 
 choice, I would be a child again and have no 
 desire but to do your will, to be worthy in 
 your eyes. I hate my life and the years that 
 liave parted me from you. Let us talk no 
 more of it.' 
 
 Neither spoke again for some moments ; 
 then Hubert asked coldly — 
 
 ' What has been done ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing,' replied Mrs. Eldon, in the same 
 tone. ' Mr. Yottle has waited for your return 
 before communicating with the relatives in 
 London.' 
 
44 DEMOS 
 
 ' I will go to Belwick in the morning,' he 
 said. Then, after reflection, ' Mr. Mu timer 
 told you that he had destroyed his will ? ' 
 
 ' No. He had it from Mr. Yottle two days 
 before his death, and on the day after — the 
 Monday — Mr. Yottle was to have come to receive 
 instructions for a new one. It is nowhere to 
 be found : of course it was destroyed.' 
 
 ' I suppose there is no doubt of that ? ' 
 Hubert asked, with a show of indifference. 
 
 ' There can be none. Mr. Yottle tells me 
 that a will which existed before Godfrey's. mar- 
 riage was destroyed in the same way.' 
 
 ' Who is the heir ? ' 
 
 ' A great-nephew bearing the same name. 
 The will contained provision for him and certain 
 of his family. Wanley is his ; the personal 
 property will be divided among several.' 
 
 ' The people have not come forward ? ' 
 
 ' We presume they do not even know of 
 Mr. Mutimer's death. There has been no 
 direct communication between him and them 
 for many years.' 
 
 Hubert's next question was, ' What shall 
 you do, mother?' 
 
 ' Does it interest you, Hubert ? I am too 
 feeble to move very far. 1 must find a home 
 either here in the village or at Ag worth.' 
 
 He looked at her with compassion, with 
 remorse. 
 
DEMOS 45 
 
 'And you, my boy?' asked his mother, 
 raising her eyes gently. 
 
 ' I ? Oh, the selfish never come to harm, be 
 sure ! Only the gentle and helpless have to 
 suffer ; that is the plan of the world's ruling.' 
 
 ' The world is not ruled by one who thinks 
 our thoughts, Hubert.' 
 
 He had it on his lips to make a rejoinder, 
 but checked the impulse. 
 
 ' Say good-night to me,' liis mother con- 
 tinued. ' You must go and rest. If you still 
 feel unwell in the morning, a messenger shall 
 go to Belwick. You are very, very pale.' 
 
 Hubert held his hand to her and bent his 
 head. Mrs. Eldon offered her cheek ; he kissed 
 it and went from the room. 
 
 At seven o'clock on the following mornincf 
 a bell summoned a servant to Hubert's bed- 
 room. Though it was daylight, a lamp burned 
 near the bed ; Hubert lay against pillows 
 heaped high. 
 
 ' Let someone go at once for Dr. Manns,' 
 he said, appearing to speak with difficulty. ' I 
 wish to see him as soon as possible. Mrs. 
 Eldon is to know nothing of his visit — you 
 understand me ? ' 
 
 The servant withdrew. In rather less than 
 an hour the doctor made his appearance, with 
 every sign of having been interrupted in his 
 
46 DEMOS 
 
 repose. He was a spare man, full bearded and 
 spectacled. 
 
 ' Something wrong ? ' was liis greeting as 
 he looked keenly at his smnmoner. ' I didn't 
 know you were here.' 
 
 ' Yes,' Hubert replied, ' something is con- 
 foundedly wrong. I have been playing strange 
 tricks in the night, I fancy.' 
 
 'Fever?' 
 
 ' As a consequence^ of something else. I 
 shall have to tell you what must be repeated to 
 no one, as of course you will see. Let me see, 
 when was it? — Saturday to-day? Ten days 
 ago, I had a pistol-bullet just here,' — he 
 touched his right side. ' It was extracted, and 
 I seemed to be not much the worse. I have 
 just come from Germany.' 
 
 Dr. Manns screwed his face into an expres- 
 sion of sceptical amazement. 
 
 'At present,' Hubert continued, trying to 
 laugh, ' I feel considerably the worse. I don't 
 think I could move if I tried. In a few 
 minutes, ten to one, I shall begin talking 
 foolery. You must keep people away ; get 
 what help is needed. I may depend upon you ? ' 
 
 The doctor nodded, and, whistling low, 
 began an examination. 
 
47 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 On tlie dim borderland of Islington and Hoxton, 
 in a corner made by the intersection of the New 
 North Road and the Regent's Canal, is dis- 
 coverable an irregular triangle of small dwelUng- 
 houses, bearing the name of Wilton Square. 
 In the midst stands an amorphous structure, 
 which on examination proves to be a very ugly 
 house and a still uglier Baptist chapel built 
 back to back. The pair are enclosed within 
 iron railings, and, more strangely, a circle of 
 trees, which in due season do veritably put 
 forth green leaves. One side of the square 
 shows a second place of worship, the resort, as 
 an inscription declares, of ' Welsh Calvinistic 
 Methodists.' The houses are of one story, 
 with kitchen windows looking upon small 
 areas ; the front door is reached by an ascent 
 of five steps. 
 
 The canal — maladetta e sventurata fossa — 
 stagnating in utter foulness between coal- wharfs 
 and builders' yards, at this point divides two 
 
48 DEMOS 
 
 neighbourhoods of clifFerent aspects. On the 
 south is Hoxton, a region of malodorous mar- 
 ket streets, of factories, timber-yards, grimy 
 warehouses, of alleys swarming with small 
 trades and crafts, of filthy courts and passages 
 leading into pestilential gloom ; everywhere 
 toil in its most degrading forms ; the thorough- 
 fares thundering with high-laden waggons, the 
 pavements trodden by working folk of the 
 coarsest type, the corners and lurking-holes 
 showing destitution at its ugliest. Walking 
 northwards, the explorer finds himself in freer 
 air, amid broader ways, in a district of dwel- 
 ling-houses only ; the roads seem abandoned 
 to milkmen, cat's-meat vendors, and coster- 
 mongers. Here will be found streets in which 
 every window has its card advertising lodgings ; 
 others claim a higher respectability, the houses 
 retreating behind patches of garden-ground, 
 and occasionally showing plastered pillars and 
 a balcony. The change is from undisguised 
 struggle for subsistence to mean and spirit- 
 broken leisure ; hither retreat the better -paid 
 of the great slave-army when they are free to 
 eat and sleep. To walk about a neighbour- 
 hood such as this is the dreariest exercise to 
 which man can betake himself; the heart is 
 crushed by uniformity of decent squalor ; one 
 remembers that each of these dead-faced houses, 
 often each separate blind window, represents a 
 
DEMOS 49 
 
 ' home,' and the associations of the word 
 whisper blank despair. 
 
 Wilton Square is on the north side of the 
 foss, on the edge of the quieter district, and in 
 one of its houses dwelt at the time of which I 
 write the family on whose behalf Fate was at 
 work in a valley of mid-England. Joseph 
 Mu timer, nephew to the old man who had 
 just died at Wanley Manor, had himself been at 
 rest for some five years ; his widow and three 
 children still lived together in the home they 
 had long occupied. Joseph came of a family 
 of mechanics ; his existence was that of the 
 harmless necessary artisan. He earned a living 
 by dint of incessant labour, brought up his 
 family in an orderly way, and departed with a 
 certain sense of satisfaction at having fulfilled 
 obvious duties — the only result of life for which 
 he could reasonably look. With his children 
 we shall have to make closer acquaintance ; 
 but before doing so, in order to understand 
 their position and follow with intelligence their 
 several stories, it will be necessary to enter a 
 little upon the subject of ancestry. 
 
 Joseph Mutimer's father, Henry by name, 
 was a somewhat remarkable personage. He 
 grew to manhood in the first decade of our 
 century, and wrought as a craftsman in a Mid- 
 land town. He had a brother, Eichard, some 
 ten years his junior, and the two were of such 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
50 DEMOS 
 
 different types of character, each so pronounced 
 in his kind, that, after vain attempts to get along 
 together, they parted for good, heedless of each 
 other henceforth, pursuing their sundered des- 
 tinies. Henry was by nature a political enthu- 
 siast, of insufficient ballast, careless of the main 
 chance, of hot and ready tongue ; the Chartist 
 movement gave him opportunities of action 
 which he used to the utmost, and he became a 
 member of the so-called National Convention, 
 established in Birmingham in 1839. Already 
 he had achieved prominence by being imprisoned 
 as the leader of a torch-light procession, and 
 this taste of martyrdom naturally sharpened his 
 zeal. He had married young, but only visited 
 his family from time to time. His wife for the 
 most part earned her own living, and ultimately 
 betook herself to London with her son Joseph, 
 the single survivor of seven children. Henry 
 pursued his career of popular agitation, sup- 
 porting himself in miscellaneous ways, writing 
 his wife an affectionate letter once in six months, 
 and making himself widely known as an uncom- 
 promising Eadical of formidable powers. News- 
 papers of that time mention his name frequently ; 
 he was always in hot water, and once or twice 
 narrowl}^ escaped transportation. In 1842 he 
 took active part in the riots of the Midland 
 Counties, and at length was unfortunate enough 
 to get his liead broken. He died in hospital 
 before any relative could reach him. 
 
DEMOS 51 
 
 Eicliard Mutimer regarded with detestation 
 the principles to which Henry had sacrificed 
 his Hfe. From childhood he was staid, earnest, 
 iron-willed ; to whatsoever he put his hand, he 
 did it thoroughly, and it was his pride to 
 receive aid from no man. Intensely practical, 
 he early discerned the truth that a man's first 
 object must be to secure himself a competency, 
 seeing that to one who lacks money the world 
 is but a great debtors' prison. To make money, 
 therefore, was his aim, and anything that inter- 
 fered with the interests of commerce and in- 
 dustry from the capitalist's point of view he 
 deemed unmitigated evil. When his brother 
 Henry was leading processions and preaching 
 the People's Charter, Eichard enrolled himself 
 as a special constable, cursing the tumults which 
 drew him from business, but determined, if he 
 got the opportunity, to strike a good hard blow 
 in defence of law and order. Already he was well 
 on the w^ay to possess a solid stake in the coun- 
 try, and the native conservatism of his tem- 
 perament grew stronger as circumstances bent 
 themselves to his will ; a proletarian conquering 
 wealth and influence naturally prizes these 
 things in proportion to the effort their acquisi- 
 tion has cost him. When he heard of his 
 brother's death, he could in conscience say 
 nothing more than ' Serve Jiim right ! ' For all 
 that, he paid the funeral expenses of the Chartist 
 
 E 2 
 
 iUili'^RSITY OF ILLlNOrt 
 tIBRARY 
 
52 DEMOS 
 
 — angrily declining an offer from Henry's co- 
 zealots, who would have buried the martyr at 
 their common charges — and proceeded to in- 
 quire after the widow and son. Joseph Mutimer, 
 already one or two-and-twenty, was in no need 
 of help ; he and his mother, naturally prejudiced 
 against the thriving uncle, declared themselves 
 satisfied with their lot, and desired no further 
 connection with a relative who was practically 
 a stranger to them. 
 
 So Eichard went on his way and lieaped up 
 jiches. When already middle-aged he took to 
 himself a wife, his choice being marked with 
 characteristic prudence. The woman he wedded 
 was turned thirty, had no money and few per- 
 sonal charms, but was a lady. Eichard was 
 fully able to ajDpreciate education and refine- 
 ment ; to judge from the course of his later life, 
 one would have said that he had sought money 
 only as a means, the end he really aimed at 
 being the satisfaction of instincts which could 
 only have full play in a higher social sphere. 
 No doubt the truth was that success sweetened 
 his character, and developed, as is so often the 
 case, those possibilities of his better nature 
 which a fruitless struggle would have kept in 
 the germ or altogether crashed. His excellent 
 wife influenced him profoundly ; at her death 
 the work was continued by the daughter she 
 left him. The defects of his earlv education 
 
DEMOS 53 
 
 could not of course be repaired, but it is never 
 too late for a man to go to school to the virtues 
 which civilise. Eemaining the sturdiest of Con- 
 servatives, he bowed in sincere humility to 
 those very claims which the Eadical most 
 angrily disallows : birth, hereditary station, 
 recognised gentility — these things made the 
 strongest demand upon his reverence. Such an 
 attitude was a testimony to his own capacity 
 for culture, since he knew not the meaning of 
 vulgar adulation, and did in truth perceive the 
 beauty of those qualities to which the unedu- 
 cated Iconoclast is wholly blind. It was a 
 joyous day for him when he saw his daughter 
 the wife of Godfrey Eldon. The loss which so 
 soon followed was correspondingly hard to bear, 
 and but for Mrs. Eldon's gentle sympathy he 
 would scarcely have survived the blow. We 
 know already how his character had impressed 
 that lady ; such respect was not lightly to be 
 won, and he came to regard it as the most 
 precious thing that life had left him. 
 
 But the man was not perfect, and his latest 
 practical undertaking curiously enough illus- 
 trated the failing which he seemed most com- 
 pletely to have outgrown. It was of course a 
 deplorable error to think of mining in the beau- 
 tiful valley which had once been the Eldons' 
 estate. Eichard Mu timer could not perceive 
 that. He was a very old man, and possibly the 
 
54 DEMOS 
 
 instincts of his youth revived as his mind grew 
 feebler ; he imagined it the greatest kindness 
 to Mrs. Eldon and her son to increase as much 
 as possible the value of the property he would 
 leave at his death. They, of course, could not 
 even hint to him the pain with which they 
 viewed so barbarous a scheme ; he did not as 
 much as suspect a possible objection. Intensely 
 happy in his discovery and the activity to which 
 it led, he would have gone to his grave rich in 
 all manner of content but for that fatal news 
 which reached him from London, where Hubert 
 Eldon was supposed to be engaged in sober 
 study in an interval of University work. Doubt- 
 less it was this disappointment that caused his 
 sudden death, and so brought about a state of 
 things which, could he have foreseen it, would 
 have occasioned him the bitterest grief. 
 
 He had never lost sight of his relatives in 
 London, and had made for them such modest 
 provision as suited his viev/^ of the fitness of 
 things. To leave wealth to young men of the 
 working class would have seemed to him the 
 most inexcusable of follies ; if such were to rise 
 at all, it must be by their own efforts and in 
 consequence of their native merits ; otherwise, 
 let them toil on and support themselves honestly. 
 From secret sources he received information of the 
 capabilities and prospects of Joseph Mutimer's 
 children, and the items of his will were regu- 
 lated accordingly. 
 
DEMOS 
 
 55 
 
 So we return to the family in Wilton 
 Square. Let us, before proceeding with the 
 story, enumerate the younger Mutimers. The 
 first-born, now aged five-and-twenty, had his 
 great-uncle's name ; Joseph Mutimer, married, 
 and no better off in worldly possessions than 
 when he had only himself to support, came to 
 regret the coldness with which he had received 
 the advances of his uncle the capitalist, and 
 christened his son Eichard, with half a hope 
 that some day the name might stand the boy 
 in stead. Eichard was a mechanical engineer, 
 employed in certain ironworks where hydraulic 
 machinery was made. The second child was a 
 girl, upon whom had been bestowed the names 
 Alice Maud, after one of the Queen's daughters; 
 on which account, and partly with reference to 
 certain personal characteristics, she was often 
 called ' the Princess.' Her age was nineteen, 
 and she had now for two years been employed 
 in the show-rooms of a City warehouse. Last 
 comes Henry, a lad of seventeen ; he had been 
 suffered to aim at higher things than the rest of 
 the family. In the industrial code of prece- 
 dence the rank of clerk is a step above that of 
 mechanic, and Henry — known to relatives and 
 friends as 'Arry — occupied the proud position 
 of clerk in a drain-pipe manufactory. 
 
56 DEMOS 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 At ten o'clock on tlie evening of Easter Sun- 
 day, Mrs. Mutimer was busy preparing supper. 
 She liad laid the table for six, had placed at 
 one end of it a large joint of cold meat, -at the 
 other a vast rice-pudding, already diminished 
 by attack, and she was now slicing a conglome- 
 rate mass of cold potatoes and cabbage prior 
 to heating it in the frying-pan, which hissed 
 with melted dripping just on the edge of the 
 fire. The kitchen was small, and everywhere 
 reflected from some bright surface either the 
 glow of the open grate or the yellow lustre of 
 the gas-jet ; red curtains drawn across the 
 window added warmth and homely comfort to 
 the room. It was not the kitchen of pinched 
 or slovenly working folk ; the air had a scent 
 of cleanliness, of freshly scrubbed boards and 
 polished metal, and the furniture was super- 
 abundant. On the capacious dresser stood or 
 hung utensils innumerable ; cupboards and 
 
DEMOS 57 
 
 chairs had a struggle for wall space ; every 
 smallest object was in the place assigned to it 
 by use and wont. 
 
 The housewife was an active woman of some- 
 thing less than sixty ; stout, fresh-featured, with 
 a small keen eye, a firm mouth, and the look 
 of one who, conscious of responsibilities, yet 
 feels equal to them ; on the whole a kindly 
 and contented face, if lacking the suggestive- 
 ness which comes of thought. At present she 
 seemed on the verge of impatience ; it was 
 supper time, but her children lingered. 
 
 ' There they are, and there they must wait, I 
 s'pose,' she murmured to herself as she finished 
 slicing the vegetables and went to remove the 
 pan a little from the fire. 
 
 A knock at the house door called her up- 
 stairs. She came down again, followed by a 
 young girl of pleasant countenance, though 
 pale and anxious-looking. The visitor's dress 
 was very plain, and indicated poverty ; she wore 
 a long black jacket, untrimmed, a boa of cheap 
 fur, tied at the throat with black ribbon, a hat 
 of grey felt, black cotton gloves. 
 
 ' No one here?' she asked, seeing the empty 
 kitchen. 
 
 ' Goodness knows where they all are. I 
 s'pose Dick's at his meeting ; but Alice and 
 'Arry had ought to be back by now. Sit you 
 down to the table, and I'll put on [^the vege- 
 
58 DEMOS 
 
 tables ; there's no call to wait for them. Only 
 I ain't got the beer.' 
 
 ' Oh, but I didn't mean to come for supper,' 
 said the girl, whose name was Emma Vine. ' I 
 only ran in to tell you poor Jane's down again 
 with rheumatic fever.' 
 
 Mrs. Mutimer was holding the frying-pan 
 over the fire, turning the contents over and 
 over with a knife. 
 
 ' You don't mean that ! ' she exclaimed, 
 looking over her shoulder. 'Why, it's the 
 fifth time, ain't it ? ' 
 
 ' It is indeed, and worse to get through 
 every time. We didn't expect she'd ever be 
 able to walk again last autumn.' 
 
 ' Dear, dear ! what a thing them rheumatics 
 is, to be sure ! And you've heard about Dick, 
 haven't you ? ' 
 
 ' Heard what ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, I thought maybe it had got to you. 
 He's lost his work, that's all.' 
 
 'Lost his work?' the girl repeated, with 
 dismay. ' Why ? ' 
 
 ' Why ? What else had he to expect ? 
 'Tain't likely they'll keep a man as goes about 
 making all his mates discontented and calhng 
 his employers names at every street corner. 
 I've been looking for it every week. Yesterday 
 one of the guvnors calls him up and tells him — 
 just in a few civil w^ords — as perhaps it'ud be 
 
DEMOS 59 
 
 better for all parties if he'd liad a place where 
 he was more satisfied. " Well an' good,*' says 
 Dick — you know his way — and there he is.' 
 
 The 2[irl had seated herself, and listened to 
 this story with downcast eyes. Courage seemed 
 to fail her ; she drew a long, quiet sigh. Her 
 face was of the kind that expresses much 
 sweetness in irregular features. Her look was 
 very honest and gentle, with pathetic meanings 
 for whoso had the eye to catch them ; a pecu- 
 liar mobility of the lips somehow made one 
 think that she had often to exert herself to 
 keep down tears. She spoke in a subdued voice, 
 always briefly, and with a certain natural re- 
 finement in the use of uncultured language. 
 When Mrs. Mutimer ceased, Emma kept silence, 
 and smoothed the front of her jacket with an 
 unconscious movement of the hand. 
 
 Mrs. Mutimer glanced at her and showed 
 commiseration. 
 
 'Well, well, don't you worrit about it, 
 Emma,' she said; 'you've quite enough on your 
 hands. Dick don't care — not he ; he couldn't 
 look more high-flyin' if someone had left him a 
 fortune. He says it's the best thing as could 
 happen. Nay, I can't explain ; he'll tell you 
 plenty soon as he gets in. Cut yourself some 
 meat, child, do, and don't wait for me to help 
 you. See, I'll turn you out some potatoes ; 
 you don't care for the greens, I know.' 
 
6o DEMOS 
 
 The fry had hissed vigorously whilst this 
 conversation went on ; the results were brown 
 and unctuous. 
 
 ' Now, if it ain't too bad ! ' cried the old 
 woman, losing self-control. ' That 'Arry gets 
 later every Sunday, and he knows very well as 
 I have to wait for the beer till he comes.' 
 
 ' I'll fetch it,' said Emma, rising. 
 
 ' You indeed ! I'd hke to see Dick if he 
 caught me a-sending you to the pubhc-house.' 
 
 ' He won't mind it for once.' 
 
 ' You get on with your supper, do. It's 
 only my fidgetiness ; I can do very well a bit 
 longer. And Alice, where's she off to, I 
 wonder ? What it is to have a girl that age ! 
 I wish they was all like you, Emma. Get on 
 with your supper, I tell you, or you'll make me 
 angry. Now, it ain't no use taking it to 'eart 
 in that way. I see what you're worritin' 
 over. Dick ain't the man to be out o' work 
 long.' 
 
 'But won't it be the same at his next 
 place ? ' Emma inquired. She was trying to eat, 
 but it was a sad pretence. 
 
 ' Nay, there's no telling. It's no good my 
 talkin' to him. Why don't you see what you 
 can do, Emma .^ 'Tain't as if he'd no one but 
 his own self to think about. Don't you think 
 you could make him see that ? If anyone has 
 a right to speak it's you. Tell him as he'd 
 
DEMOS 6r 
 
 ought to have a bit more thought. It's wait, 
 wait, wait, and likely to be if things go on like 
 this. Speak up and tell him as ' 
 
 ' Oh, I couldn't do that!' murmured Emma. 
 'Dick knows best.' 
 
 She stopped to listen ; there was a noise 
 above as of people entering the house. 
 
 ' Here they come at last,' said Mrs. Muti- 
 mer. ' Hear him laughin' ? Now, don't you 
 be so ready to laugh with him. Let him see as 
 it ain't such good fun to everybody.' 
 
 Heavy feet tramped down the stone stairs, 
 amid a sound of loud laui^hter and excited talk. 
 The next moment the kitchen door was thrown 
 open, and two young men appeared. The one 
 in advance was Eichard Mutimer ; behind him 
 came a friend of the family, Daniel Dabbs. 
 
 ' Well, what do you think of this ? ' Eichard 
 exclaimed as he shook Emma's hands rather 
 carelessly. ' Mother been putting you out of 
 spirits, I suppose ? Why, it's grand ; the best 
 thing that could have happened ! What a meet- 
 ing we've had to-night ! What do you say, Dan? ' 
 
 Eichard represented — too favourably to 
 make him anything but an exception — the best 
 qualities his class can show. He was the English 
 artisan as we find him on rare occasions, thel 
 issue of a good strain which has managed tof 
 procure a sufficiency of food for two or three 
 generations. His physique was admirable ; 
 
62 DEMOS 
 
 little short of six feet in stature, lie liad shapely 
 shoulders, an erect well-formed head, clean 
 strong limbs, and a bearing which in natural 
 ease and dignity matched that of the picked 
 men of the upper class — those fine creatures 
 whose career, from public school to regimental 
 quarters, is one exclusive course of bodily train- 
 ing. But the comparison, on the whole, was to 
 Eichard's advantage. By no possibility could he 
 have assumed that aristocratic vacuity of visage 
 which comes of carefully induced cerebral 
 atrophy. The air of the workshop suffered 
 little colour to dwell upon his cheeks ; but to 
 features of so pronounced and intelligent a type 
 this pallor added a distinction. He had dark 
 brown hair, thick and long, and a cropped 
 beard of hue somewhat lighter. His eyes were 
 his mother's — keen and direct ; but they had 
 small variety of expression ; you could not 
 imagine them softening to tenderness, or even 
 to thoughtful dreaming. Terribly wide awake, 
 they seemed to be always looking for the weak 
 points of whatever they regarded, and their 
 brightness was not seldom suggestive of malice. 
 His voice was strong and clear ; it would ring 
 out well in public places, which is equivalent to 
 saying that it hardly invited too intimate confer- 
 ence. You will take for granted that Eichard 
 displayed, alike in attitude and tone, a distinct 
 consciousness of his points of superioiity to the 
 
DEMOS 63 
 
 men among whom lie lived ; probably he more 
 than suspected that he could have held his own 
 in spheres to which there seemed small chance 
 of his being summoned. 
 
 Just now he showed at once the best and the 
 weakest of his points. Coming in a state of ex- 
 altation from a meeting'of which he had been 
 tlie eloquent hero, such light as was within him 
 flashed from his face freely ; all the capacity 
 and the vigour which impelled him to strain 
 against the strait bonds of his lot set his body 
 quivering and made music of his utterance. At 
 the same time, his free movements passed easily 
 into swagger, and as he talked on the false 
 notes were not few. A working man gifted 
 with brains and comeliness must, be sure of it, 
 pay penalties for his prominence. 
 
 Quite another man was Daniel Dabbs : in 
 him you saw the proletarian pure and simple. 
 He was thick-set, square-shouldered, rolling in 
 gait; he walked with head bent forward and 
 eyes glancing uneasily, as if from lack of self- 
 confidence. His wiry black hair shone w^ith 
 grease, and no accuracy of razor-play would 
 make his chin white. A man of immense 
 strength, but bull-necked and altogether un- 
 gainly — his heavy fist, with its black veins and 
 terrific knuckles, suggested primitive methods 
 oF settling dispute ; the stumpy fingers, engrimed 
 hopelessly, and the filthy broken nails, showed 
 
64 DEMOS 
 
 how he wrought for a Hving. His face, if you 
 examined it without prejudice, was not ill to 
 look upon ; there was much good humour about 
 the mouth, and the eyes, shrewd enough, could 
 glimmer a kindly light. His laughter was roof- 
 shaking — always a good sign in a man. 
 
 ' And what have you got to say of these 
 fine doings, Mr. Dabbs ? ' Mrs. Mutimer asked 
 him. 
 
 'Why, its hke this 'ere, Mrs. Mutimer,' 
 Daniel began, having seated himself, with hands 
 on widely-parted knees. ' As far as the theory 
 goes, I'm all for Dick ; any man must be as 
 knows his two times two. But about the Long- 
 woods ; well, I tell Dick they've a perfect right 
 to get rid of him, finding him a dangerous enemy, 
 vou see. It was all fair and above board. Young- 
 Stephen Long wood ups an' says — leastways not 
 in these words, but them as means the same — 
 says he, " Look 'ere, Mutimer," he says, " we've 
 no fault to find with you as a workman, but from 
 what we hear of you, it seems you don't care 
 much for us as employers. Hadn't you better 
 find a shop as is run on Socialist principles?" 
 That's all about it, you see ; it's a case of in- 
 compatible temperaments ; there's no ill-feelin', 
 not as between man and man. And that's what 
 I say, too.' 
 
 'Now, Dick,' said Mrs, Mutimer, 'before 
 yuu begin your sermon, who's a-goin' to fetch 
 my beer ? ' 
 
DEMOS 65 
 
 'Eight, Mrs. Mutimer ! ' cried Daniel, slap- 
 ping his leg. ' That's what I call coming from 
 theory to practice. Beer squares all — leastways 
 for the time being — only for the time being, 
 Dick. Where's the jug? Better give me two 
 jugs ; we've had a thirsty night of it.' 
 
 ' We'll make capital of this ! ' said Eichard, 
 walking about the room in Daniel's absence. 
 ' The great point gained is, they've shown 
 they're afraid of me. We'll write it up in the 
 paper next week, see if we don't I It'll do us a 
 sight of good.' 
 
 ' And where's your weekly wages to come 
 from .^ ' inquired his mother. 
 
 ' Oh, I'll look after that. I only wish they'd 
 refuse me all round ; the more of that kind of 
 thing the better for us. I'm not afraid but I 
 can earn my living.' 
 
 Through all this Emma Vine had sat with 
 her thoughtful eyes constantly turned on 
 Eichard. It was plain how pride struggled 
 with anxiety in her mind. When Eichard had 
 kept silence for a moment, she ventured to 
 speak, having tried in vain to meet his look. 
 
 ' Jane's ill again, Eichard,' she said. 
 
 Mutimer had to summon his thoughts from 
 a great distance ; his endeavour to look sympa- 
 thetic was not very successful. 
 
 ' Not the fever again .^ ' 
 
 ' Yes, it is,' she replied sadly. 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
66 DEMOS 
 
 ' Going to work in the wet, I suppose ? ' 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders ; in his present 
 mood the fact was not so much personally in- 
 teresting to him as in the light of another case 
 against capitalism. Emma's sister had to go a 
 long way to her daily employment, and could 
 not afford to ride ; the fifth attack of rheumatic 
 fever was the price she paid for being permitted 
 to earn ten shillings a week. 
 
 Daniel returned with both jugs foaming, his 
 face on a broad grin of anticipation. There was 
 a general move to the table. Eichard began to 
 carve roast beef like a freeman, not by any 
 means like the serf he had repeatedly declared 
 himself in the course of the evening's oratory. 
 
 ' Her Eoyal 'Ighness out ? ' asked Daniel, 
 with constraint not solely due to the fact that 
 his mouth Avas full. 
 
 ' She's round at Mrs. Took's, I should think,' 
 was Mrs. Mutimer's reply. ^ Staying supper, 
 per'aps.' 
 
 Eichard, after five minutes of surprising 
 trencher-work, recommenced conversation. The 
 proceedings of the evening at the hall, which 
 w^as the centre for Socialist gatherings in this 
 neighbourhood, were discussed by him and 
 Daniel with much liveliness. Dan was disposed 
 to take the meeting on its festive and humorous 
 side ; for him, economic agitation w^as a mode 
 oP passing a few hours amid congenial uproar. 
 
DEMOS 67 
 
 Wherever stamping and shouting were called 
 for, Daniel was your rnan. Abuse of employers, 
 it was true, gave a zest to the occasion, and to 
 applaud the martyrdom of others was as cheery 
 an occupation as could be asked ; Daniel had 
 no idea of sacrificing his own weekly wages, 
 and therein resembled most of those who had 
 been loud in uncompromising rhetoric. Eichard, 
 on the other hand, was unmistakably zealous. 
 His sense of humour was not strong, and in 
 any case he would have upheld the serious 
 dignity of his own position. One saw, from 
 his way of speaking, that he believed himself 
 about to become a popular hero ; already in 
 imagination he stood forth on platforms before 
 vast assemblies, and heard his own voice de- 
 nouncing capitalism with force which nothinor 
 could resist. The first taste of applause had 
 given extraordinary impulse to his convictions, 
 and the personal ambition with which they were 
 interwoven. His grandfather's blood was hot 
 in him to-night. Henry Mutimer, dying in 
 hospital of his broken skull, would have found 
 euthanasia, could he in vision have seen this 
 worthy descendant entering upon a career in 
 comparison with which his own was unimportant. 
 The high-pitched voices and the clatter of 
 knives and forks allowed a new-comer to enter 
 the kitchen without being immediately observed. 
 It was a tall girl of interesting and vivacious 
 
68 DEMOS 
 
 appearance ; she wore a dress of tartan, a very 
 small liat trimmed also with tartan and with a 
 red feather, a tippet of brown fur about her 
 shoulders, and a muff of the same material on 
 one of her hands. Her figure was admirable ; 
 from the crest of her gracefully poised head to 
 the tip of her well-chosen boot she was, in hue 
 and structure, the type of mature woman. Her 
 face, if it did not indicate a mind to match her 
 frame, was at the least sweet-featured and pro- 
 voking ; characterless somewhat, but void of 
 danger-signals ; doubtless too good to be merely 
 played with ; in any case, very capable of 
 sending a ray, in one moment or another-, to the 
 shadowy dream ing-place of graver thoughts. 
 Alice Maud Mutimer was nineteen. For two 
 years she had been thus tall, but the grace of 
 her proportions had only of late fully determined 
 itself. Her work in the City warehouse was 
 unexacting ; she had even a faint impress of 
 rose-petal on each cheek, and her eye was ex- 
 cellently clear. Her lips, unfortunately never 
 quite closed, betrayed faultless teeth. Her 
 likeness to Eichard was noteworthy; beyond 
 question she understood the charm of her 
 presence, and one felt that the consciousness 
 might, in her case, constitute rather a safe- 
 guard than otherwise. 
 
 She stood with one hand on the door, sur- 
 veying the table. When the direction of ]\irs. 
 
DEMOS 69 
 
 Mutimer's eyes at length caused Eicliard and 
 Daniel to turn their heads, Alice nodded to each. 
 
 ' What noisy people ! I heard you out ni 
 the square.' 
 
 She was moving past the table, but Daniel, 
 suddenly backing his chair, intercepted her. 
 The girl gave him her hand, and, by way of 
 being jocose, he squeezed it so vehemently that 
 she uttered a shrill ' Oh ! ' 
 
 ' Leave go, Mr. Dabbs ! Leave go, I tell 
 you ! How dare you ? I'll hit you as hard as 
 I can ! ' 
 
 Daniel laughed obstreperously. 
 
 ' Do ! do ! ' he cried. ' What a mighty blow 
 that 'ud be ! Only the left hand, though. I 
 shall get over it.' 
 
 She wrenched herself away, gave Daniel 
 a smart slap on the back, and ran round to the 
 other side of the table, where she kissed Emma 
 affectionately. 
 
 ' How thirsty I am ! ' she exclaimed. ' You 
 haven't drank all the beer, I hope.' 
 
 ' I'm not so sure of that,' Dan replied. 
 ' W^hy, there ain't more than 'arf a pint ; that's 
 not much use for a Eoyal 'Ighness.' 
 
 She poured it into a glass. Alice reached 
 across the table, raised the glass to her lips, 
 and — emptied it. Then she threw off hat, tippet, 
 and gloves, and seated herself. But in a mo- 
 ment she was up and at the cupboard. 
 
70 DEMOS 
 
 ' Now, mother, you don't — you dont say as 
 there's not a pickle ! ' 
 
 Her tone was deeply reproachful. 
 
 'Why, there now,' replied her mother, 
 laughing ; ' I knew what it 'ud be ! I meant 
 to a' got them last night. You'll have to make 
 shift for once.' 
 
 The Princess took her seat with an air of 
 much dejection. Her pretty lips grew muti- 
 nous ; she pushed her plate away. 
 
 ' No supper for me ! The idea of cold meat 
 without a pickle.' 
 
 'What's the time?' cried Daniel. 'Not 
 closing time yet. I can get a pickle -at the 
 " Duke's Arms." Give me a glass, Mrs. Mu- 
 timer.' 
 
 Alice looked up slily, half smihng, half 
 doubtful. 
 
 'You may go,' she said. 'I like to see 
 strong men make themselves useful.' 
 
 Dan rose, and was off at once. He re- 
 turned with the tumbler full of pickled walnuts. 
 Alice emptied half a dozen into her plate, and 
 put one of them whole into her mouth. She 
 would not have been a girl of her class if she 
 had not rehshed this pungent dainty. Fish of 
 any kind, green vegetables, eggs and bacon, 
 with all these a drench of vinegar was indis- 
 pensable to her. And she proceeded to eat a 
 supper scarcely less substantial than that which 
 
DEMOS 71 
 
 had appeased her brother's appetite. Start 
 not, dear reader ; the Princess is only a sub- 
 ordinate heroine, and happens, moreover, to be 
 a living creature. 
 
 'Won't vou take a walnut. Miss Vine?' 
 Daniel asked, pusliing the tumbler to the quiet 
 girl, who had scarcely spoken through the 
 meal. 
 
 She declined the offered dainty, and at the 
 same time rose from the table, saying aside to 
 Mrs. Mutimer that she must be going. 
 
 ' Yes, I suppose you must,' was the reply. 
 ' Shall you have to sit up with Jane ? ' 
 
 ' Not all night, I don't expect.' 
 
 Eichai'd likewise left his place, and, wh(3n 
 she offered to bid liim good-night, said that he 
 would walk a little way with her. In the pas- 
 sage above, which was gas-lighted, he found 
 his hat on a nail, and the two left the house 
 together. 
 
 ' Don't you really mind ? ' Emma asked, 
 looking up into his face as they took their way 
 out of the square. 
 
 ' Not I ! I can get a job at Baldwiu's any 
 day. But I dare say I shan't want one long.' 
 
 ' Not want work P ' 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 * Work ? Oh, plenty of work ; but perhaps 
 not the same kind. We want men who can 
 give their whole time to the struggle — to go 
 
72 DEMOS 
 
 about lecturing and the like. Of course, it isn't 
 everybody can do it.' 
 
 The remark indicated his belief that he knew 
 one man not incapable of leading functions. 
 
 ' And would they pay you ? ' Emma in- 
 quired, simply. 
 
 ' Expenses of that kind are inevitable,' he 
 replied. 
 
 Issuing into the New North Eoad, where 
 there were still many people hastening one way 
 and the other, they turned to the left, crossed 
 the canal — black and silent — and were soon 
 among narrow streets. Every corner brought 
 a whiff of some rank odour, which stole from 
 closed shops and warehouses, and hung heavily 
 on the still air. The public-houses had just 
 extinguished their lights, and in the neigh- 
 bourhood of each was a cluster of lingering 
 men and women, merry or disputatious. Mid- 
 Easter was inviting repose and festivity ; to- 
 morrow would see culmination of riot, and after 
 that it would only depend upon pecuniary re- 
 sources how lonf? the muddled interval between 
 holiday and renewed labour should drag itself 
 out. 
 
 The end of thek walk was the entrance 
 to a narrow passage, which, at a few yards' dis- 
 tance, widened itself and became a street of 
 four-storeyed houses. At present this could not 
 be discerned ; the passage was a mere opening 
 
DEMOS 73 
 
 into massive darkness. Eichard had just been 
 making inquiries about Emma's sister. 
 
 ' You've had the doctor ? ' 
 
 'Yes, we're obliged; she does so dread 
 going to the hospital again. Each time she's 
 longer in getting well.' 
 
 Eichard's hand was in his pocket ; he drew 
 it out and pressed something against the girl's 
 palm. 
 
 ' Oh, how can I ? ' she said, dropping her 
 eyes. ' No — don't — I'm ashamed.' 
 
 ' That's all right,' he urged, not unkindly. 
 ' You'll have to get her what the doctor orders, 
 and it isn't likely you and Kate can afford it.' 
 
 ' You're always so kind, Eichard. But I 
 am — I am ashamed ! ' 
 
 ' I say, Emma, why don't you call me Dick ? 
 I've meant to ask you that many a time.' 
 
 She turned her face away, moving as if 
 abashed. 
 
 ' I don't know. It sounds — perhaps I want 
 to make a difference from what the otliers call 
 you.' 
 
 He laughed with a sound of satisfaction. 
 
 ' Well, you mustn't stand here ; it's a cold 
 night. Try and come Tuesday or Wednesday.' 
 
 ' Yes, I will.' 
 
 ' Good night ! ' he said, and, as he held her 
 hand, bent to the lips which were ready. 
 
 Emma walked along the passage, and for 
 
74 DEMOS 
 
 some distance up the middle of the street. 
 Then she stopped and looked up at one of the 
 black houses. There were lights, more or less 
 curtain-dimmed, in nearly all the windows. 
 Emma regarded a faint gleam in the topmost 
 storey. To that she ascended. 
 
 Mutimer walked homewards at a quick step, 
 whistling to himself A latch-key gave him ad- 
 mission. As he went down the kitchen stairs, 
 he heard his m^other's voice raised in answer, and 
 on opening the door he found that Daniel had 
 departed, and that the supper table was already 
 cleared. Alice, her feet on the fender and 
 her dress raised a little, was engaged in warm- 
 ing herself before going to bed. The object of 
 Mrs. Mutimer's chastisement was the youngest 
 member of the family, known as 'Arry ; even 
 Eichard, who had learnt to be somewhat care- 
 ful in his pronunciation, could not bestow the 
 aspirate upon his brother's name. Henry, aged 
 seventeen, promised to do credit to the Mutimers 
 in physical completeness ; already he was nearly 
 as tall as his eldest brother ; and, even in his 
 lankness, showed the beginnings of well-propor- 
 tioned vigour. But the shape of his head, which 
 was covered with hair of the hghtest hue, did 
 not encourage hope of mental or moral quahties. 
 It was not quite fair to judge his face as seen 
 at present : the vacant grin of half timid, half 
 insolent, resentment made him considerably 
 
DEMOS 75 
 
 more simian of visage than was the case under 
 ordinary circumstances. But the features were 
 unpleasant to look upon ; it was Eichard's face, 
 distorted and enfeebled with impress of sensual 
 instincts. 
 
 ' As long as you live in this house, it shan't 
 go on,' his mother was saying. ' Sunday or 
 Monday, it's no matter ; you'll be home before 
 eleven o'clock, and you'll come home sober. 
 You're no better than a pig ! ' 
 
 'Arry was seated in a far corner of the room, 
 where he had dropped his body on entering. 
 His attire was such as the cheap tailors turn 
 out in imitation of extreme fashions : trousers 
 closely moulded upon the leg, a buff waistcoat, 
 a short coat with pockets everywhere. A very 
 high collar kept his head up against his will ; 
 his necktie was crimson, and passed through a 
 brass ring ; he wore a silver watch-chain, or 
 what seemed to be such. One hand was gloved, 
 and a cane lay across his knees. His attitude 
 was one of relaxed muscle?, his legs very far 
 apart, his body not quite straight. 
 
 ' What d' you call sober, I'd like to know ? ' 
 he rephed, with looseness of utterance. 'I'm 
 as sober 's anybody in this room. If a chap 
 can't go out with 's friends 't Easter an' all ? ' 
 
 ' Easter, indeed ! It's getting to be a regu- 
 lar thing, Saturday and Sunday. Get up and 
 
76 DEMOS 
 
 go to bed ! I'll have my say out with you in 
 the morning, young man.' 
 
 ' Go to bed ! ' repeated the lad with scorn. 
 ' Tell you I ain't had no supper.' 
 
 Eichard had walked to the neighbourhood 
 of the fireplace, and was regarding his brother 
 with anger and contempt. At this point of the 
 dialogue he interfered. 
 
 ' And you won't have any, either, that I'll 
 see to ! What's more, you'll do as your mother 
 bids you, or I'll know the reason why. Go 
 upstairs at once ! ' 
 
 It was not a command to be disregarded. 
 'Arry rose, but half-defiantly. 
 
 ' What have you got to do with it ? You're 
 not my master.' 
 
 ' Do you hear what I say .^ ' Eichard ob- 
 served, yet more autocratically. ' Take your- 
 self off, and at once ! ' 
 
 The lad growled, hesitated, but approached, 
 the door. His motion was slinking ; he could 
 not face Eichard's eye. They heard him stumble 
 up the stairs. 
 
77 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Ox ordinary days Richard of necessity rose 
 early ; a holiday did not lead him to break the 
 rule, for free hours were precious. He had his 
 body well under control ; six hours of sleep he 
 found sufficient to keep him in health, and 
 temptations to personal ease, in whatever form, 
 he resisted as a matter of principle. 
 
 Easter Monday found him down-stairs at 
 half-past six. His mother would to-day allow 
 herself another hour. 'Arry would be down 
 just in time for breakfast, not daring to be late. 
 
 The Princess might be looked for some 
 
 time in the course of the morning ; she was 
 licensed. 
 
 Richard, for purposes of study, used the 
 front parlour. In drawing up the bhnd, he 
 disclosed a room precisely resembliug in essen- 
 tial features hundreds of front parlours in that 
 neighbourhood, or, indeed, in any working-class 
 district of London. Everything was clean ; 
 most things were bright-hued or glistening of 
 
78 DEMOS 
 
 surface. There was the gilt-framed mirror over 
 the mantelpiece, with a yellow clock — whicli 
 did not go — and glass ornaments in front. 
 There was a small round table before the win- 
 dow, supporting wax fruit under a glass case. 
 There was a hearthrug with a dazzling pattern 
 of imaginary flowers. On the blue cloth of the 
 middle table were four showily-bound volumes, 
 arranged symmetrically. On the head of the 
 sofa lay a covering worked of blue and yellow 
 Berlin wools. Two arm-chairs were draped 
 with long white antimacassars, ready to slip off 
 at a touch. As in the kitchen, there was a 
 smell of cleanliness, — of furniture polish, hearth- 
 stone, and black-lead. 
 
 I should mention the ornaments of the walls. 
 The pictures were : a striking landscape of the 
 Swiss type, an engraved portrait of Garibaldi, 
 an unframed view of a certain insurance office, 
 a British baby on a large scale from the Christmas 
 number of an illustrated paper. 
 
 The one singular feature of the room was 
 a small, glass-doored bookcase, full of volumes. 
 They were all of Kichard's purchasing ; to 
 survey tliem was to understand the man, at all 
 events on his intellectual side. Without excep- 
 tion they belonged to that order of literature 
 which, if studied exclusively and for its own 
 sake, — as here it was, — brands a man indelibly, 
 declaring at once the incompleteness of his 
 
DEMOS 79 
 
 education and the deficiency of his instincts. 
 Social, pohtical, religious, — under these three 
 heads the volumes classed themselves, and each 
 class was represented by productions of the 
 ' extreme ' school. The books which a bright 
 youth of fair opportunities reads as a matter 
 of course, rejoices in for a year or two, then 
 throws aside for ever, were here treasured to 
 be the guides of a lifetime. Certain writers of 
 the last century, long ago become only histori- 
 cally interesting, were for Eichard an armoury 
 whence he girded himself for the battles of the 
 day ; cheap reprints of translations of Malthus, 
 of Eobert Owen, of Volney \s ' Euins,' of Thomas 
 Paine, of sundry works of Voltaire, ranked upon 
 his shelves. Moreover, there was a large col- 
 lection of pamphlets, titled wonderfully and of 
 yet more remarkable contents, the authoritative 
 utterances of contemporary gentlemen — and/ 
 ladies — who made it the end of their existencel 
 to prove : that there cannot b}^ any possibility 
 be such a person as Satan ; that the story of 
 creation contained in the Book of Genesis is on 
 no account to be received ; that the begetting of 
 children is a most deplorable oversight ; that to 
 eat flesh is wholly unworthy of a civilised being ; 
 that if every man and woman performed their 
 quota of the world's labour it would be necessary 
 to work for one hour and thirty-seven minutes 
 daily, no jot longer, and that the author^ in 
 
8o DEMOS 
 
 each case, is tlie one person capable of restoring 
 dignity to a down-trodden race and happiness 
 to a blasted universe. Alas, alas ! On this 
 food had Eichard Mutimer pastured his soul 
 since he grew to manhood, on this and this 
 only. English literature was to him a sealed 
 volume ; poetry he scarcely knew by name ; of 
 history he was worse than ignorant, having 
 looked at this period and that through distorting 
 media, and congratulating himself on his clear 
 vision because he saw men as trees walking ; 
 / the bent of his mind would have led him to 
 natural science, but opportunities of instruction 
 were lacking, and the chosen directors of his 
 prejudice taught him to regard every fact, every 
 discovery, as/^?/- or against something. 
 
 A library of pathetic significance, the in- 
 dividual alone considered. Viewed as represen- 
 tative, not without alarming suggestiveness to 
 those who can any longer trouble themselves 
 about the w^orld's future. One dreams of the 
 age when free thought — in the popular sense — 
 will have become universal, when art shall have 
 lost its meaning, worship its holiness, when the 
 Bible will only exist in ' comic ' editions, and 
 Shakespeare be downcried by ' most sweet 
 voices' as a mountebank of reactionary ten- 
 dencies. 
 
 Richard was to lecture on the ensuing 
 Sunday at one of the branch meeting-places of 
 
DEMOS 8r 
 
 his society ; he engaged himseU' this morning 
 in collecting certain data of a statistical kind. 
 He was still at his work when the sound of the 
 postman's knock began to be heard in the 
 square, coming from house to house, drawing 
 nearer at each repetition. Eichard paid no heed 
 to it ; he expected no letter. Yet it seemed 
 there was one for some member of the family ; 
 the letter-carrier's regular tread ascended the 
 five steps to the door, and then two small 
 thunder-claps echoed through the house. There 
 was no letter-box ; Eichard went to answer the 
 knock. An envelope addressed to himself in a 
 small, formal hand. 
 
 His thouglits still busy with other things, 
 he opened the letter mechanically as he re- 
 entered the room. He had never in his life 
 been calmer ; the early hour of study had kept 
 his mind pleasantly active whilst his breakfast 
 appetite sharpened itself. Never was man less 
 prepared to receive startling intelligence. 
 
 He read, then raised his eyes and let them 
 stray from the papers on the table to the wax- 
 fruit before the window, thence to the young 
 leafage of the trees around the Baptist Chapel. 
 He was like a man whose face had been over- 
 flashed by lightning. He read again, then, hold* 
 ing the letter behind him, closed his right hand 
 upon his beard with thoughtful tension. He 
 read a third time, then returned the letter to 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
82 DEMOS 
 
 its envelope, put it in his pocket, and sat down 
 again to his book. 
 
 He was summoned to breakfast in ten 
 minutes. His mother was alone in the kitchen ; 
 she gave him his bloater and his cup of coffee, 
 and he cut himself a sohd slice of bread and 
 butter. 
 
 ' Was the letter for you ? ' she asked. 
 He replied with a nod, and fell patiently to 
 work on the dissection of his bony delicacy. 
 In five minutes Henry approached the table 
 with a furtive glance at his elder brother. But 
 Eichard had no remark to make. The meal 
 proceeded in silence. 
 
 When Eichard had finished, he rose and 
 said to his mother — 
 
 'Have you that railway-guide I brought 
 home a w^eek ago ? ' 
 
 ' I believe I have somewhere. Just look in 
 the cupboard.' 
 
 The guide was found. Eichard consulted 
 it for a few moments. 
 
 ' I have to go oat of London,' he then ob- 
 served. ' It's just possible I shan't get back 
 to-night.' 
 
 A little talk followed about the arrangements 
 of the day, and whether anyone was likely to 
 be at home for dinner. Eichard did not show 
 much interest in the matter ; he went upstairs 
 whistlino' and chaDc^ed the clothin2[ he wore for 
 
DEMOS 83 
 
 his best suit. In a quarter of an liou?' he had 
 left the house. 
 
 He did not return till the eveninir of tlie 
 following day. It was presumed that he had 
 gone ' after a job.' 
 
 When he reached home his mother and 
 Alice were at tea. He walked to the kitchen 
 fireplace, turned his back to it, and gazed with 
 a peculiar expression at the two who sat at table. 
 
 ' Dick's got work,' observed Alice, after a 
 glance at him. ' I can see that in his face.' 
 
 ' Have you, Dick .^ ' asked Mrs. Mu timer. 
 
 ' I have. Work likely to last.' 
 
 'So we'll hope,' commented his mother. 
 ' Where is it ? ' 
 
 ' A good way out of London. Pour me a 
 cup, mother. Where's 'Arry ? ' 
 
 ' Gone out, as usual.' 
 
 ' And why are you having tea witli your 
 hat on. Princess ? ' 
 
 ' Because I'm in a hurry, if you must know 
 everything.' 
 
 Eichard did not seek further information. 
 He drank his tea standing. In five minutes 
 Alice had bustled away for an evening with 
 friends. Mrs. Mutimer cleared the table witli- 
 out speaking. 
 
 'Now get your sewing, mother, and sit 
 down,' began Eichard. ' I want to have a talk 
 with you.' 
 
84 DEMOS 
 
 The mother cast a rather suspicious glance. 
 There was an impressiveness in the young man's 
 look and tone which disposed her to obey with- 
 out remark. 
 
 ' How long is it,' Eichard asked, when at- 
 tention waited upon him, ' since you heard any- 
 thing of father's uncle, my namesake ? ' 
 
 Mrs. Mutimer's face exhibited the dawning 
 of intelligence, an unwrinkling here and there, 
 a shght rounding of the hps. 
 
 '- Why, what of him ? ' she asked in an un- 
 dertone, leaving a needle unthreaded. 
 
 ' The old man's just dead.' 
 
 Agitation seized the listener, agitation of a 
 kind most unusual in her. Her hands trembled, 
 her eyes grew wide. 
 
 ' You haven't heard anything of him lately ? * 
 pursued Eichard. 
 
 ' Heard ? Not I. No more did your father 
 ever since two years afore we was married. I'd 
 always thought he was dead long ago. What 
 of him, Dick ? ' 
 
 ' From what I'm told I thought you'd 
 perhaps been keeping things to yourself. 
 'T wouldn't have been unlike you, mother. 
 He knew all about us, so the lawyer tells me.' 
 
 'The lawyer.^' 
 
 ' Well, I'd better out with it. He's died 
 without a will. His real property — that means 
 his houses and land — belongs to me ; his per- 
 
DEMOS 8£ 
 
 sonal property — that's his money — '11 have to 
 be divided between me, and Alice, and 'Arry. 
 You're out of the sharing, mother.' 
 
 He said it jokingly, but Mrs. Mutimer did 
 not join in his laugh. Her palms were closely 
 pressed together ; still trembling, she gazed 
 straight before her, with a far-off look. 
 
 ' His houses — his land ? ' she murmured, as 
 if she had not quite heard. ' What did he want 
 •with more than one house P ' 
 
 The absurd question was all that could find 
 utterance. She seemed to be reflecting on that 
 point. 
 
 ' Would you like to hear what it all comes 
 to ? ' Richard resumed. His voice was unna- 
 tm^al, forcibly suppressed, quivering at pauses. 
 His eyes gleamed, and there was a centre of 
 warm colour on each of his cheeks. He had 
 taken a note-book from his jDocket, and the 
 leaves rustled under his tremulous fingers. 
 
 ' The lawyer, a man called Yottle, just gave 
 me an idea of the different investments and so 
 on. The real property consists of a couple of 
 houses in Belwick, both let, and an estate at a 
 place called Wanley. The old man had begun 
 mining there ; there's iron. I've got my ideas 
 about that. I didn't go into the house ; people 
 are there still. Now the income.' 
 
 He read his notes : So much in railways, 
 so much averaged yearly from iron-works in 
 
S6 DEMOS 
 
 Belwick, so much in foreign securities, so much 
 disposable at home. Total 
 
 ' Stop, Dick, stop ! ' uttered his mother, under 
 her breath. ' Them figures frighten me; I don't 
 know what they mean. It's a mistake ; they're 
 leading you astray. Now, mind what I say — 
 there's a mistake ! No man with all that money 
 'ud die without a will. You won't get me to 
 believe it, Dick.' 
 
 Eichard laughed excitedly. ' Believe it or 
 not, mother ; I've got my ears and eyes, I 
 hope. And there's a particular reason why he 
 left no will. There was one, but something 
 — I don't know what — happened just before 
 his death, and he was going to make a new one. 
 The will was burnt. He died in church on a 
 Sunday morning; if he'd lived another day, he'd 
 have made a new will. It's no more a mistake 
 than the Baptist Chapel is in the square ! ' A 
 comparison which hardly conveyed all Eichard's 
 meaning; but he was speaking in agitation, more 
 and more quickly, at last almost angrily. 
 
 Mrs. Mutimer raised her hand. ' Be quiet 
 a bit, Dick. It's took me too sudden. I feel 
 queer like.' 
 
 There was silence. The mother rose as if 
 with difficulty, and drew water in a tea-cup from 
 the filter. When she resumed her place, her 
 hands prepared to resume sewing. She looked 
 up, solemnly, sternly. 
 
DEMOS 87 
 
 * Dick, it's bad, bad news ! I'm an old 
 woman, and I must say what I think. It upsets 
 me ; it frightens me. I thought he might a' left 
 you a hundred pounds.' 
 
 ' Mother, don't talk about it till you've had 
 time to think,' said Eichard, stubbornly. 'If 
 this is bad news, what the deuce would you call 
 good ? Just because I've been born and bred a 
 mechanic, does that say I've got no common 
 sense or self-respect ? Are you afraid I shall 
 go and drink myself to death ? You talk like 
 the people who make it their business to sneer 
 at us — the improvidence of the working classes, 
 
 and such d d slander. It's good news for 
 
 me, and it'll be good news for many another 
 man. Wait and see.' 
 
 The mother became silent, keeping her lips 
 tight, and struggling to regain her calmness. 
 She was not convinced, but in argument with 
 her eldest son she always gave way, affection 
 and the pride she had in him aiding her instincts 
 of discretion. In practice she still maintained 
 something of maternal authority, often gaining 
 her point by merely seeming offended. To 
 the two who had not yet reached the year 
 of emancipation she allowed, in essentials, no 
 appeal from her decision. Between her and 
 Richard there had been many a sharp conflict 
 in former days, invariably ending with the lad's 
 submission ; the respect which his mother ex- 
 
SS DEMOS 
 
 acted he in truth felt to be her due, and it was 
 now long since they had openly been at issue 
 on any point. Mrs. Mu timer's views were dis- 
 tinctly Conservative, and hitherto she had never 
 taken Eichard's Eadicalism seriously ; on the 
 whole she had regarded it as a fairly harmless 
 recreation for his leisure hours — decidedly pre- 
 ferable to a haunting of public-houses and music- 
 halls. The loss of his employment caused her 
 a good deal of uneasiness, but she had not ven- 
 tured to do more than throw out hints of her 
 disapproval ; and now, as it seemed, the matter 
 was of no moment. Henceforth she had far 
 other apprehensions, but this first conflict of 
 their views made her reticent. 
 
 ' Just let me tell you how things stand,' 
 Eichard pursued, when his excitement had 
 somewhat subsided ; and he went on to explain 
 the relations between old Mr. Mutimer and 
 the Eldons, which in outline had been de- 
 scribed to him by Mr. Yottle. And then — 
 
 ' The will he had made left all the property 
 to this young Eldon, who was to be trustee for 
 a little money to be doled out to me yearly, 
 just to save me from ruining myself, of course.' 
 Eichard's lips curled in scorn. 'I don't know 
 whether the lawyer thought we ought to offer 
 to give everything up ; he seemed precious 
 anxious to make me understand that the old 
 man had never intended us to have it, and 
 
DEMOS 89 
 
 that he ddd want these other people to have it. 
 Of course, we've nothing to do Avith that. 
 Luck's hick, and I think I know who'll make 
 best use of it.' 
 
 ' Why didn't you tell all this when Alice 
 was here ? ' inquired his mother, seeming herself 
 again, though very grave. 
 
 'I'll tell you. I thought it over, and it 
 seems to me it'll be better if Alice and 'Arry 
 wait a while before they know what'll come to 
 them. They can't take anything till they're 
 twenty-one. Alice is a good girl, but ' 
 
 He hesitated, having caught his mother's 
 eye. He felt that this prudential course justi- 
 fied in a measure her anxiety. 
 
 ' She's a girl,' he pursued, ' and we know 
 that a girl with a lot o' money gets run after 
 by men who care nothing about her and a good 
 deal about the money. Then it's quite certain 
 'Arry won't be any the better for fancying him- 
 self rich. He's going to give us trouble as it 
 is, I can see that. We shall have to take 
 another house, of course, and we can't keep 
 them from knowing that there's money fallen to 
 me. But there's no need to talk about the 
 figures, and if we can make them think it's only 
 me that's better off, so much the better. Alice 
 needn't go to work, and I'm glad of it ; a girl's 
 proper place is at home. You can tell her you 
 want her to help in the new house. 'Arry had 
 
90 DEMOS 
 
 better keep his place awhile. I shouldn't 
 wonder if I find work for him myself before 
 long. I've got plans, but I shan't talk about 
 them just yet.' 
 
 He spoke then of the legal duties which fell 
 upon him as next-of-kin, explaining the neces- 
 sity of finding two sureties on taking out letters 
 of administration. Mr. Yottle had offered him- 
 self for one ; the other Eichard hoped to find 
 in Mr. Westlake, a leader of the Socialist 
 movement. 
 
 ' You want us to go into a big house ? ' asked 
 Mrs. Mutimer. She seemed to pay little at- 
 tention to the wider aspects of the change, 
 but to fix on the details she could best under- 
 stand, those which put her fears in palpable 
 shape. 
 
 ' I didn't say a big one, but a larger than 
 this. We're not going to play the do-nothing 
 gentlefolk ; but all the same our life won't and 
 can't be what it has been. There's no choice. 
 You've worked hard all your life, mother, and 
 it's only fair you should come in for a bit of 
 rest. We'll find a house somewhere out Green 
 Lanes way, or in Highbury or Hollo way.' 
 
 He laughed again. 
 
 ' So there's the best of it — the worst of it, 
 as you say. Just take a night to turn it over. 
 Most likely I shall go to Belwick again to- 
 morrow afternoon.' 
 
DEMOS 91 
 
 He paused, and liis mother, after bending 
 her head to bite off an end of cotton, asked — 
 
 ' You'll tell Emma ? ' 
 
 ' I shall go round to-night' 
 
 A little later Eichard left the house for this 
 purpose. His step was firmer than ever, his 
 head more upright. Walking along the crowded 
 streets, he saw nothing ; there was a fixed smile 
 on his lips, the smile of a man to whom the 
 world pays tribute. Never having sufiered 
 actual want, and blessed with sanguine tem- 
 perament, he knew nothing of that fierce exul- 
 tation, that wrathful triumph over fate, which 
 comes to men of passionate mood smitten by 
 the lightning-flash of unhoped prosperity. At 
 present he was well-disposed to all men ; even' 
 against capitalists and ' profitmongers ' he could 
 not have railed heartily. Capitalists ? Was he 
 not one himself.^ Aye, but he would prove 
 himself such a one as you do not meet with 
 every day ; and the foresight of deeds which 
 should draw the eyes of men upon him, which 
 should shout his name abroad, softened his 
 judgments with the charity of satisfied ambition. 
 He would be the glorified representative of his 
 class. He would show the world how a self- 
 taught working man conceived the duties and 
 privileges of wealth. He would shame those 
 dunder-headed, callous-hearted aristocrats, those 
 ravening bourgeois. Opportunity — what else 
 
92 DEMOS 
 
 had he wanted ? No longer would his voice 
 be lost in petty lecture-halls, answered only 
 by the applause of a handful of mechanics. 
 Ere many months had passed, crowds should 
 throng to hear him ; his gospel would be 
 trumpeted over the land. To what might he 
 not attain? The educated, the refined, men 
 and women 
 
 He was at the entrance of a dark passage, 
 where his feet stayed themselves by force of 
 habit. He turned out of the street, and walked 
 more slowly towards the house in which Emma 
 Vine and her sisters lived. Having reached the 
 door, he paused, but again took a few paces 
 forward. Then he came back and rang the 
 uppermost of ^^^ bells. In waiting, he looked 
 vaguely up and down the street. 
 
 It was Emma herself who opened to him. 
 The dim light showed a smile of pleasure and 
 surprise. 
 
 * You've come to ask about Jane ? ' she 
 said. ' She hasn't been quite so bad since last 
 night.' 
 
 ' I'm glad to hear it. Can I come up r ' 
 
 ' Will you ? ' 
 
 He entered, and Emma closed the door. It 
 was pitch dark. 
 
 ' I wish I'd brought a candle down,' Emma 
 said, moving back along the passage. ' Mind, 
 there's a pram at the foot of the stairs.'^ 
 
DEMOS 93 
 
 The perambulator was avoided successfully 
 by both, and they ascended the bare boards of 
 the staircase. On each landing prevailed a 
 distinct odour ; first came the damp smell of 
 newly-washed clothes, then the scent of fried 
 onions, then the work-room of some small 
 craftsman exhaled varnish. The topmost floor 
 seemed the purest ; it was only stuffy. 
 
 Eichard entered an uncarpeted room which 
 had to serve too many distinct purposes to allow 
 of its being orderly in appearance. In one 
 corner was a bed, where two little children lay 
 asleep ; before the window stood a sewing- 
 macliine, about which was heaped a quantity gf 
 linen ; a table in the midst was half covered 
 with a cloth, on which was placed a loaf and 
 butter, the other half being piled with several 
 dresses requiring the needle. Two black patches 
 on the low ceiling showed in what positions the 
 lamp stood by turns. 
 
 Emma's eldest sister was moving about the 
 room. Hers were the children ; her husband 
 had been dead a year or more. She was about 
 thirty years of age, and had a slatternly appear- 
 ance ; her face was peevish, and seemed to 
 grudge the half-smile with which it received 
 the visitor. 
 
 ' You've no need to look round you,' she 
 said. ' We're in a regular pig-stye, and likely 
 to be. Where's there a chair ? ' 
 
94 DEMOS 
 
 She shook some miscellaneous articles on to 
 the floor to provide a seat. 
 
 ' For mercy's sake don't speak too loud, and 
 wake them children. Bertie's had the ear- 
 ache ; he's been crying all day. What with 
 hhn and Jane, we've had a blessing, I can tell 
 you. Can I put these supper things away, 
 Emma?' 
 
 ' I'll do it,' was the other's reply. ' Won't 
 you have a bit more, Kate ? ' 
 
 ' I've got no mind for eating. Well, you 
 may cut a slice and put it on the mantelpiece. 
 I'll go and sit with Jane.' 
 
 Eichard sat and looked about the room 
 absently. The circumstances of his own family 
 had never fallen below the point at which it is 
 possible to have regard for decency ; the grow- 
 ing up of himself and of his brothers and sister 
 had brought additional resources to meet ex- 
 tended needs, and the Mutimer characteristics 
 had formed a safeguard against improvidence. 
 He was never quite at his ease in this poverty- 
 cumbered room, which he seldom visited. 
 
 ' You ought to have a fire,' he said. 
 
 ' There's one in the other room,' replied 
 Kate. ' One has to serve us.' 
 
 ' But you can't cook there.' 
 
 ' Cook ? We can boil a potato, and that's 
 about all the cooking we can do now-a-days.' 
 
 She moved to the door as she spoke, and, 
 
DEMOS 95 
 
 before leaving the rooiii, took advantage of 
 EicharcVs back being turned to make certain 
 exhortatory signs to her sister. Emma averted 
 her head. 
 
 Kate closed the door behind her. Emma, 
 having removed the eatables to the cupboard, 
 came near to Eichard and placed her arm 
 gently upon his shoulders. He looked at her 
 kindly. 
 
 ' Kate's been so put about with Bertie,' she 
 said, in a tone of excuse. ' And she was up 
 nearly all last night.' 
 
 ' She never takes things like you do,' 
 Eichard remarked. 
 
 ' She's got more to bear. There's the chil- 
 dren always making her anxious. She took 
 Alf to the hospital this afternoon, and the 
 doctor says he must have — I forget the name, 
 somebody's food. But it's two and ninepence 
 for ever such a little tin. They don't think as 
 his teeth '11 ever come.' 
 
 ' Oh, I dare say they will,' said Eichard en- 
 couragingly. 
 
 He had put his arm about her. Emma 
 knelt down by him, and rested her head against 
 his shoulder. 
 
 ' I'm tired,' she whispered. ' I've had to 
 go twice to the Minories to-day. I'm so afraid 
 I shan't be able to hold my eyes open with 
 Jane, and Kate's tireder still.' 
 
96 DEMOS 
 
 She did not speak as if seeking for sympa- 
 thy ; it was only the natural utterance of her 
 thoughts in a moment of restful confidence. 
 Uttermost weariness was a condition too fami- 
 liar to the girl to be spoken of in any but a 
 patient, matter-of-fact tone. But it was price- 
 less soothing to let her forehead repose against 
 the heart whose love was the one and sufficient 
 blessing of her life. Her brown hair was very 
 soft and fine ; a lover of another kind would 
 have pressed his hps upon it. Eichard was 
 thinking of matters more practical. At an- 
 other time his indignation — in such a case right 
 good and manful — would have boiled over at 
 the thought of these poor women crushed in 
 slavery to feed the world's dastard selfishness ; 
 this evening his mood was more complaisant, 
 and he smiled as one at ease. 
 
 'Hadn't you better give up your work? ' he 
 said. 
 
 Emma raised her head. In the few mo- 
 ments of repose her eyelids had drooped with 
 growing heaviness ; she looked at him as if 
 she had just been awakened to some great 
 surprise. 
 
 ' Give up work ? How can I ? ' 
 
 ' I think I would. You'd have more time 
 to give to Jane, and you coukl sleep in the day. 
 And Jane had better not begin again after this. 
 Don't you think it would be better if you left 
 
DEMOS 97 
 
 these lodgings and took a house, where there'd 
 be plenty of room and fresh air ? ' 
 
 ' Eichard, what are you talking about ? ' 
 
 He laughed, quietly, on account of the sleep- 
 ing children. 
 
 ' How would you like,' he continued, ' to go 
 and live in the country ? Kate and Jane could 
 have a house of their own, you know — in 
 London, I mean, a house like ours ; they could 
 let a room or two if they chose. Then you and 
 I could go where we liked. I was down in the 
 Midland Counties yesterday ; had to go on 
 business ; and I saw a house that would just 
 suit us. It's a bit large; I dare say there's 
 sixteen or twenty rooms. And there's trees 
 growing all about it ; a big garden ' 
 
 Emma dropped her head again and laughed, 
 happy th^ Eichard should jest with her so good- 
 humouredly ; for he did not often talk in the 
 lighter way. She had read of such houses in 
 the weekly story-papers. It must be nice to 
 live in them ; it must be nice to be a denizen 
 of Paradise. 
 
 ' I'm in earnest, Emma.' 
 
 His voice caused her to gaze at him again. 
 
 ' Bring a chair,' he said, ' and 111 tell you 
 something that'll — keep you awake.' 
 
 The insensible fellow ! Her sweet, pale, 
 wondering face was so close to his, the warmth 
 
 VOL. T. H 
 
98 DEMOS 
 
 of her drooping frame was against his heart — 
 and he bade her sit apart to listen. 
 
 She placed herself as he desired, sitting with 
 her hands together in her lap, her countenance 
 troubled a little, wishing to smile, yet not quite 
 venturing. And he told his story, told it in all 
 details, with figures that filled the mouth, that 
 rolled forth like gold upon the bank-scales. 
 
 ' This is mine,' he said, ' mine and yours.' 
 
 Have you seen a child listening to a long 
 fairy tale, every page a new adventure of 
 wizardry, a story of elf, or mermaid, or 
 gnome, of treasures underground guarded by 
 enchanted monsters, of bells heard silverly in 
 the depth of old forests, of castles against the 
 sunset, of lakes beneath the quiet moon ? 
 Know you how light gathers in the eyes dream- 
 ing on vision after vision, ever more intensely 
 realised, yet ever of an unknown world ? How, 
 Avhen at length the reader's voice is silent, the 
 eyes still see, the ears still hear, until a move- 
 ment breaks the spell, and with a deep, invo- 
 luntary sigh the little one gazes here and there, 
 wondering ? 
 
 So Emma listened, and so she came back 
 to consciousness, looking about the room, in- 
 credulous. Had she been overcome with weari- 
 ness ? Had she slept and dreamt I' 
 
 One of the children stirred and uttered a 
 little wailing sound. She stepped lightly to the 
 
DEMOS 99 
 
 bedside, bent for a moment, saw that all was 
 well again, and came back on tip-toe. The 
 simple duty had quieted her throbbing heart. 
 She seated herself as before. 
 
 ' What about the country house now ? ' said 
 Eichard. 
 
 ' I don't know what to say. It's more than 
 I can take into my head.' 
 
 ' You're not going to say, like mother did, 
 that it was the worst piece of news she'd ever 
 heard ? ' 
 
 ' Your mother said that ? ' 
 
 Emma was startled. Had her thought 
 passed lightly over some danger? She ex- 
 amined her mind rapidly. 
 
 ' I suppose she said it,' Eichard explained, 
 'just because she didn't know what else to say, 
 that's about the truth. But there certainly is 
 one thing I'm a little anxious about, myself. I 
 don't care for either Alice or 'Arry to know the 
 details of this windfall. They won't come in 
 for their share till they're of age, and it's just 
 as well they should think it's only a moderate 
 little sum. So don't talk about it, Emma.' 
 
 The girl was still musing on Mrs. Mutimer's 
 remark ; she merely shook her head. 
 
 ' You didn't think you were going to marry 
 a man with his thousands and be a lady ? Well, 
 I shall have more to say in a day or two. But 
 at present my idea is that mother and the rest 
 
 H 2 
 
loo DEMOS 
 
 of tliem shall go into a larger bouse, and that 
 you and Kate and Jane shall take our place. I 
 don't know how long it'll be before those Eldon 
 people can get out of Wanley Manor, but as 
 soon as they do, why then there's nothing to 
 prevent you and me going into it. Will that 
 suit you, Em ? ' 
 
 ' We shall really live in that big house ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly we shall. I've got a life's work 
 before me there, as far as I can see at present. 
 The furniture belongs to Mrs. Eldon, I believe ; 
 we'll furnish the place to suit ourselves.' 
 
 ' May I tell my sisters, Eichard .^ ' 
 
 ' Just tell them that I've come in -for some 
 money and a house, perhaps that's enough. And 
 look here, I'll leave you this five-pound note 
 to go on with. You must get Jane whatever 
 the doctor says. And throw all that sewing 
 out of the windows ; we'll have no more convict 
 labour. Tell Jane to get well just as soon as 
 it suits her.' 
 
 ' But— all this money ? ' 
 
 'I've plenty. The lawyer advanced me 
 some for present needs. Now it's getting late, 
 I must go. I'll write and tell you when I shall 
 be home again.' 
 
 He held out his hand, but the girl embraced 
 him with the restrained tenderness which in her 
 spoke so eloquently. 
 
 ' Are you glad, Emma? ' he asked. 
 
DEMOS loi 
 
 ' Very glad, for your sake.' 
 * And just a bit for your own, eh ? ' 
 ' I never thought about money,' she answered . 
 * It was quite enough to be your wife.' 
 It was the simple truth. 
 
DEMOS 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 At eleven o'clock the next morning Eichard 
 presented himself at the door of a house in 
 Avenue Eoad, St. John's Wood, and expressed 
 a desire to see Mr. Westlake. That gentleman 
 was at home ; he received the visitor in his 
 study — a spacious room, luxuriously furnished, 
 with a large window looking upon a lawn. 
 The day was sunny and warm, but a clear fire 
 equalised the temperature of the room. There 
 was an odour of good tobacco, always most 
 delig:htful when it blends with the scent of rich 
 bindings. 
 
 It was Eichard' s first visit to this house. 
 A few days ago he would, in spite of himself, 
 have been somewhat awed by the man-servant 
 at the door, the furniture of the hall, the air of 
 refinement in the room he entered. At present 
 he smiled on everything. Could he not com- 
 mand the same as soon as he chose ? 
 
 Mr. Westlake rose from his writing-table 
 and greeted his visitor with a hearty grip of 
 
DEMOS 103 
 
 the hand. He was a man pleasant to look 
 upon ; his face, full of intellect, shone with the 
 light of good- will, and the easy carelessness of 
 his attire prepared one for the genial sincerity 
 which marked his way of speaking. He wore 
 a velvet jacket, a grey waistcoat buttoning up 
 to the throat, grey trousers, fur-bordered slip- 
 pers ; his collar was very deep, and instead of 
 the ordinary shirt -cuffs his wrists w^ere enclosed 
 in frills. Long-haired, full-bearded, he had the 
 forehead of an idealist and eyes whose natural 
 expression was an indulgent smile. 
 
 A man of letters, he had struggled from 
 obscure poverty to success and ample means ; 
 at three-and-thirty he was still hard pressed to 
 make both ends meet, but the ten subsequent 
 years had built for him this pleasant home and 
 banished his long familiar anxieties to the land 
 of nightmare. ' It came just in time,' he was 
 in the habit of saying to those who had his 
 confidence. ' I was at the point where a man 
 begins to turn sour, and I should have soured 
 in earnest.' The process had been most 
 effectually arrested. People were occasionally 
 found to say that his books had a tang of 
 acerbity ; possibly this was the safety-valve at 
 work, a hint of what might have come had the 
 old hunger-demons kept up their goading. In 
 the man himself you discovered an extreme 
 simphcity of feehng, a frank tenderness, a noble 
 
104 DEMOS 
 
 indignation. For one who knew him it was 
 not dilficult to understand that he should have 
 taken up extreme social views, still less that he 
 should act upon his convictions. All his writing 
 foretold such a possibility, though on the other 
 hand it exhibited devotion to forms of culture 
 which do not as a rule predispose to democratic 
 agitation. The explanation was perhaps too 
 simple to be readily hit upon ; the man was 
 himself so supremely happy that with his dis 
 position the thought of tyrannous injustice 
 grew intolerable to him. Some incidents 
 happened to set his wrath blazing, and hence- 
 forth, in spite of not a little popular ridicule 
 and much shaking of the head among his 
 friends, Mr. Westlake had his mission. 
 
 ' I have come to ask your advice and help,' 
 be^an Mutimer with directness. He was con- 
 scions of the necessity of subduing his voice, 
 and had a certain ])leasure in the ease with 
 whicli he achieved this feat. It would not 
 have been so easy a day or two ago. 
 
 ' Ah, about this awkward affair of yours,' 
 observed Mr. Westlake with reference to 
 Kichard's loss of his employment, of which, as 
 editor of the Union's weekly paper, he had of 
 course at once been apprised. 
 
 'No, not about that. Since then a very 
 unexpected thing has happened to me.' 
 
 The story was once more related, vastly to 
 
DEMOS 105 
 
 Mr. Westlake's satisfaction. Cheerful news 
 concerning his friends always put him in the 
 best of spirits. 
 
 He shook his head, laughing. 
 
 ' Come, come, Mutimer, this'll never do ! 
 I'm not sure that we shall not have to consider 
 your expulsion from the Union.' 
 
 Eichard went on to mention the matters of 
 legal routine in which he hoped Mr. West- 
 lake would serve him. These having been 
 settled — 
 
 ' I wish to speak of something more im- 
 portant,' he said. ' You take it for granted, I 
 hope, that I'm not going to make the ordinary 
 use of this fortune. As yet I've only been able 
 to hit on a few general ideas. I'm clear as to 
 the objects I shall keep before me, but how 
 best to serve them wants more reflection. I 
 thought if I talked it over with you in the first 
 place ' 
 
 The door opened, and a lady half entered 
 the room. 
 
 ' Oh, I thought you were alone,' she re- 
 marked to Mr. Westlake. ' Forgive me ! ' 
 
 ' Come in ! Here's our friend Mutimer. 
 You know Mrs. Westlake ? ' 
 
 A few words had passed between this lady 
 and Eichard in the lecture-room a few weeks 
 before. She was not frequently present at such 
 meetings, but had chanced, on the occasion 
 
io6 DEMOS 
 
 referred to, to hear Mutimer deliver an ha- 
 rangue. 
 
 ' You have no objection to talk of your 
 plans ? Join our council, will you ? ' he 
 added to his wife. ' Our friend brings interest- 
 ing news.' 
 
 Mrs. Westlake walked across the room to 
 the curved window-seat. Her age could 
 scarcely be more than three- or four-and-twenty ; 
 she was very dark, and her face grave almost 
 to melancholy. Black hair, cut short at its 
 thickest behind her neck, gave exquisite relief 
 to features of the purest Greek type. In 
 listening to anything that held her attention 
 her eyes grew large, and their dark orbs seemed 
 to dream passionately. The white swan's down 
 at her throat — she was perfectly attired — made 
 the skin above resemble rich-hued marble, 
 and indeed to gaze at her long was to be im- 
 pressed as by the sad lovehness of a supreme 
 work of art. As Mutimer talked she leaned 
 forward, her elbow on her knee, the back of 
 her hand supporting her chin. 
 
 Her husband recounted what Eichard had 
 tokl him, and the latter proceeded to sketch 
 the projects he had in view. 
 
 ' My idea is,' he said, ' to make the mines 
 at Wanley the basis of great industrial under- 
 takings, just as any capitahst might, but to 
 conduct these undertakings in a way consistent 
 
DEMOS 107 
 
 with our views. I would begin by building 
 furnaces, and in time add engineering works on 
 a large scale. I would build houses for the 
 men, and in fact make that valley an industrial 
 settlement conducted on Socialist principles. 
 Practically I can devote the whole of my 
 income ; my personal expenses will be not 
 worth taking into account. The men must be 
 paid on a just scheme, and the margin of profit 
 that remains, all that we can spare from the 
 extension of the w^orks, shall be devoted to the 
 Socialist propaganda. In fact, I should like to 
 make the executive committee of the Union 
 a sort of board of directors — and in a very 
 different sense from the usual — for the Wanley 
 estate. My personal expenditure deducted, I 
 should like such a committee to have the 
 practical control of funds. All this wealth was 
 made by plunder of the labouring class, and I 
 shall hold it as trustee for them. Do these 
 ideas seem to you of a practical colour ? ' 
 
 Mr. Westlake nodded slowly twice. His 
 wife kept her listening attitude unchanged ; 
 her eyes ' dreamed against a distant goal.' 
 
 'As I see the scheme,' pursued Eichard, 
 who spoke all along somewhat in the lecture- 
 room tone, the result of a certain embarrass- 
 ment, ' it will differ considerably from the 
 Socialist experiments we know of We shall 
 be working not only to support ourselves, but 
 
io8 DEMOS 
 
 every bit as much set on profit as any capitalist 
 in Belwick. The difference is, that the profit 
 will benefit no individual, but the Cause. 
 There'll be no attempt to carry out the idea of 
 every man receiving the just outcome of his 
 labour ; not because I shouldn't be vrilling to 
 share in that way, but simply because we have 
 a greater end in view than to enrich ourselves. 
 Our men must all be members of the Union, 
 and their prime interest must be the advance- 
 ment of the principles of the Union. We 
 shall be able to establish new papers, to hire 
 halls, and to spread ourselves over the country. 
 It'll be fighting the capitalist manufacturers 
 with their own weapons. I can see plenty 
 of difficulties, of course. All England '11 be 
 against us. Never mind, we'll defy them all, 
 and we'll win. It'll be the work of my life, 
 and we'll see if an honest purpose can't go as 
 far as a thievish one.' 
 
 The climax would have brought crashing 
 cheers at Commonwealth Hall ; in Mr. West- 
 lake's study it was received with well-bred 
 expressions of approval. 
 
 ' Well, Mutimer,' exclaimed the idealist, 
 ' all this is intensely interesting, and right 
 glorious for us. One sees at last a possibility 
 of action. I ask nothing better than to be 
 allowed to work with you. It happens very 
 luckily that you are a practical engineer. I 
 
DEMOS 
 
 109 
 
 suppose the mechanical details of the under- 
 taking are entirely within your province ? ' 
 
 ' Not quite, at present,' Mutimer admitted, 
 ' but I shall have valuable help. Yesterday I 
 had a meeting with a man named Eodman, a 
 raining engineer, who has been working on 
 the estate. He seems just the man I shall 
 want ; a Socialist already, and delighted to join 
 in the plans I just hinted to him.' 
 
 ' Capital ! Do you propose, then, that we 
 shall call a special meeting of the Committee .^ 
 Or would you prefer to suggest a committee of 
 your own ? ' 
 
 ' No, I think our own committee will do 
 very well, at all events for the present. The 
 first thing, of course, is to get the financial 
 details of our scheme put into shape. I go to 
 Belwick again this afternoon ; my sohcitor 
 must get his business thrcuoh as soon as pos- 
 sible.' 
 
 ' You will reside for the most part at 
 Wanley ? ' 
 
 ' At the Manor, yes. It is occupied just 
 now, but I suppose will soon be free.' 
 
 ' Do you know that part of the country, 
 Stella ? ' Mr. Westlake asked of his wife. 
 
 She roused herself, drawing in her breath, 
 and uttered a short negative. 
 
 ' As soon as I get into the house,' Eichard 
 resumed to Mr. Westlake, ' I hope you'll come 
 
no 
 
 DEMOS 
 
 and examine the place. It's unfortunate that 
 the railway misses it by about three miles, but 
 Eodman tells me we can easily run a private 
 line to Agworth station. However, the first 
 thing is to get our committee at work on the 
 scheme.' Eichard repeated this phrase with 
 gusto. ' Perhaps you could bring it up at the 
 Saturday meeting ? ' 
 
 ' You'll be in town on Saturday ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; I have a lecture in Ishngton on 
 Sunday.' 
 
 ' Saturday w^ill do, then. Is this confi- 
 dential ? ' 
 
 ' Not at all. We may as well get as much 
 encouragement out of it as we can. Don't 
 you think so ? ' 
 
 "• Certainly.' 
 
 Eichard did not give expression to his 
 thought that a paragraph on the subject in 
 the Union's weekly organ, the ' Fiery Cross,' 
 might be the best way of promoting such 
 encouragement ; but he delayed his departure 
 for a few minutes with talk round about the 
 question of the prudence w^hich must necessarily 
 be observed in publishing a project so undi- 
 gested. Mr. Westlake, who was responsible 
 for the paper, was not likely to transgress the 
 limits of good taste, and when Eichard, on 
 Saturday morning, searched eagerly the columns 
 of the ' Cross,' he was not altogether satisfied 
 
DEMOS III 
 
 with the extreme discretion which marked a 
 brief paragraph among those headed : '" From 
 Day to Day.' However, many of the readers 
 were probably by that time able to supply the 
 missing proper-name. 
 
 It was not the fault of Daniel Dabbs if 
 members of the Hoxton and Islington branch 
 of the Union read the paragraph without 
 understanding to whom it referred. Daniel 
 was among the first to hear of what had be- 
 fallen the Mutimer family, and from the circle 
 of his fellow-workmen the news spread quickly. 
 Talk was rife on the subject of Mutimer 's 
 dismissal from Longwood Brothers', and the 
 sensational rumour which followed so quickly 
 found an atmosphere well prepared for its 
 transmission. Hence the unusual concourse 
 at the meeting-place in Islington next Sunday 
 evening, where, as it became known to others 
 besides Socialists, Mutimer was ens^as^ed to 
 lecture. Eichard experienced some vexation 
 that his lecture was not to be at Common- 
 wealth Hall, where the gathering would doubt- 
 less have been much larger. 
 
 The Union was not wealthy. The central 
 hall was rented at Mr. Westlake's expense ; 
 two or three branches were managino- with 
 difficulty to support regular places of assembly, 
 such as could not being obliged as yet to con- 
 tent themselves with open-air lecturing. In 
 
112 DEMOS 
 
 Islington the leaguers met in a room behind a 
 coffee-shop, ordinarily used for festive purposes ; 
 benches were laid across the floor, and an 
 estrade at the upper end exalted chairman and 
 lecturer. The walls were adorned with more 
 or less striking advertisements of non-alcoholic 
 beverages, and with a few prints from the 
 illustrated papers. The atmosphere was to- 
 baccoey, and the coffee-shop itself, through 
 which the visitors had to make their way, 
 sugfcrested to the nostrils that bloaters are the 
 working man's chosen delicacy at Sunday tea. 
 A table just v>'ithin the door of the lecture- 
 room exposed for sale sundry Socialist -publica- 
 tions, the latest issue of the ' Fiery Cross ' in 
 particular. 
 
 Eichard was wont to be amongj the earliest 
 arrivals ; to-night he was full ten minutes 
 behind the hour for which the lecture was 
 advertised. A group of friends were standing 
 about the table near the door ; they received 
 him with a bustle which turned all eyes thither- 
 wards. He walked up the middle of the room 
 to the platform. As soon as he was well in 
 the eye of the meeting, a single pair of hands 
 — Daniel Dabbs owned them — gave the signal 
 for uproar; feet made play on the boarding, 
 and one or two of the more enthusiastic revo- 
 lutionists fairly gave tongue. Eichard seated 
 himself with grave countenance, and surveyed 
 
DEMOS 113 
 
 the assembly ; from fifty to sixty people were 
 present, among them three or four women, and 
 the number continued to grow. The chairman 
 and one or two leading spirits had followed 
 Mutimer to the place of distinction, where 
 they talked with him. 
 
 Punctuahty was not much regarded at these 
 meetings ; the lecture was announced for eight, 
 but rarely began before half-past. The present 
 being an occasion of exceptional interest, twenty 
 minutes past the hour saw the chairman rise 
 for his prefatory remarks. He was a lank 
 man of jovial countenance and jerky enuncia- 
 tion. There was no need, he observed, to in- 
 troduce a friend and comrade so well known 
 to them as the lecturer of the evening. ' We're 
 always glad to hear him, and to-night, if I may 
 be allowed to 'int as much, we're particularly 
 glad to hear him. Our friend and comrade is 
 going to talk to us about the Land. It's a 
 question we can't talk or think too much 
 about, and Comrade Mutimer has thought 
 about it as much and more than any of us, I 
 think I may say. I don't know,' the chairman 
 added, with a sly Icok across the room, 
 'whether our friend's got any new views on 
 this subject of late. I shouldn't wonder if he 
 had.' Here sounded a roar of laughter, led off 
 by Daniel Dabbs. ' Hows'ever, be that as it 
 may, we can answer for it as any views he may 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
114 
 
 DEMOS 
 
 hold is tlie right views, and the honest views, 
 and the views of a man as means to do a good 
 deal more than talk about his convictions ! ' 
 
 Again did the stentor-note of Daniel ring 
 forth, and it was amid thunderous cheering 
 thatEichard left his chair and moved to the 
 front of the platform. His Sunday suit of 
 black was still that with which his friends were 
 familiar, but his manner, though the audience 
 probably did not perceive the detail, was un- 
 mistakably changed. He had been wont to 
 begin his address with short, stinging periods, 
 with sneers and such bitterness of irony as 
 came within his compass. To-night he struck 
 quite another key, mellow, confident, hinting 
 at personal satisfaction ; a smile was on his lips, 
 and not a smile of scorn. He rested one hand 
 against his side, holding in the other a scrap 
 of paper with jotted items of reasoning. His 
 head was thrown a little back ; he viewed the 
 benches from beneath his eyelids. True, the 
 pose maintained itself but for a moment. I 
 mention it because it was something new in 
 Eichard. 
 
 He spoke of the land ; he attacked the old 
 monopoly, and visioned a time when a claim to 
 individual ownerships of the earth's surface 
 w^ould be as ludicrous as w^ere now the assertion 
 of title to a fee-simple somewhere in the moon. 
 He mustered statistics ; he adduced historic 
 
DEMOS 115 
 
 and contemporary example of tlie just and the 
 unjust in land-holding ; he gripped the throat 
 of a certain English duke, and held him up for 
 flagellation ; he drifted into oceans of economic 
 theory ; he sat down by the waters of Babylon ; 
 he climbed Pisgah. Had he but spoken of 
 backslidings in the wilderness ! But for that 
 fatal omission, the lecture was, of its kind, good. 
 By degrees Eichard forgot his pose and the 
 carefully struck note of mellowness ; he began 
 to believe what he was saying, and to say it 
 with the right vigour of popular oratory. 
 Forget his struggles with the h-fiend ; forget 
 liis syntactical lapses ; you saw that after all 
 the man had within him a clear flame of con- 
 science ; that he had felt before speaking that 
 speech was one of the uses for which Nature 
 had expressly framed him. His invective 
 seldom degenerated into vulgar abuse; one dis- 
 cerned in him at least the elements cf what we 
 call good taste ; of simple manliness he dis- 
 closed not a little ; he had some command of 
 pathos. In conclusion, he finished without 
 reference to his personal concerns. 
 
 The chairman invited questions, preliminary 
 to debate. 
 
 He rose half-way down the room, — the 
 man who invariably rises on these occasions. 
 He was oldish, with bent shoulders, and wore 
 spectacles — probably a clerk of forty years' 
 
1 16 DEMOS 
 
 standing. In his hand was a small note-book, 
 which he consulted. He began with measured 
 utterance, emphatic, loud. 
 
 ' I wish to propose to the lecturer seven 
 questions. I will read them in order ; I have 
 taken some pains to word them clearly.' 
 
 Eichard has his scrap of paper on his knee. 
 He jots a word or two after each deliberate 
 interrogation, smiling. 
 
 Other questioners succeeded. Eichard re- 
 plies to them. He fails to satisfy the man of 
 seven queries, who, after repeating this and the 
 other of the seven, professes himself still un- 
 satisfied, shakes his head indulgently, walks 
 from the room. 
 
 The debate is opened. Behold a second 
 inevitable man ; he is not well-washed, his 
 shirt-front shows a beer-stain ; he is angry 
 before he begins. 
 
 ' I don't know whether a man as doesn't 
 'old with these kind o' theories '11 be allowed a 
 fair 'earin ' 
 
 Indignant interruption. Cries of ' Of course 
 he will ! ' — ' Who ever refused to hear you ? ' 
 — and the hke. 
 
 He is that singular phenomenon, that self- 
 contradiction, that expression insoluble into 
 factors of common-sense — the Conservative 
 working man. What do they want to be at? 
 he demands. Do they suppose as this kind of 
 
DEMOS 117 
 
 talk '11 make wages higher, or enable the poor 
 man to get his beef and beer at a lower rate ? 
 
 What's the d d good of it all? Figures, 
 
 eh ? He never heered yet as figures made a 
 meal for a man as hadn't got one ; nor yet as 
 they provided shoes and stockings for his young 
 'uns at 'ome. It made him mad to listen, that 
 it did ! Do they suppose as the rich men '11 
 give up the land, if they talk till all's blue ? 
 Wasn't it human natur to get all you can and 
 stick to it ? 
 
 ' Pig's nature I ' cries someone from the front 
 benches. 
 
 'There!' comes the rejoinder. 'Didn't I 
 say as there was no fair 'earing for a man as 
 didn't say just what suits you? ' 
 
 The voice of Daniel Dabbs is loud in good- 
 tempered mockery. Mockery comes from every 
 side, an angry note here and there, for the most 
 part tolerant, jovial. 
 
 ' Let him speak ! 'Ear him ! Hoy ! Hoy ! ' 
 
 The chairman interposes, but by the time 
 that order is restored the Conservative work- 
 ing man has thrust liis hat upon his head and 
 is off to the nearest public-house, muttering 
 oaths. 
 
 Mr. Cullen rises, at the same time rises Mr. 
 Cowes. These two gentlemen are fated to rise 
 simultaneously. They scowl at each other. 
 Mr. Cullen begins to speak, and Mr. Cowes, 
 
ITS DEMOS 
 
 after a circular glance of protest, resumes his 
 seat. The echoes tell that we are in for 
 oratory with a vengeance. Mr. Cullen is a 
 short, stout man, very seedily habited, with a 
 great rough head of hair, an aquiline nose, 
 lungs of vast power. His vein is King Cam- 
 byses' ; he tears passion to tatters; he roars 
 leonine ; he is your man to have at the pam- 
 per'd jades of Asia ! He has got hold of a new 
 word, and that the verb to ' exploit.' I am 
 exploited, thou art exploited, — he exploits! 
 Who ? Why, such men as that English duke 
 whom the lecturer gripped and flagellated. 
 The Enorlish duke is Mr. Cullen's bus^bear ; 
 never a speech from Mr. Cullen but that duke 
 is most horribly mauled. His ground-rents, — 
 yah ! Another word of which Mr. Cullen is 
 fond is ' strattum,' — usually spelt and pro- 
 nounced with but one t midway. You and I 
 have the misfortune to belong to a social 
 ' strattum ' which is trampled, fiat and hard 
 beneath the feet of the land-owners. Mr. 
 Cullen rises to such a point of fury that one 
 dreads the consequences — to himself. Already 
 the chairman is on his feet, intimatinsf in dumb 
 show that the allowed ten minutes have elapsed; 
 there is no making the orator hear. At length 
 his friend who sits by him fairly grips his coat- 
 tails and brings him to a sitting posture, amid 
 mirthful tumult. Mr. Cullen joins in the mirth, 
 
DEMOS 119 
 
 looks as though he had never been angry in his 
 life. And till next Sunday comes round he will 
 neither speak nor think of the social question. 
 
 Mr. Cowes is unopposed. After the pre- 
 ceding^ enthusiast, the voice of Mr. Cowes falls 
 soothingly as a stream among the heather. He 
 is tall, meagre, bald ; he wears a very broad 
 black necktie, his hand saws up and down. Mr. 
 Cowes' tone is the quietly venomous ; in a few 
 minutes you believe in his indignation far more 
 than in that of Mr. Cullen. He makes a point, 
 and pauses to observe the effect upon his 
 hearers. He prides himself upon his grammar, 
 goes back to correct a concord, emphasises 
 eccentricities of pronunciation ; for instance, he 
 accents 'capitalist' on the second syllable, and 
 repeats the words with grave challenge to all 
 and sundry. Speaking of something which he 
 wishes to stigmatise as a misnomer, he exclaims : 
 It's what I call a misnomy ! ' And he follows 
 the assertion with an awful suspense of utterance. 
 He brings his speech to a close exactly with the 
 end of the tenth minute, and, on sitting down, 
 eyes his unknown neighbour with wrathful 
 intensity for several moments. 
 
 Who will follow? A sound comes from 
 the very back of the room, such a sound that 
 every head turns in astonished search for the 
 source of it. Such voice has the wind in 
 garret-chimneys on a winter night. It is a thin 
 
120 DEMOS 
 
 wail, a prelude of lamentation ; it troubles the 
 blood. The speaker no one seems to know ; 
 he is a man of yellow visage, with head sunk 
 between pointed shoulders, on his crown a 
 mere scalp-lock. He seems to be afflicted with 
 a disease of the muscles ; his malformed body- 
 quivers, the hand he raises shakes paralytic. 
 His clothes are of the meanest ; what his age 
 may be it is impossible to judge. As his voice 
 gathers strength, the hearers begin to feel the 
 influence of a terrible earnestness. He does not 
 rant, he does not weigh his phrases ; the stream 
 of bitter prophecy flows on smooth and dark. 
 He is supplying the omission in Mutimer's ha- 
 rangue, is bidding his class know itself and 
 chasten itself, as an indispensable preliminary 
 to any great change in the order of things. He 
 cries vanity upon all these detailed schemes of 
 social reconstruction. Are we ready for it? he 
 wails. Could we bear it, if they granted it to 
 us? It is all good and right, but hadn't we 
 better first make ourselves worthy of such free- 
 dom ? He begins a terrible arraignment of the 
 People, — then, of a sudden, his voice has ceased. 
 You could hear a pin drop. It is seen that the 
 man has fallen to the ground ; there arises a low 
 moaning ; people press about him. 
 
 They carry him into the coffee-shop. It 
 was a fit. In five minutes he is restored, but 
 does not come back to finish his speech. 
 
DEMOS 121 
 
 There is an interval of disorder. But surely 
 we are not going to let the meeting end in this 
 way. The chairman calls for the next speaker, 
 and he stands forth in the person of a rather 
 smug little shopkeeper, who declares that he 
 knows of no single particular in which the 
 working class needs correction. The speech 
 undeniably falls flat. Will no one restore the 
 tone of the meeting ? 
 
 Mi\ Kitshaw is the man! I^ow we shall 
 have broad grins. Mr. Kitshaw enjoys a repu- 
 tation for mimicry ; he takes off music-hall 
 singers in the bar-parlour of a Saturday night. 
 Observe, he rises, hems, pulls down his waist- 
 coat ; there is bubbling laughter. Mr. Kitshaw 
 brings back the debate to its original subject ; 
 ]ie talks of the Land. He is a little haphazard 
 at first, but presently hits the mark in a fancy 
 picture of a country still in the hands of abori- 
 gines, as yet unannexed by the capitalist nations, 
 knowing not the meaning of the verb ' exploit.' 
 
 'Imagine such a happy land, my friends; a 
 land, I say, which nobody hasn't ever thought 
 of " developing the resources " of, — that's the 
 proper phrase, I beheve. There are the people, 
 with clothing enough for comfort and — ahem ! 
 — good manners, but, mark you, no more. No 
 manufacture of luxurious skirts and hulsters and 
 togs o' that kind by the exploited classes. No, 
 for no exploited classes don't exist ! All are 
 
122 
 
 DEMOS 
 
 equal, my friends. Up an' down the fields they 
 goes, all day long, arm-in-arm, Jack and Jerry, 
 aye, and Liza an' Sairey Ann ; for they have 
 equality of the sexes, mind you ! Up an' down 
 the fields, I say, in a devil-may-care sort of 
 way, with their sweethearts and their wives. 
 iN'o factory smoke, dear no! There's the 
 rivers, with tropical plants a-shading the banks, 
 my ! There they goes up an' down in their 
 boats, devil-may-care, a-strumming on the 
 banjo,' — he imitated such action, — ' and a sing- 
 ing their nigger minstrelsy with light 'earts. 
 Why ? 'Cause they ain't got no work to get 
 up to at 'arf-past five next morning. Their 
 time's their own ! Thafs the condition of an 
 unexploited country, my friends ! ' 
 
 Mr. Kitshaw had put everyone in vast good 
 humour. You might wonder that his sweetly 
 idyllic picture did not stir bitterness by con- 
 trast ; it were to credit the Enghsh workman 
 with too much imagination. Eesonance of 
 applause rewarded the sparkling rhetorician. 
 A few of the audience availed themselves of 
 the noise to withdraw, for the clock showed 
 that it was close upon ten, and public-houses 
 shut their doors early on Sunday. 
 
 But Kichard Mutimer was on his feet again, 
 and this time without regard to efifect ; there 
 was a word in him strongly demanding utter- 
 ance. It was to the speech of the unfortunate 
 
DEMOS 123 
 
 prophet that he desired to reply. He began 
 with sorrowful admissions. No one speaking 
 honestly could deny that — that the working 
 class had its faults ; they came out plainly 
 enough now and tlien. Drink, for instance (Mr, 
 Cullen gave a resounding ' Hear, hear ! ' and a 
 stamp on the boards). What sort of a spectacle 
 would' be exhibited by the public-houses in 
 Hoxton and Islington at closing time to-night P 
 (' True ! ' from Mr. Cowes, who also stamped 
 
 on the boards.) Yes, but Eichard used 
 
 the device of apcsiopesis ; Daniel Dabbs took 
 it for a humorous effect and began a roar, 
 which was summarily interdicted. ' But,' 
 pursued Eichard with emphasis, ' what is the 
 meaning of these vices ? What do they come 
 of? Who's to blame for them? Xot the 
 working class — never tell me ! What drives a 
 man to drink in his spare hours ? What about 
 the poisonous air of garrets and cellars ? What 
 about excessive toil and inability to procure 
 healthy recreation? What about defects of 
 education, due to poverty? What about 
 diseased bodies inherited from over-slaved 
 parents ? ' Messrs. Cowes and Cullen had 
 accompanied these queries with a climax of 
 vociferous approval ; w^hen Eichard paused, 
 they led the tumult of hands and heels. ' Look 
 at that poor man who spoke to us ! ' cried 
 Mutimer. ' He's gone, so I shan't hurt him by 
 
124 DEMOS 
 
 speaking plainly. He spoke well, mind you, 
 and he spoke from his heart ; but what sort of 
 a life has his been, do you think ? A wretched 
 cripple, a miserable weakling no doubt from 
 the day of his birth, cursed in having ever seen 
 the daylight, and, such as he is, called upon to 
 fight for his bread. Much of it he gets ! Who 
 would blame that man if he drank himself into 
 unconsciousness every time he picked up a six- 
 pence ? ' Cowes and Cullen bellowed their 
 delight. ' Well, he doesn't do it ; so much you 
 can be sure of In some vile hole here in this 
 great city of ours he drags on a life worse — 
 aye, a thousand times worse ! — than that of the 
 horses in the West-end mews. Don't clap your 
 hands so much, fellow- workers. Just think 
 about it on your way home ; talk about it to 
 your wives and yoiu' children. It's the sight of 
 objects like that that makes my blood boil, and 
 that's set me in earnest at this work of ours. I 
 feel for that man and all like him as if they 
 were my brothers. And I take you all to 
 witness, all you present and all you rej)eat my 
 words to, that I'll work on as long as I have 
 life in me, that I'll use every opportunity that's 
 given me to uphold the cause of tlie poor and 
 down-trodden agauist the rich and selfish and 
 luxurious, that if I live another fifty years I 
 shall still be of the people and with the people, 
 that no man shall ever have it in his power to 
 
DEMOS 125 
 
 say that Eicharcl Mutimer misused his chances 
 and was only a new burden to tliem whose load 
 he might have lightened ! ' 
 
 There was nothing for it but to leap on to 
 the very benches and yell as long as your voice 
 would hold out. 
 
 After that the meeting was mere exuber- 
 ance of mutual congratulations. Mr. Cullen 
 was understood to be moving the usual vote of 
 thanks, but even his vocal organs strove hard 
 for little purpose. Daniel Dabbs had never 
 made a speech in his life, but excitement drove 
 him on the honourable post of seconder. The 
 chairman endeavoured to make certain an- 
 nouncements ; then the assembly broke up. 
 The estrade was invaded ; everybody wished to 
 shake hands with Mutimer. Mr. Cullen tried 
 to obtain Eichard's attention to certain remarks 
 of value ; failing, he went off with a scowl. 
 Mr. Cowes attempted to button-hole the popu- 
 lar hero ; finding Eichard conversing with 
 someone else at the same time, he turned away 
 with a covert sneer. The former of the two 
 worthies had desired to insist upon every mem- 
 ber of the Union becoming a teetotaller ; the 
 latter wished to say that he thought it would 
 be well if a badge of temperance were hence- 
 forth worn by Unionists. On turning away, 
 each glanced at the clock and hurried his step. 
 
 In a certain dark street not very far from 
 
126 DEMOS 
 
 the lecture-room Mr. Cullen rose on tip-toe at 
 the windows of a dull little public-house. A 
 Unionist was standing at the bar ; Mr. Cullen 
 hurried on, into a street yet darker. Again he 
 tip- toed at a window. The ghinpse reassured 
 him ; he passed quickly through the doorway, 
 stepped to the bar, gave an order. Then he 
 turned, and behold, on a seat just under the 
 window sat Mr. Cowes, a short pipe in his mouth, 
 a smoking tumbler held on his knee. The 
 supporters of total abstinence nodded to each 
 other, with a slight lack of spontaneity. Mr. 
 Cullen, having secured his own timibler, came 
 by his comrade's side. 
 
 ' Deal o' fine talk to wind up with,' he re- 
 marked tentatively. 
 
 ' He means what he says,' returned the other 
 gravely. 
 
 ' Oh yes,' Mr. Cullen hastened to admit. 
 'Mu timer means what he says ! Only the way 
 of saying it, I meant. — I've got a bit of a sore 
 throat.' 
 
 ' So have I. After that there hot room.' 
 
 They nodded at each other sympathetically. 
 Mr. Cullen filled a little black pipe. 
 
 ' Got a light ? ' 
 
 Mr. Cowes offered the glowing bowl of his 
 own clay ; they put their noses together and 
 blew a cloud. 
 
 ' Of course there's no saying what time '11 
 
DEMOS 127 
 
 do,' observed tall Mr. Cowes, sententiously, 
 after a gulp of warm liquor. 
 
 ' No more there is,' assented short Mr. C alien 
 with half a wink. 
 
 ' It's easy to promise.' 
 
 ' As easy as telUn' lies.' 
 
 Another silence. 
 
 ' Don't suppose you and me '11 get much of 
 it,' Mr. Cowes ventured to observe. 
 
 ' About as much as you can put in your eye 
 without winkin',' was the other's picturesque 
 agreement. 
 
 They talked till closing time. 
 
128 DEMOS 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 One morning late in June, Hubert Eldon 
 passed through the gates of Wanley Manor and 
 walked towards the village. It was the first 
 time since his illness that he had left the grounds 
 on foot. He was very thin, and had an absent, 
 troubled look ; the natural cheerfulness of 
 youth's convalescence seemed altogether lacking 
 in him. 
 
 From a rising point of the road, winding 
 between the manor and Wanley, a good view 
 of the valley offered itself; here Hubert paused, 
 leaning a little on his stick, and let his eyes 
 dwell upon the prospect. A year ago he had 
 stood here and enjoyed the sweep of meadows 
 between Stanbury Hill and the wooded slope 
 opposite, the orchard-patches, the flocks along 
 the margin of the little river. To-day he 
 viewed a very different scene. Building of 
 various kinds was in progress in the heart of 
 the vale ; a great massive chimney was rising 
 to completion, and about it stood a number of 
 
DEMOS 129 
 
 sheds. Beyond was to be seen the commence- 
 ment of a street of small houses, promising 
 infinite ugliness in a little space ; the soil over 
 a considerable area was torn up and trodden 
 into mud. A number of men were at work ; 
 carts and waggons and trucks were moving 
 about. In truth, the benighted valley was 
 waking up and donning the true nineteenth- 
 century livery. 
 
 The young man's face, hitherto thoughtfully 
 sad, changed to an expression of bitterness ; he 
 muttered what seemed to be angry and con- 
 temptuous words, then averted his eyes and 
 walked on. He entered the village street and 
 passed along it for some distance, his fixed gaze 
 appearing studiously to avoid the people who 
 stood about or walked by him. There was a 
 spot of warm colour on his cheeks ; he held 
 himself very upright and had a painfully self- 
 conscious air. 
 
 He stopped before a dwelling-house, rang the 
 bell, and made inquiry whether Mr. Mutimer 
 was at home. The reply being affirmative, he 
 followed the servant up to the first floor. His 
 name was announced at the door of a sitting- 
 room, and he entered. 
 
 Two men were conversing in the room. 
 One sat at the table with a sheet of paper 
 before him, sketching a rough diagiam and 
 scribbling notes ; this was Eichard Mutimer. 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
I^O 
 
 DEMOS 
 
 He was clresssed in a light tweed suit ; his fair 
 moustache and beard were trimmed, and the 
 hand which rested on the table was no longer 
 that of a daily-grimed mechanic. His linen 
 was admirably starched ; altogether he had a 
 very fresh and cool appearance. His companion 
 was astride on a chair, his arms resting on the 
 back, a pipe in his mouth. This man was 
 somewhat older than Mutimer ; his counte- 
 nance indicated shrewdness and knowledge of 
 the world. He was dark and well-featured, 
 his glossy black hair was parted in the middle, 
 his moustache of the cut called imperial, his 
 beard short and peaked. He wore a canvas 
 jacket, a white waistcoat and knickerbockers ; 
 at his throat a blue necktie fluttered loose. 
 When Hubert's name was announced by the 
 servant, this gentleman stopped midway in a 
 sentence, took his pipe from his lips, and looked 
 to the door with curiosity. 
 
 Mutimer rose and addressed his visitor 
 easily indeed, but not discourteously. 
 
 ' How do you do, Mr. Eldon ? I'm glad to 
 see that you are so much better. Will you sit 
 down ? I think you know Mr. Eodman, at all 
 events by name ? ' 
 
 Hubert assented by gesture. He had 
 come prepared for disagreeable things in this 
 ]iis first meeting with Mutimer, but the honour 
 of an introduction to the latter's friends had 
 
DEMOS 131 
 
 not been included in his anticipations. Mr. 
 Eodman had risen and bowed shghtly. His 
 smile carried a disagreeable suggestion from 
 which Mutimer's behaviour was altogether free ; 
 he rather seemed to enjoy the situation. 
 
 For a moment there was silence and embar- 
 rassment. Eichard overcame the difficulty. 
 
 ' Come and dine with me to-night, will 
 you?' he said to Eodman. 'Here, take this 
 plan with you, and think it over.' 
 
 ' Pray don't let me interfere with your busi- 
 ness,' interposed Hubert, with scrupulous polite- 
 ness. ' I could see you later, Mr. Mutimer.' 
 
 ' No, no ; Eodman and I have done for the 
 present,' said Mutimer, cheerfully. 'By-the- 
 by,' he added, as his right-hand man moved 
 to the door, ' don't forget to drop a line to 
 Slater and Smith. And, I say, if Hogg turns 
 up before two o'clock, send him here ; I'll be 
 down with you by half-past.' 
 
 Mr. Eodman gave an 'All right,' nodded 
 to Hubert, who paid no attention, and took his 
 departure. 
 
 ' You've had a long pull of it,' Eichard 
 began, as he took his chair again, and threw 
 his legs into an easy position. ' Shall I close the 
 windows ? Maybe you don't like the draught.' 
 
 ' Thank you ; I feel no draught.' 
 
 The working man had the advantage as 
 yet. Hubert in vain tried to be at ease, whilst 
 
 K 2 
 
132 DEMOS 
 
 Mutimer was quite himself, and not ungraceful 
 in his assumption of equality. For one thing, 
 Hubert could .not avoid a comparison between 
 his own wasted frame and the other's splendid 
 physique ; it heightened the feeling of antago- 
 nism which possessed him in advance, and pro- 
 voked the haughtiness he had resolved to guard 
 against. The very lineaments of the men fore- 
 told mutual antipathy. Hubert's extreme de- 
 licacy of feature was the outward expression 
 of a character so compact of subtleties and 
 refinements, of high prejudice and jealous sen- 
 sibility, of spiritual egoism and all-pervading 
 fastidiousness, that it was impossible for him 
 not to regard with repugnance a man who 
 represented the combative principle, even the 
 triumph, of the uncultured classes. He was no 
 hide-bound aristocrat ; the liberal tendencies of 
 his intellect led him to scorn the pageantry of 
 long-descended fools as strongly as he did the 
 blind image-breaking of the mob ; but in a 
 case of personal relations temperament carried 
 it over judgment in a very high-handed way. 
 Youth and disappointment weighed in the scale 
 of unreason. Mutimer, on the other hand, 
 though fortune helped him to forbearance, saw, 
 or believed he saw, the very essence of all he 
 most hated in this proud-eyed representative of 
 a county family. His own rough -sculptured 
 comeliness corresponded to tlie vigour and 
 
DEMOS 
 
 133 
 
 practicality and zeal of a nature which cared 
 nothing for form and all for substance ; the 
 essentials of Hfe were to him the only things in 
 life, instead of, as to Hubert Eldon, the mere 
 brute foundation of an artistic superstructure. 
 Eichard read clearly enough the sentiments 
 with which his visitor approached him ; who 
 that is the object of contempt does not readily 
 perceive it? His way of revenging himself 
 was to emphasise a tone of good-fellowship, to 
 make it evident how well he could afford to 
 neglect privileged insolence. In his heart he 
 triumphed over the disinherited aristocrat ; 
 outwardly he was civil, even friendly. 
 
 Hubert had made this call with a special 
 purpose. 
 
 ' I am charged by Mrs. Eldon,' he began, 
 ' to thank you for the courtesy you have shown 
 her during my illness. My own thanks like- 
 wise I hope you will accept. We have caused 
 you, I fear, much inconvenience.' 
 
 Eichard found himself envying the form 
 and tone of this deliverance ; he gathered his 
 beard in his hands and gave it a tug. 
 
 ' Not a bit of it,' he repRed. ' I am very 
 comfortable here. A bedroom and a place for 
 work, that's about all I want.' 
 
 Hubert barely smiled. He wondered 
 whether the mention of work was meant to 
 suggest comparisons. He hastened to add — 
 
134 DEMOS 
 
 ' On Monday we hope to leave the Manor.' 
 
 ' No need whatever for hurry,' observed 
 Mutimer, good-humoiiredly. ' Please tell Mrs. 
 Eldon that I hope she will take her own time.' 
 On reflection this seemed rather an ill-chosen 
 phrase ; he bettered it. ' I should be very 
 sorry if slie inconvenienced herself on my ac- 
 count.' 
 
 ' Confound the fellow's impudence ! ' was 
 Hubert's mental comment. 'He plays the 
 forbearing landlord.' 
 
 His spoken reply was : ' It is very kind of 
 you. I foresee no difficulty in completing the 
 removal on Monday.' 
 
 In view of Mu timer's self-command, Hubert 
 began to be aware that his own constraint 
 might carry the air of petty resentment. Fear 
 of that drove him upon a topic he would rather 
 have left alone. 
 
 ' You are changing the appearance of the 
 valley,' he said, veiling by his tone the irony 
 which was evident in his choice of words. 
 
 Eichard glanced at him, then walked to the 
 window, with his hands in his pockets, and 
 gave himself the pleasure of a glimpse of the 
 furnace-chimney above the opposite houses. 
 He laughed. 
 
 ' I hope to change it a good deal more. In 
 a year or two you won't know the place.' 
 
 ' I fear not.' 
 
DEMOS 135 
 
 Mutimer glanced again at his visitor. 
 ' Why do you fear ? ' he asked, Avith less 
 command of his voice. 
 
 ' I of course understand your point of view. 
 Personally, I prefer nature.' 
 
 Hubert endeavoured to smile, that his per- 
 sonal preferences might lose something of their 
 edge. 
 
 ' You jDrefer nature,' Mutimer repeated, 
 coming back to his chair, on the seat of which 
 he rested a foot. ' Well, I can't say that I do. 
 The Wanley Iron Works will soon mean bread 
 to several hundred families ; how many would 
 the grass support ? ' 
 
 * To be sure,' assented Hubert, still smiling. 
 ' You are aware,' Mutimer proceeded to 
 ask, ' that this is not a speculation for my own 
 profit ? ' 
 
 ' I have heard something of your scheme. 
 I trust it will be appreciated.' 
 
 ' I dare say it will be — by those who care 
 anything about the welfare of the people.' 
 
 Eldon rose ; he could not trust himself to 
 continue the dialogue. He had expected to 
 meet a man of coarser grain ; Mutimer's in- 
 telligence made impossible the civil condescen- 
 sion which Avould have served with a boor, 
 and Hubert found the temptation to pointed 
 utterance all the stronger for the dangers it 
 involved. 
 
ii;6 DEMOS 
 
 ' I will drop you a note,' he said, ' to let 
 you know as soon as the house is empty.' 
 
 ' Thank you.' 
 
 They had not shaken hands at meeting, nor 
 did they now. Eich felt relieved when out of 
 the other's sight. 
 
 Hubert turned out of the street into a road 
 which would lead him to the church, whence 
 there was a field -path back to the Manor. 
 Walkmg with his eyes on the ground he did 
 not perceive the tall, dark figure that ap- 
 proached him as he drew near to the church- 
 yard gate. Mr. Wyvern had been conducting 
 a burial ; he had just left the vestry and was 
 on his way to the vicarage, which stood five 
 minutes' walk from the church. Himself 
 unperceived, he scrutinised the young man 
 until he stood face to face with him ; liLs 
 deep-voiced greeting caused Hubert to look up 
 with a start. 
 
 ' I'm very glad to see you walking,' said 
 tne clergyman. 
 
 He took Hubert's hand and lield it pater- 
 nally in both his own. Eldon seemed affected 
 with a sudden surprise ; as he met the large 
 gaze his look showed embarrassment. 
 
 ' You remember me ? ' Mr. Wyvern re- 
 marked, his wonted solemnity lightened by the 
 gleam of a brief smile. Looking closely into 
 his face was like examining a map in relief; 
 
DEMOS 137 
 
 you saw heights and plains, the intersection of 
 multitudinous valleys, river- courses with their 
 tributaries. It w^as the visage of a man of 
 thought and character. His eyes spoke of late 
 hours and the lamp ; beneath each was a heavy 
 pocket of skin, wrinkling at its juncture with 
 the cheek. His teeth were those of an inces- 
 sant smoker, and, in truth, you could seldom 
 come near him without detecting the odour of 
 tobacco. Despite the amplitude of his pro- 
 portions, there was nothing ponderous about 
 him ; the great head was finely formed, and 
 his limbs must at one time have been as 
 graceful as they were muscular. 
 
 ' Is this accident,' Hubert asked ; ' or did 
 you know" me at the time ? ' 
 
 'Accident, pure accident. Will you w^alk 
 to the vicarage with me ? ' 
 
 They paced side by side. 
 
 ' Mrs. Eldon profits by the pleasant w^eather, 
 I trust?' the vicar observed, with grave cour- 
 tesy. 
 
 ' Thank you, I think she does. I shall be 
 glad when she is settled in her new^ home.' 
 
 They approached the door of the vicarage 
 in silence. Entering, Mr. Wyvern led the 
 way to his study. When he had taken a seat, 
 he appeared to forget himself for a moment, 
 and played with the end of his beard. 
 
 Hubert showed impatient curiosity. 
 
138 DEMOS 
 
 ' You found me tliere by chance that 
 morning ? ' he began. 
 
 The clergyman returned to the present. 
 His elbows on either arm of his round chair, he 
 sat leaning forward, thoughtfully gazing at his 
 companion. 
 
 ' By chance,' he replied. ' I sleep badly ; 
 so it happened that I was abroad shortly after 
 daybreak. I was near the edge of the wood 
 when I heard a pistol-shot. I waited for the 
 second.' 
 
 ' We fired together,' Hubert remarked. 
 
 ' Ah ! It seemed to me one report. Well, 
 as I stood listening, there came out from among 
 the trees a man who seemed in a hurry. He 
 was startled at finding himself face to face with 
 me, but didn't stop ; he said something rapidly 
 in French that I failed to catch, pointed back 
 into the wood, and hastened off.' 
 
 ' We had no witnesses,' put in Hubert ; 
 ' and both aimed our best. I wonder he sent 
 you to look for me.' 
 
 ' A momentary weakness, no doubt,' re- 
 joined the vicar drily. ' I made my way 
 among the trees and found you lying there, 
 unconscious. I made some attempt to stop the 
 blood-How, then picked you up ; it seemed 
 better, on the whole, than leaving you on the 
 wet grass an indefinite time. Your overcoat 
 was on the ground ; as I took hold of it, tw^o 
 
DEMOS 139 
 
 letters fell from the pocket. I made no scruple 
 about reading tlie addresses, and was astonished 
 to find that one was to Mrs. Eldon, at Wanley 
 Manor, Wanley being the place where I was 
 about to live on my return to England. I took 
 it for granted that you were Mrs. Eldon's son. 
 The other letter, as you know, was to a lady at 
 a hotel in the town.' 
 
 Hubert nodded. 
 
 ' And you went to her as soon as you left 
 me.?' 
 
 ' After hearing from the doctor that there 
 was no immediate danger. — The letters, I 
 suppose, would have announced your death ? ' 
 
 Hubert again inclined his head. The im- 
 perturbable gravity of the speaker had the 
 effect of imposing self-command on the young 
 man, whose sensitive cheeks showed what was 
 going on within. 
 
 ' Will you tell me of your interview with 
 her ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' It was of the briefest ; my French is not 
 fluent.' 
 
 ' But she speaks Enghsli well.' 
 
 ' Probably her distress led her to give 
 preference to her native tongue. She was 
 anxious to go to you immediately, and I told 
 her where you lay. I made inquiries next day, 
 and found that she was still giving you her 
 care. As you were doing well, and I had to 
 
I40 DEMOS 
 
 be moving homewards, I thought it better to 
 leave without seeing you again. The innkeeper 
 had directions to telegraph to me if there was 
 a change for the worse.' 
 
 ' My pocket-book saved me/ remarked 
 Hubert, touching his side. 
 
 Mr. Wyvern drew in his lips. 
 
 ' Came between that ready-stamped letter 
 and Wanley Manor,' was his comment. 
 
 There was a brief silence. 
 
 ' You allow me a question ? ' the vicar 
 resumed. ' It is with reference to the French 
 lady.' 
 
 * I think you have every right to question 
 me.' 
 
 ' Oh no I It does not concern the events 
 prior to your — accident.' Mr. Wyvern savoured 
 the word. ' How long did she remain in 
 attendance upon you ? ' 
 
 'A short time — two days — I did not 
 need ' 
 
 Mr. Wyvern motioned with his hand, 
 kindly. 
 
 ' Then I was not mistaken,' he said, averting 
 his eyes for the first time, ' in thinking that I 
 saw her in Paris.' 
 
 ' In Paris ? ' Hubert repeated, with a poor 
 affectation of indifference. 
 
 ' I made a short stay before crossing. I 
 had business at a bank one day ; as I stood 
 
DEMOS 141 
 
 before the counter a gentleman entered and 
 took a place beside me. A second look assured 
 me that he was the man who met me at the 
 edge of the wood that morning. I suppose 
 he remembered me, for he looked away and 
 moved from me. I left the bank, and found 
 an open carriage waiting at the door. In it 
 sat the lady of whom we speak. I took a turn 
 along the pavement and back again. The 
 Frenchman entered the carriage ; they drove 
 away.' 
 
 Hubert's eyes were veiled ; he breathed 
 through his nostrils. Again there was silence. 
 
 ' Mr. Eldon,' resumed the vicar, ' I was a 
 man of the world before I became a churchman ; 
 you will notice that I affect no professional tone 
 in speaking with j^ou, and it is because I know 
 that anything of the kind would only alienate 
 you. It appeared to me that chance had made 
 me aware of something it might concern you to 
 hear. I know nothing of the circumstances of 
 the case, merely offer you the facts.' 
 
 'I thank you,' was Hubert's reply in an 
 undertone. 
 
 ' It impressed me, that letter ready stamped 
 for Wanley Manor. I thought of it again after 
 the meeting in Paris.' 
 
 ' I understand you. Of course I could 
 explain the necessity. It would be useless.' 
 
 * Quite. But experience is not, or should 
 
142 DEMOS 
 
 not be, useless, especially when commented on 
 by one who has very much of it behind him.' 
 
 Hubert stood up. His mind was in a fever- 
 ishly active state, seeming to follow several 
 lines of thought simultaneously. Among other 
 things, he was wondering how it was that 
 throughout this conversation he had been so 
 entirely passive. He had never found himself 
 under the influence of so strong a personality, 
 exerted too in such a strangely quiet way. 
 
 ' What are your plans — your own plans ? ' 
 Mr. Wyvern inquired. 
 
 ' I have none.' 
 
 ' Forgive me ; — there will be no material 
 difficulties ? ' 
 
 ' None ; I have four hundred a year.' 
 
 ' You have not graduated yet, I believe .^ ' 
 
 ' No. But I hardly think I can go back to 
 school.' 
 
 ' Perhaps not. Well, turn things over. I 
 should hke to hear from you.' 
 
 ' You shall.' 
 
 Hubert continued his w^alk to the Manor. 
 Before the entrance stood two large furniture- 
 vans ; the doorway was littered with materials 
 of packing, and the hall was full of objects in 
 disorder. Footsteps made a hollow resonance 
 in all parts of the house, for everywhere the 
 long wonted conditions of sound were disturbed. 
 The library was already dismantled; here he 
 
DEMOS 143 
 
 could close the door and walk about without 
 fear of intrusion. He would have preferred to 
 remain in the open air, but a summer shower 
 had just begun as he reached the house. He 
 could not sit still ; the bare floor of the large 
 room met his needs. 
 
 His mind's eye pictured a face which a few 
 months ago had power to lead him whither it 
 willed, which had in fact led him through strange 
 scenes, as far from the beaten road of a coileo"e 
 curriculum as well could be. It was a face of 
 foreign type, Jewish possibly, most unlike that 
 ideal of womanly charm kept in view by one who 
 seeks peace and the heart's home. Hubert had 
 entertained no thought of either. The romance 
 which most young men are content to enjoy in 
 printed pages he had acted out in his hfe. He had 
 lived through a glorious madness, as unlike the 
 vulgar oat-sowing of the average young man of 
 wealth as the latest valse on a street-organ is 
 unlike a passionate dream of Chopin. How- 
 ever unworthy the object of his frenzy — and 
 perhaps one were as worthy as another — the 
 pursuit had borne him through an atmosphere 
 of fire, tempering him for life, marking him for 
 ever from plodders of the dusty highway. A 
 reckless passion is a patent of nobility. What- 
 ever existence had in store for him henceforth, 
 Hubert could feel that he had lived. 
 
 An hour's communing with memory was 
 
144 
 
 DEMOS 
 
 brought to an end by the ringing of the huicheon- 
 bell. Since his illness Hubert had taken meals 
 with his mother in her own sitting-room. 
 Thither he now repaired. 
 
 Mrs. Eldon had grown older in appearance 
 since that evening of her son's return. Of course 
 she had discovered the cause of his illness, and 
 the incessant torment of a great fear had been 
 added to what she suffered from the estrange- 
 ment between the boy and herself. Her own 
 bodily weakness had not permitted her to nurse 
 him ; she had passed days and nights in anguish 
 of expectancy. At one time it had been life or 
 death. If he died, what hfe would be hers 
 through the brief delay to which she could look 
 forward ? 
 
 Once more she had him by her side, but 
 the moral distance between them was nothing- 
 lessened : Mrs. Eldon's pride would not allow 
 her to resume the conversation which had ended 
 so hopelessly for her. and she interpreted 
 Hubert's silence in the saddest sense. Now 
 they were about to be parted again. A house 
 had been taken for her at Agworth, three miles 
 away ; in her state of health she could not quit 
 the neighbourhood of the few old friends whom 
 she still saw. But Hubert would necessarily 
 go into the world to seek some kind of career. 
 No hope shone for her in the prospect. 
 
 Whilst the servant waited on them at 
 
DEMOS 145 
 
 luncheon, mother and son exchanged few words. 
 Afterwards, Mrs. Eldon had her chair moved to 
 the window, where she could see the garden 
 greenery. 
 
 ' I called on Mr. Mu timer,' Hubert said, 
 standing near her. Through the meal he had 
 cast frequent glances at her pale, nobly-lined 
 countenance, as if something had led him to 
 occupy his thoughts with her. He looked at 
 her in the same way now. 
 
 ' Did you ? How did he impress you ? ' 
 
 ' He is not quite the man I had expected ; 
 more civihsed. I should suppose he is the 
 better kind of artisan. He talks with a good 
 deal of the working-class accent, of course, but 
 not like a wholly uneducated man.' 
 
 ' His letter, you remember, was anything 
 but illiterate. I feel I ought to ask him to come 
 and see me before we leave.' 
 
 ' The correspondence surely suffices.' 
 
 ' You expressed my thanks ? ' 
 
 ' Conscientiously.' 
 
 ' I see you found the interview rather diffi- 
 cult, Hubert.' 
 
 ' How could it be otherwise ? The man is 
 well enough, of his kind, but the kind is de- 
 testable.' 
 
 ' Did he try to convert you to Socialism ? ' 
 asked his mother, smihng in her sad way. 
 
 ' I imagine lie discerned the hopelessness 
 
 VOL. 1. L 
 
146 DEMOS 
 
 of such an undertaking. We had a httle 
 passage of arms, — quite within the bounds of 
 civihty. Shall I tell you how I felt in talking 
 with him ? I seemed to be holding a dialogue 
 with the twentieth century, and you may think 
 what that means.' 
 
 ' Ah, it's a long way off, Hubert.' 
 
 'I wish it were farther. The man was 
 openly exultant ; he stood for Demos grasping 
 the sceptre. I am glad, mother, that you leave 
 Wanley before the air is poisoned.' 
 
 ' Mr. Mutimer does not see that side of the 
 question ? ' 
 
 ' Not he ! Do you imagine the twentieth 
 century will leave one green spot on the earth's 
 surface ? ' 
 
 ' My dear, it will always be necessary to 
 grow grass and corn.' 
 
 ' By no means ; depend upon it. Such things 
 will be cultivated by chemical processes. There 
 will not be one inch left to nature ; the very 
 oceans will somehow be tamed, the snow-moun- 
 tains will be levelled. And with nature will 
 perish art. What has a hungry Demos to do 
 wdth the beautiful .^ ' 
 
 Mrs. Eldon sighed gently. 
 
 ' I shall not see it.' 
 
 Her eyes dreamed upon the soft-swaying 
 boughs of a young chestnut. Hubert was 
 Avatching her face ; its look and the meaning 
 implied in her words touched him profoundly. 
 
DEMOS -L^i 
 
 ' Mother ! ' he said under his breath. 
 
 'My dear?' 
 
 He drew nearer to her and just stroked 
 with his fingers the silver lines which marked 
 the hair on either side of her brows. He could 
 see that she trembled and that her lips set them- 
 selves in hard self-conquest. 
 
 ' What do you wish me to do when we have 
 left the Manor?' 
 
 His own voice was hurried between two 
 quiverings of the throat ; his mother's only 
 whispered in reply. 
 
 • That is for your own consideration, Hubert.' 
 
 ' With your counsel, mother.' 
 
 ' My counsel ? ' 
 
 ' I ask it. I will follow it. I wish to be 
 guided by you.' 
 
 He knelt by her, and his mother pressed his 
 head against her bosom. 
 
 Later, she asked — 
 
 ' Did you call also on the Walthams ? ' 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 ' Should you not do so, dear ? ' 
 
 ' I think that must be later.' 
 
 This subject was not pursued. 
 
 The next day was Saturday. In the after- 
 noon Hubert took a walk which had been his 
 favourite one ever since he could remember, 
 every step of the way associated with recollec- 
 
 r 2 
 
148 DEMOS 
 
 tions of childhood, boyhood, or youth. It was 
 along the lane which began in a farmyard close 
 by the Manor and climbed with many turnings 
 to the top of Stanbury Hill. This was ever 
 the first route re-examined by his brother 
 Godfrey and himself on their return from 
 school at holiday-time. It was a rare region 
 for bird-nesting, so seldom was it trodden save 
 by a few farm-labourers at early morning or 
 when the day's work was over. Hubert passed 
 with a glance of recognition the bramble in 
 which he had found his first spink's nest, the 
 shadowed mossy bank whence had flattered 
 the hapless wren just when the approach of two 
 prowling youngsters should have bidden her 
 keep close. Boys on the egg-trail are not wont 
 to pay much attention to the features of the 
 country ; but Hubert remembered that at a 
 certain meadow-gate he had always rested for 
 a moment to view the valley, some mute presage 
 of thincTs unimaiiined stirrinc^ at his heart. Was 
 it even then nineteenth century ? Not for him, 
 seeing that the life of each of us reproduces 
 the successive ages of the world. Bel wick, 
 roaring a few miles away, was but an isolated 
 black patch on the earth's beauty, not, as he 
 now understood it, a mahgnant cancer-spot, 
 spreading day by day, corrupting, an augury of 
 death. In those days it had seemed fast in the 
 order of things that Wanley Manor should be 
 
DEMOS 149 
 
 liis home througli life ; how otherwise ? Was 
 it not the abiding-place of the Elclons from of 
 old? Who had ever hinted at revolution? 
 He knew now that revolution had been at work 
 from an earlier time than that ; whilst he played 
 and rambled with his brother the framework of 
 their life was crumbling about them. Belwick 
 was already throwing a shadow upon Wanley. 
 And now behold ! he stood at the old gate, 
 rested his hands where they had been wont to 
 rest, turned his eyes in the familiar direction ; 
 no longer a mere shadow, there was Belwick 
 itself. 
 
 His heart was hot with outraged affection, 
 with injured pride. On the scarcely closed 
 grave of that passion which had flamed through 
 so brief a life sprang up the flower of natural 
 tenderness, infinitely sweet and precious. For 
 the first time he was fully conscious of what it 
 meant to quit Wanley for ever; the past re- 
 vealed itself to him, lovelier and more loved 
 because parted from him by so hopeless a gulf. 
 Hubert was not old enough to rate experience 
 at its true value, to acquiesce in the law which 
 wills that the day must perish before we can 
 enjoy to the full its hght and odour. He could 
 only feel his loss, and rebel against the fate 
 which had ordained it. 
 
 He had chmbed but half-way up the hill ; 
 from this point onwards there was no view till 
 
I50 DEMOS 
 
 the summit was reached, for the lane proceeded 
 between high banks and hedges. To gain the 
 very highest point he had presently to quit the 
 road by a stile and skirt the edge of a small 
 rising meadow, at the top of which was an old 
 cow-house with a few trees growing about it. 
 Thence one had the finest prospect in the 
 county. 
 
 He reached the stone shed, looked back for 
 a moment over Wanley, then walked round to 
 the other side. As he turned the corner of the 
 building his eye was startled by the unexpected 
 gleam of a white dress. A girl stood there ; 
 she was viewing the landscape through a field- 
 glass, and thus remained unaware of his ap- 
 proach on the grass. He stayed his step and 
 observed her with eyes of recognition. Her 
 attitude, both hands raised to hold tlie glass, . 
 displayed to perfection the virginal outline oi ArCr^ 
 her white-robed form. She wore a straw hat ' 
 of the plain masculine fashion ; her brown hair 
 was plaited in a great circle behind her head, 
 not one tendril loosed from the mass ; a white 
 collar closely circled her neck ; her waist was 
 bound with a red girdle. All was grace and 
 purity ; the very folds towards the bottom of 
 her dress hung in sculpturesque smoothness ; the 
 form of her half-seen foot bowed the herbaore 
 with lightest pressure. From the boughs above 
 there fell upon her a dancing network of 
 shadow. 
 
DEMOS 151 
 
 Hubert only half smiled ; lie stood with his 
 hands joined behind him, his eyes fixed upon 
 her face, waiting for her to turn. But several 
 moments passed and she was still intent on the 
 landscape. He spoke. 
 
 ' Will you let me look ? ' 
 
 Her hands fell, all but dropping the glass ; 
 still, she did not start with unbecoming shrug 
 as most people do, the instinctive movement of 
 guarding against a stroke ; the falling of her 
 arms was the only abrupt motion, her head 
 turning in the direction of the speaker with a 
 grace as spontaneous as that we see in a fawn 
 that glances back before flight. 
 
 ' Mr. Eldon ! How silently you have 
 come ! ' 
 
 The wild rose of her cheeks made rivalry 
 for an instant with the richer garden blooms, 
 and the subsiding warmth left a pearly translu- 
 cency as of a lily petal against the light. 
 
 She held her hand to him, delicately gloved, 
 warm ; the whole of it was hidden within 
 Hubert's clasp. 
 
 ' What were you looking at so attentively ? ' 
 he asked. 
 
 ' At Agworth station,' replied Adela, tiurn- 
 ing her eyes again in that quarter. ' My brother's 
 train ought to be in by now, I think. He 
 comes home every Saturday.' 
 
 ' Does he ? ' 
 
152 DEMOS 
 
 Hubert spoke without thought, his look 
 resting upon the maiden's red girdle. 
 
 ' I am glad that you are well again,' Adela 
 said with natural kindness. ' You have had a 
 long illness.' 
 
 ' Yes ; it has been a tiresome affair. Is 
 Mrs. Waltham well ? ' 
 
 ' Quite, thank you.' 
 
 ' And your brother ? ' 
 
 ' Alfred never had anything the matter with 
 him in his life, I believe,' she answered, with a 
 laugh. 
 
 ' Fortunate fellow ! Will you lend me the 
 glass ? ' 
 
 She held it to him, and at the same moment 
 her straying eye caught a glimpse of white 
 smoke, far off. 
 
 ' There comes the train ! ' she exclaimed. 
 ' You will be able to see it between these two 
 hills.' 
 
 Hubert looked and returned the glass to 
 her, but she did not make use of it. 
 
 ' Does he walk over from Agworth .^ ' was 
 Hubert's next question. 
 
 'Yes. It does him good after a week of 
 Bel wick.' 
 
 ' There will soon be little difference between 
 Bel wick and Wanley,' rejoined Hubert, drily. 
 
 Adela glanced at him ; there was sympathy 
 and sorrow in the look. 
 
DEMOS T53 
 
 * I knew it would grieve you,' she said. 
 
 ' And what is your own feeling ? Do you 
 rejoice in the change as a sign of progress? ' 
 
 ' Indeed, no. I am very, very sorry to 
 have our beautiful valley so spoilt. It is 
 only ' 
 
 Hubert eyed her with sudden sharpness of 
 scrutiny ; the look seemed to check her words. 
 
 'Only what.?' he asked. 'You find com- 
 pensations ? ' 
 
 ' My brother w^on't hear of such regrets,' 
 she continued with a little embarrassment. ' He 
 insists on the good that will be done by the 
 change.' 
 
 ' From such a proprietor as I should have 
 been to a man of Mr. Mutimer's activity. To 
 be sure, that is one point of view.' 
 
 Adela blushed. 
 
 ' That is not my meaning, Mr. Eldon, as you 
 know. I was speaking of the change without 
 regard to who brings it about. And I was not 
 giving my own opinion ; Alfred's is always on 
 the side of the working people ; he seems to 
 forget everybody else in his zeal for their 
 interests. And then, the works are going to be 
 quite a new kind of undertaking. You have 
 heard of Mr. Mutimer's plans, of course ? ' 
 
 ' I have an idea of them.' 
 
 ' You think them mistaken ? ' 
 
 *No. I would rather say they don't 
 
154 DEMOS 
 
 interest me. That seems to disappoint you, 
 Miss Waltham. Probably you are interested 
 in them ? ' 
 
 At the sound of her own name thus form- 
 ally interjected, Adela just raised her eyes from 
 their reflective gaze on the near landscape ; 
 then she became yet more thoughtful. 
 
 ' Yes, I think I am,' she replied, with de- 
 liberation. ' The principle seems a just one. 
 Devotion to a really unselfish cause is rare, I 
 am afraid.' 
 
 ' You have met Mr. Mutimer ? ' 
 
 ' Once. My brother made his acquaint- 
 ance, and he called on us.' 
 
 'Did he explain his scheme to you in 
 detail?' 
 
 ' Not himself. Alfred has told me all about 
 it. He, of course, is delighted with it ; he has 
 joined what he calls the Union.' 
 
 'Are you going to join?' Hubert asked, 
 smiling. 
 
 ' I ? I doubt whether they would have 
 me.' 
 
 She laughed silverly, her throat tremulous, 
 like that of a bird that sings. How signifi- 
 cant the laugh was ! the music of how pure 
 a freshet of life ! 
 
 ' All the members, I presume,' said Hubert, 
 ' are to be speedily enriched from the Wanley 
 Mines and Iron Works ? ' 
 
DEMOS 155 
 
 It was jokingly uttered, but Aclela replied 
 with some earnestness, as if to remove a false 
 impression. 
 
 ' Oh, that is quite a mistake, Mr. Eldon. 
 There is no question of anyone being enriched, 
 least of all Mr. Mutimer himself. The work- 
 men will receive just payment, not mere starva- 
 tion wages, but whatever profit there is will be 
 devoted to the propaganda.' 
 
 ' Propaganda ! Starvation wages ! Ah, I 
 see you have gone deeply into these matters. 
 How strangely that word sounds on your lips — • 
 propaganda ! ' 
 
 Adela reddened. 
 
 ' Why strangely, Mr. Eldon ? ' 
 
 ' One associates it with such very different 
 speakers ; it has such a terrible canting sound. 
 I hope you will not get into the habit of using 
 it — for your own sake.' 
 
 ' I am not likely to use it much. I suppose 
 I have heard it so often from Alfred lately. 
 Please don't think,' she added rather hastily, 
 ' that I have become a Socialist. Indeed,! dis- 
 like the name ; I find it implies so many things 
 that I could never approve of.' 
 
 Her way of speaking the last sentence 
 would have amused a dispassionate critic, it 
 was so distinctively the tone of Puritan maiden- 
 hood. Prom lips like Adela's it is delicious to 
 hear such moral babbling. Oh, the gravity of 
 
156 DEMOS 
 
 conviction in a white-souled English girl of 
 eighteen ! Do you not hear her say those 
 words : ' things that I could never approve of ' ? 
 
 As her companion did not immediately 
 reply, she again raised the field-glass to her 
 eyes and swept the prospect. 
 
 ' Can you see your brother on the road ? ' 
 Hubert inquired. 
 
 ' No, not yet. There is a trap driving this 
 way. Why, Alfred is sitting in it ! Oh, it is 
 Mr. Mutimer's trap I see. He must have met 
 Alfred at the station and have given him a 
 ride.' 
 
 'Evidently they are great friends,' com- 
 mented Eldon. 
 
 Adela did not reply. After gazing a little 
 longer, she said — 
 
 ' He will be home before I can get there.' 
 
 She screwed up the glasses and turned as if 
 to take leave. But Hubert prepared to walk 
 by her side, and together they reached the 
 lane. 
 
 ' Now I am going to run down the hill,' 
 Adela said, laughing. ' I can't ask you to join 
 in such childishness, and I suppose you are 
 not going this way, either P ' 
 
 ' No, I am walking back to the Manor,' the 
 other replied soberly. 'We had better say 
 good-bye. On Monday we shall leave Wanley, 
 my mother and I.' 
 
DEMOS 157 
 
 ' Oil Monday ? ' 
 
 The girl became graver. 
 
 ' But only to go to Agworth ? ' she added. 
 
 ' I shall not remain at Agworth. I am 
 going to London.' 
 
 ' To— to study ? ' 
 
 ' Something or other, I don't quite know 
 what. Good-bye ! ' 
 
 ' Won't you come to say good-bye to us — 
 to mother ? ' 
 
 ' Shall you be at liome to-morrow afternoon, 
 about four o'clock say ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, yes ; the very time.' 
 
 ' Then I will come to say good-bye.' 
 
 ' In that case Ave needn't say it now, need 
 we.^ It is only good- afternoon.' 
 
 She began to walk down the lane. 
 
 ' I thought you were going to run,' cried 
 Hubert. 
 
 She looked back, and her silver laugh made 
 chorus with the joyous refrain of a yellow- 
 hammer, piping behind the hedge. Till the 
 turn of the road she continued walking, then 
 Hubert had a glimpse of wdiite folds waving in 
 the act of flight, and-- she w^as beyond his vision. 
 
158 DEMOS 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 Adela readied the house door at the very 
 moment that Mutimer's trap drove up. She 
 had run nearly all the way down the hill, and 
 her soberer pace during the last ten minutes 
 had not quite reduced the flush in her cheeks. 
 Mutimer raised his hat with much aplomb 
 before he had pulled up his horse, and his look 
 stayed on her whilst Alfred Waltham was 
 descending and taking leave. 
 
 ' I was lucky enough to overtake your 
 brother in Agworth,' he said. 
 
 ' Ah, you have deprived him of what he 
 calls his constitutional,' laughed Adela. 
 
 'Have I? Well, it isn't often I'm here 
 over Saturday, so he can generally feel safe.' 
 
 The hat was again aired, and Eichard drove 
 away to the Wheatsheaf Inn, where he kept 
 his horse at present. 
 
 Brother and sister went together into the 
 parlour, where Mrs. Waltham immediately 
 joined them, having descended from an upper 
 room. 
 
DEMOS 159 
 
 ' So Mr. Mutimer drove you home ! ' she 
 exclaimed, with the interest which provincial 
 ladies, lacking scope for their energies, will 
 display in very small incidents. 
 
 ' Yes. By the way, I've asked him to come 
 and have dinner with us to-morrow. He hadn't 
 any special reason for going to town, and was 
 uncertain whether to do so or not, so I thought 
 I might as well have him here.' 
 
 Mr. Alfred always spoke in a somewhat 
 emphatic first person singular when domestic 
 arrangements were under discussion ; occasion- 
 ally the habit led to a passing unpleasantness 
 of tone between himself and Mrs. Waltham. 
 In tlie present instance, however, nothing of the 
 kind w^as to be feared ; his mother smiled very 
 graciously. 
 
 ' I'm glad you thought of it,' she said. ' It 
 would have been very lonely for him in his 
 lodgings.' 
 
 Neither of the two happened to be regard- 
 ing Adela, or they would have seen a look of 
 dismay flit across her countenance and pass 
 into one of annoyance. When the talk had 
 gone on for a few minutes Adela interposed a 
 question. 
 
 ' Will Mr. Mutimer stay for tea also, do you 
 think, Alfred?' 
 
 ' Oh, of course ; why shouldn't he ? ' 
 
 It is the country habit ; Adela might have 
 
i6o DEMOS 
 
 known what answer she would receive. She 
 got out of the difficulty by means of a little 
 disingenuousness. 
 
 ' He won't want us to talk about Socialism 
 all the time, will he ? ' 
 
 ' Of course not, my dear,' replied Mrs. 
 Waltham. ' Why, it will be Sunday.' 
 
 Alfred shouted in mirthful scorn. 
 
 'Well, that's one of the finest things I've 
 heard for a long time, mother ! It'll be Sunday, 
 and therefore we are not to talk about im- 
 proving the lot of the human race. Ye gods ! ' 
 
 Mrs. Waltham was puzzled for an. instant, 
 but the Puritan assurance did not fail her. 
 
 ' Yes, but that is only improvement of their 
 bodies, Alfred — food and clothing. The six 
 days are for that you know.' 
 
 ' Mother, mother, you will kill me ! You 
 are so uncommonly funny ! I wonder your 
 friends haven't long ago found seme way of 
 doing without bodies altogether. Now, I pray 
 you, do not talk nonsense. Surely that is 
 forbidden on the Sabbath, if only the Jewish 
 one.' 
 
 ' Mother is quite right, Alfred,' remarked 
 Adela, with quiet affirmativeness, as soon as 
 her voice could be heard. ' Your Socialism is 
 earthly ; we have to think of other things- 
 besides bodily comforts.' 
 
 ' Who said we hadn't ? ' cried her brother. 
 
DEMOS i6i 
 
 ' But I take leave to inform you that you won't 
 get much spiritual excellence out of a man who 
 lives a harder life than the nigger-slaves. If 
 you women could only put aside your theories 
 and look a little at obstinate facts ! You're all 
 of a piece. Which of you was it that talked 
 the other day about getting the vicar to pray 
 for rain .^ Ho, ho, ho ! Just the same kind of 
 thing.' 
 
 Alfred's combativeness had grown markedly 
 since his making acquaintance with Mutimer. 
 He had never excelled in the suaver virtues, J^ 
 and now the whole of the time he spent at / 
 home was devoted to vociferous railing at 
 capitalists, priests, and women, his mother and 
 sister serving for illustrations of the vices 
 prevalent in the last-mentioned class. In 
 talking he always paced the room, hands in 
 pockets, and at times fairly stammered in his 
 endeavour to hit upon sufficiently trenchant 
 epithets or comparisons. When reasoning 
 failed with his auditors, he had recourse to 
 volleys of contemptuous laughter. At times 
 he lost his temper, muttered words such as 
 ' fools ! ' — ' idiots ! ' and flung out into the open 
 air. It looked as if the present evening was to 
 be a stormy one. Adela noted the presage and 
 allowed herself a protest in limine. 
 
 * Alfred, I do hope you won't go on in this 
 
 VOL. T. M 
 
i62 DEMOS 
 
 way whilst Letty is here. You mayn't think 
 it, but you pain her very much.' 
 
 ' Pain her ! It's her education. She's had 
 none yet, no more than you have. It's time 
 you both began to learn.' 
 
 It being close upon the hour for tea, the 
 young lady of whom there was question 
 was heard to ring the door-bell. We have 
 already had a passing glimpse of her, but since 
 then she has been honoured by becoming 
 Alfred's affianced. Letty Tew fulfilled all the 
 conditions desirable in one called to so trying 
 a destiny. She was a pretty, supple, sweet- 
 mannered girl, and, as is the case with such 
 girls, found it possible to worship a man whom 
 in consistency she must have deemed the most 
 condemnable of heretics. She and Adela 
 were close friends ; Adela, indeed, had no other 
 friend in the nearer sense. The two were made 
 of very different fibre, but that had not as yet 
 distinctly shown. 
 
 Adela's reproof was not wholly without 
 effect ; her brother got through the evening 
 without proceeding to his extremest truculence. 
 Still the conversation was entirely of his leading, 
 consequently not a little argumentative. He 
 had brought home, as he always did on 
 Saturday, a batch of ultra periodicals, among 
 them the ' Fiery Cross,' and his own eloquence 
 was supplemented by the reading of excerpts 
 
DEMOS 163 
 
 from these lively columns. It was a combat of 
 three to one, but the majority did little beyond 
 throwing up hands at anything particularly 
 outrageous. Adela said much less than usual. 
 
 ' I tell you what it is, you three I ' Alfred 
 cried, at a certain climax of enthusiasm, ad- 
 dressing the ladies with characteristic courtesy, 
 ' we'll found a branch of the Union in Wanley ; 
 I mean, in our particular circle of thickheads. 
 Then, as soon as Mutimer's settlement gets 
 going, we can coalesce. Now you two girls 
 give next week to going round and soliciting 
 subscriptions for the " Fiery Cross." People 
 have had time to get over the first scare, and 
 you know they can't refuse such as you. 
 Quarterly, one-and-eightpence, including post- 
 age.' 
 
 'But, my dear Alfred,' cried Adela, 're- 
 member that Letty and I are not Sociahsts ! ' 
 
 'Letty is, because I expect it of her, and 
 you can't refuse to keep her in countenance.' 
 
 The girls laughed merrily at this antici- 
 pated lordship ; but Letty said presently — . 
 
 ' I believe father will take the paper if I 
 ask him. One is better than nothing, isn't it, 
 Alfred?' 
 
 ' Good. We book Stephen Tew, Esquire.* 
 
 ' But surely you mustn't call him Esquire .^ ' 
 suggested Adela. 
 
 V, '2 
 
1 64 DEMOS 
 
 ' Oh, lie is yet unregenerate ; let him keep 
 his baubles.' 
 
 ' How are the regenerate designated ? ' 
 
 ' Comrade, we prefer.' 
 
 ' Also applied to women ? ' 
 
 ' Well, I suppose not. As the word hasn't 
 a feminine, call yourselves plain Letty Tew 
 and Adela Waltham, without meaningless pre- 
 fix.' 
 
 ' What nonsense you are talking, Alfred ! ' 
 remarked his mother. ' As if everybody in 
 Wanley could address young ladies by their 
 Christian names ! ' 
 
 In this way did Alfred begin the 'propa- 
 ganda' at home. Already the village was 
 much occupied with the vague new doctrines 
 represented by the name of Eichard Mu timer ; 
 the parlour of the Wheatsheaf was loud of 
 evenings Avith extraordinary debate, and gos- 
 sips of a higher station had at length found a 
 topic which promised to be inexhaustible. Of 
 course the vicar was eagerly sounded as to his 
 views. Mr. Wyvern preserved an attitude of 
 scrupulous neutrality, contenting himself with 
 correction of palpable absurdities in the stories 
 going about. ' But surely you are not a Social- 
 ist, Mr. Wyvern?' cried Mrs. Mewling, after 
 doing her best to pump the reverend gentle- 
 man, and discovering nothing. ' I am a Chris- 
 tian, madam,' was the reply, ' and have nothing 
 
DEMOS 165 
 
 to do with economic doctrines.' Mrs. Mewlincr 
 
 o 
 
 spread the phrase ' economic doctrines,' shaking 
 her head upon the adjective, Avhich was inter- 
 preted by her hearers as condemnatory in 
 significance. The half-dozen shopkeepers were 
 disposed to secret jubilation ; it was probable 
 that, in consequence of the doings in the valley, 
 trade would look up. Mutimer himself was 
 a centre of interest such as Wanley had never 
 known. When he walked down the street the 
 news that he was visible seemed to spread like 
 wildfire ; every house had its gazers. Except- 
 ing the case of the Walthams, he had not as 
 yet sought to make personal acquaintances, 
 appearing rather to avoid opportunities. On 
 the whole it seemed likely that he would be 
 popular. The little group of mothers with 
 marriageable daughters waited eagerly for the 
 day when, by establishing himself at the Manor, 
 he would throw off the present semi-incognito, 
 and become the recognised head of Wanley 
 society. He would discover the necessity of 
 having a lady to share his honours and preside 
 at his table. Persistent inquiry seemed to 
 have settled the fact that he was not married 
 already. To be sure, there were awesome 
 rumours that Socialists repudiated laws divine 
 and human in matrimonial affairs, but the 
 more sano[uine were inclined to regard this 
 as calumny, their charity finding a support in 
 
1 66 DEMOS 
 
 tlieir personal ambitions. The interest formerly 
 attaching to the Eldons had altogether vanished. 
 Mrs. Eldon and her son were now mere ob- 
 stacles to be got rid of as quickly as possible. 
 It was the general opinion that Hubert Eldon's 
 illness was purposely protracted, to suit his 
 mother's convenience. Until Mutimer's arrival 
 there had been much talk about Hubert; 
 whether, owing to Dr. Manns' indiscretion or 
 through the servants at the Manor, it had be- 
 come known that the young man was suffering 
 from a bullet-wound, and the story circulated 
 by Mrs. Mewling led gossips to suppose that he 
 had been murderously assailed in that land 
 of notorious profligacy known to Wanley as 
 ' abroad.' That, however, was now become 
 an old story. Wanley was anxious for the 
 Eldons to go their way, and leave the stage 
 clear. 
 
 Everyone of course was aware that Mu- 
 timer spent his Sundays in London (a circum- 
 stance, it was admitted, not altogether reassur- 
 ing to the ladies with marriageable daughters), 
 and his unwonted appearance in the village on 
 the evening of the present Saturday excited 
 universal comment. Would he appear at 
 church next morning? There was a general 
 directing of eyes to the Manor pew. This pew 
 had not been occupied since the fateful Sunday 
 when, at the conclusion of the morning service, 
 
DEMO^ 167 
 
 old Mr. Mutimer was discovered to have 
 breathed his last. It was a notable object in 
 the dim little church, having a wooden canopy 
 supported on four shm oak pillars with vermi- 
 cular moulding. From pillar to pillar hung 
 dark curtains, so that when these were drawn 
 the interior of the pew was entirely protected 
 from observation. Even on the brightest days 
 its occupants were veiled in gloom. To-day 
 the curtains remained drawn as usual, and 
 Eichard Mutimer disappointed the congrega- 
 tion. Wanley had obtained assurance on one 
 point — Socialism involved Atheism. 
 
 Then it came to pass that someone saw 
 Mutimer approach the Walthams' house just 
 before dinner time ; saw him, moreover, ring 
 and enter. A couple of hours, and the omi- 
 nous event was everywhere being discussed. 
 Well, well, it was not difficult to see what that 
 meant. Trust Mrs. Waltham for shrewd gene- 
 ralship. Adela Waltham had been formerly 
 talked of in connection with young Eldon ; but 
 Eldon was now out of the question, and behold 
 his successor, in a double sense ! Mrs. Mewling 
 surrendered her Sunday afternoon nap and flew 
 frOm house to house — of course in time for 
 the dessert-wine at each. Her cry was haro ! 
 Eeally, this was sharp practice on Mrs Wal- 
 tham's part ; it was stealing a march before the 
 commencement of the game. Did there not 
 
1 68 DEMOS 
 
 exist a tacit understanding that movements were 
 postponed until Mutimer's occupation of the 
 Manor ? Adela was a very nice young girl, to 
 be sure, a very nice girl indeed, but one must 
 confess that she had her eyes open. Would it not 
 be well for united Wanley to let her know its 
 opinion of such doings? 
 
 In the meantime Eichard was enjoying him- 
 self, with as little thought of the Wanley gossips 
 as of — shall we say, the old curtained pew in 
 Wanley Church ? He was perfectly aware that 
 the Walthams did not represent tlie highest 
 gentility, that there was a considerable interval, 
 for example, between Mrs. Waltham and Mrs. 
 Westlake ; but the fact remained that he had 
 never yet been on intimate terms with a family 
 so refined. Eadical revolutionist thougli he was, 
 lie had none of the grossness or obstinacy which 
 would have denied to the bourgeois household 
 any advantage over those of his own class. At 
 dinner he found himself behaving circumspectly. 
 He knew already that the cultivated taste objects 
 to the use of a table-knife save for purposes of 
 cutting ; on the whole he saw grounds for the 
 objection. He knew, moreover, that manduca- 
 tion and the absorption of fluids must be per- 
 formed without audible gusto ; tlie knowledge 
 cost him some self-criticism. But there w^ere 
 numerous minor points of convention on which 
 he was not so clear ; it had never occurred to 
 
DEMOS 169 
 
 liim, for instance, that civilisation demands the 
 breaking of bread, that, in the absence of silver, 
 a fork must suffice for the dissection of fish, that 
 a napkin is a graceful auxihary in the process 
 of a meal and not rather an embarrassing super- 
 fluity of furtive application. Like a wise man, 
 he did not talk much during dinner, devoting 
 his mind to observation. Of one thing he 
 speedily became aware, namely that Mr. Alfred 
 Waltham was so very nuich in Jiis own house 
 that it was not wholly safe to regard his de- 
 meanour as exemplary. Another point well 
 certified was that if any person in the world 
 could be pointed to as an unassailable pattern 
 of comely behaviour that person w^as Mr. Alfred 
 Waltham's sister. Eichard observed Adela as 
 closely as good manners would allow. 
 
 Talking little as yet — the young man at 
 the head of the table gave others every facility 
 for silence — Eichard could occupy his thought 
 in many directions. Among other things, he 
 instituted a comparison between the young 
 lady who sat opposite to him and someone — 
 not a young lady, it is true, but of the same 
 sex and about the same age. He tried to 
 imagine Emma Yine seated at this table ; the 
 effort resulted in a disagreeable warmth in the 
 lobes of his ears. Yes, but — he attacked him- 
 self — not Emma Vine dressed as he was ac- 
 customed to see her ; suppose her possessed of 
 
I70 DEMOS 
 
 all Adela Waltliam's exterior advantages. As 
 his imagination was working on the hint, 
 Adela herself addressed a question to him. 
 He looked up, he let her voice repeat itself in 
 inward echo. His ears were still more dis- 
 agreeably warm. 
 
 It was a lovely day — warm enough to dine 
 with the windows open. The faintest air 
 seemed to waft sunhght from corner to corner 
 of the room ; numberless birds sang on the 
 near boughs and hedges; the flowers on the 
 table were like a careless gift of gold-hearted 
 prodigal summer. Eichard transferred himself 
 in spirit to a certain square on the borders of 
 Hoxton and Islington, within scent of the 
 Eegent's Canal. The house there was now in- 
 habited by Emma and her sisters ; they also 
 would be at dinner. Suppose he had the 
 choice : there or here ? Adela addressed to 
 him Tanother question. The square vanished 
 into space. 
 
 How often he had spoken scornfully of 
 that word 'lady'! Were not all of the sex 
 women ? What need for that hateful distinc- 
 tion ? Eichard tried another experiment with 
 his imagination. ' I had dinner with some 
 people called Waltham last Sunday. Tlie old 
 woman I didn't much care about ; but there 
 
 was a young woman ' Well, why not ? 
 
 On the other hand suppose Emma Vine called 
 
DEMOS 171 
 
 at his lodgings. ' A young woman called this 
 morning, sir ' Well, why not ? 
 
 Dessert was on the table. He saw Adela's 
 fingers take an orange, her other hand holding 
 a little fruit-knife. Now, who could have ima- 
 gined that the simple paring of an orange 
 could be achieved at once with such consum- 
 mate grace and so naturally? In Eichard's 
 country they first bite off a fraction of the skin, 
 then dig away with what of finger-nail may be 
 available. He knew someone who would as- 
 suredly proceed in that way. 
 
 Metamorphosis ! Eichard Mutimer specu- 
 lates on a3sthetic problems. 
 
 ' You, gentlemen, I dare say will be wicked 
 enough to smoke,' remarked Mrs. Waltham, as 
 she rose from the table. 
 
 ' I tell you what we shall be wicked enough 
 to do, mother,' exclaimed Alfred. ' We shall 
 have two cups of coffee brought out into the 
 garden, and spare your furniture ! ' 
 
 ' Very well, my son. Your tvco cups evi- 
 dently mean that Adela and I are not invited 
 to the garden.' 
 
 ' Nothing of the kind. But I know you 
 always go to sleep, and Adela doesn't like to- 
 bacco smoke.' 
 
 'I go to sleep, Alfred! You know very 
 well that I have a very different occupation for 
 my Sunday afternoons.' 
 
172 DEMOS 
 
 ' I really don't care anything about smok- 
 ing,' observed Mutimer, with a glance at 
 Adela. 
 
 ' Oh, you certainly shall not deprive yourself 
 on my account, Mr. Mutimer,' said the girl, 
 good-naturedly. ' I hope soon to come out 
 into the garden, and I am not at all sure that 
 my objection to tobacco is serious.' 
 
 Ah, if Mrs. Mewling could have heard that 
 speech ! Mrs. Mewling 's age was something 
 less than fifty ; probably she had had time to 
 forget how a young girl such as Adela speaks 
 in pure frankness and never looks back to muse 
 over a double meaning. 
 
 It was nearly three o'clock. Adela com- 
 pared her watch with the sitting-room clock, and, 
 the gentlemen having retired, moved about tlie 
 room with a look of uneasiness. Her mother 
 stood at the window, seemingly regarding the 
 sky, in reality occupying her thoughts with 
 things much nearer. She turned and found 
 Adela looking at her. 
 
 ' I want just to run over and speak to Letty,' 
 Adela said. ' I shall very soon be back.' 
 
 ' Very well, dear,' replied her mother, scan- 
 ning her face absently. 'But don't let them 
 keep you.' 
 
 Adela quickly fetched her hat and left the 
 house. It was her habit to walk at a good 
 pace, always with the same airy movement, as 
 
DEMOS 173 
 
 though her feet only in appearance pressed the 
 ground. On the way she again consulted her 
 watch, and it caused her to flit still faster. 
 Arrived at the abode of the Tews, she fortu- 
 nately found Letty in the garden, sitting with 
 two younger sisters, one a child of ^v^ years. 
 Miss Tew was reading aloud to them, her book 
 being ' Pilgrim's Progress.' At the sight of 
 Adela the youngest of the three slipped down 
 from her seat and ran to meet her with laughter 
 and shaking of curls. 
 
 ' Carry me round ! carry me round ! ' cried 
 the little one. 
 
 For it was Adela's habit to snatch up the 
 flaxen Httle maiden, seat her upon her shoulder, 
 and trot merrily round a circular path in the 
 garden. But the sister next in age, whose 
 thirteenth year had developed deep convictions, 
 interposed sharply — 
 
 ' Eva, don't be naughty ! Isn't it Sunday .? ' 
 
 The little one, saved on the very brink of 
 iniquity, turned away in confusion and stood 
 with a finger in her mouth. 
 
 ' I'll come and carry you round to-morrow, 
 Eva,' said the visitor, stooping to kiss the reluc- 
 tant face. Then, turning to the admonitress, 
 ' Jessie, will you read a little.^ I want just to 
 speak to Letty.' 
 
 Miss Jessie took the volume, made her 
 countenance yet sterner, and, having drawn 
 
174 DEMOS 
 
 Eva to her side, began to read in measured 
 tones, reproducing as well as she could the 
 enunciation of the pulpit. Adela beckoned to 
 her friend, and the two walked apart. 
 
 'I'm in such a %^'^ she began, speaking 
 hurriedly, ' and there isn't a minute to lose. 
 Mr. Mutimer has been having dinner with us ; 
 Alfred invited him. And I expect Mr. Eldon 
 to come about four o'clock. I met him yester- 
 day on the Hill ; he came up just as I was 
 looking out for Alfred with the glass, and I 
 asked him if he wouldn't come and say good- 
 bye to mother this afternoon. Of course I'd 
 no idea that Mr. Mutimer would come to dinner; 
 he always goes away for Sunday. Isn't it dread- 
 fully awkward ? ' 
 
 ' You think he wouldn't like to meet Mr. 
 Mutimer ? ' asked Letty, savouring the gravity 
 of the situation. 
 
 ' I'm sure he wouldn't. He spoke about 
 him yesterday. Of course he didn't say any- 
 thing against Mr. Mutimer, but I could tell from 
 his way of speaking. And then it's quite 
 natural, isn't it ? I'm really afi^aid. He'll think 
 it so unkind of me. I told him we should be 
 alone, and I shan't be able to explain. Isn't it 
 tiresome ? ' 
 
 ' It is, really ! But of course Mr. Eldon 
 will understand. To think that it should happen 
 just this day ! ' 
 
DEMOS 175 
 
 An idea flashed across ]\Iiss Tew's mind. 
 
 ' Couldn't you be at the door when he 
 comes, and just — just say, you know, that you're 
 sorry, that you knew nothing about Mr. Mu timer 
 
 coming ? 
 
 'I've thought of something else,' returned 
 Adela, lowering her voice, as if to impart a 
 project of doubtful propriety. 'Suppose I walk 
 towards the Manor and — and meet him on the 
 way, before he gets very far ? Then I could 
 save him the annoyance, couldn't I, dear ? ' 
 
 Letty widened her eyes. The idea was 
 splendid, but — 
 
 ' You don't think, dear, that it might be a 
 little — that you might find it ? ' 
 
 Adela reddened. 
 
 ' It is only a piece of kindness. Mr. Eldon 
 will understand, I'm sure. He asked me so 
 particularly if we should be alone. I really 
 feel it a duty. Don't you think I may go .^ I 
 must decide at once.' 
 
 Letty hesitated. 
 
 ' If you really advise me not to ' pur- 
 sued Adela. 'But I'm sure I shall be glad 
 when it's done.' 
 
 ' Then go, dear. Yes, I would go if I were 
 you.' 
 
 Adela now faltered. 
 
 ' You really would go, in my place ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, yes, I'm sure I should. You see, it 
 
176 DEMOS 
 
 isn't as if it was Mr. Miitimer you were going 
 to meet.' 
 
 ' Oh, no, no ! That would be impossible.' 
 
 ' He will be very grateful,' murmured Letty, 
 without looking up. 
 
 ' If I go, it must be at once.' 
 
 ' Your mother doesn't know he was com- 
 ing?' 
 
 ' No. I don't know why I haven't told her, 
 really. I suppose we were talking so much of 
 other things last night. And then I only got 
 home just as Alfred did, and he said at once 
 that he had invited Mr. Mutimer. Yea, I will 
 go. Perhaps I'll come and see you again after 
 church.' 
 
 Letty went back to ' Pilgrim's Progress.' 
 Her sister Jessie enjoyed the sound of her own 
 voice, and did not offer to surrender the book, 
 so she sat by little Eva's side and resumed her 
 Sunday face. 
 
 Adela took the road for the Manor, resisting 
 the impulse to cast glances on either side as 
 she passed the houses at the end of the village. 
 She felt it to be more than likely that eyes 
 were observing her, as it was an unusual time 
 for her to be abroad, and the direction of her 
 walk pointed unmistakably to one destination. 
 But she made no account of secrecy ; her 
 errand was perfectly simple and with an object 
 that no one could censure. If people tattled. 
 
DEMOS 177 
 
 they alone were to blame. For the first time 
 she experienced a little resentment of the 
 public criticism which was so rife in Wanley. 
 and the experience was useful — one of those 
 inappreciable aids to independence which act 
 by cumulative stress on a character capable or 
 development and softly mould its outlines. 
 
 She passed the church, then the vicarage, 
 and entered the hedgeway which by a long 
 curve led to the Manor. She was slackening 
 her pace, not wishing to approach too near to 
 the house, when she at length saw Hubert 
 Eldon walking towards her. He advanced 
 with a look which Avas not exactly indifferent 
 yet showed no surprise ; the smile only came 
 to his face when he Avas near enough to speak. 
 
 'I have come to meet you,' Adela began, 
 with frankness which cost her a little agitation 
 of breath. ' I am so very sorry to have misled 
 you yesterday. As soon as I reached home, I 
 found that my brother had invited Mr. Mutimer 
 for to-day. I thought it would be best if I 
 came and told you that — that we were not 
 quite alone, as I said we shotild be.' 
 
 As she spoke Adela became distressed by 
 perceiving, or seeming to perceive, that the 
 cause which had led her to this step was quite 
 inadequate. Of course it was the result of her 
 having to forbear mention of the real point at 
 issue ; she could not say that she feared it 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
178 DEMOS 
 
 might be disagreeable to her hearer to meet 
 Muthner. But, put in the other way, her 
 pretext for coming appeared trivial. Only 
 with an extreme effort she preserved her even 
 tone to the end of her speech. 
 
 'It is very kind of you,' Hubert replied 
 almost warmly. ' I'm very sorry you have had 
 the trouble.' 
 
 As she disclaimed thanks, Eldon's tact dis- 
 covered the way of safety. Facing her with a 
 quiet openness of look, he said, in a tone of 
 pleasant directness which Adela had often felt 
 to be peculiarly his own — 
 
 ' I shall best thank you by admitting that I 
 should have found it very unpleasant to meet 
 Mr. Mutimer. You felt that, and hence your 
 kindness. At the same time, no doubt, you 
 pity me for my littleness.' 
 
 ' I think it perfectly natural that such a 
 meeting should be disagreeable. I believe I 
 understand your feeling. Indeed, you explained 
 it to me yesterday.' 
 
 ' I explained it ? ' 
 
 ' In what you said about the works in the 
 valley.' 
 
 ' True. Many people would have inter- 
 preted me less liberally.' 
 
 Adela's eyes brightened a little. But 
 when she raised them, they fell upon some- 
 thins^ which disturbed her cheerfulness. This 
 
DEMOS 179 
 
 was the face of Mrs. Mewling, who had come up 
 from the direction of Wanley and was clearly 
 about to pay a visit at the Manor. The lady 
 smiled and murmured a greeting as she passed 
 
 ' I suppose Mrs. Mewling is going to see my 
 mother,' said Hubert, w^ho also had lost a little 
 of his naturalness. 
 
 A few more w^ords and they again parted. 
 Nothing further was said of the postponed 
 visit. Adela hastened homewards, dreading 
 lest she had made a great mistake, yet glad 
 that she had ventured to come. 
 
 Her mother was just going out into the 
 garden, where Alfred's voice sounded frequently 
 in laughter or denunciation. Adela would 
 have been glad to sit alone for a short time, 
 but Mrs. Waltham seemed to wish for her 
 company. She had only time to glance at 
 herself in her looking-glass and just press a 
 palm against each cheek. 
 
 Alfred was puffing clouds from his briar 
 pipe, but Mu timer had ceased smoking. Near 
 the latter was a vacant seat ; Adela took it, 
 as there was no other. 
 
 ' What a good thing the day of rest is ! ' 
 exclaimed Mrs. Waltham. 'I always feel 
 thankful when I think of the poor men who 
 toil so all through the w^eek in Belwick, and 
 how they must enjoy their Sunday. You 
 
 k2 
 
i8o DEMOS 
 
 surely wouldn't make any change in tliat^ Mr. 
 Mutimer ? ' 
 
 ' The change I should like to see would be 
 in the other direction,' Eichard replied. 'I 
 would have holidays far more frequent. In 
 the towns you can scarcely call Sunday a holi- 
 day. There's nothing to do but to walk about 
 the streets. On the whole it does far more 
 harm than good.' 
 
 ' Do they never go to church ? ' asked 
 Adela. She was experiencing a sort of irri- 
 tation against their guest, a feeling traceable 
 to more than one source ; Mutimer's -frequent 
 glances did not tend to soothe it. She asked 
 the question rather in a spirit of adverse criti- 
 cism. 
 
 ' The working people don't,' was the reply, 
 * except a Dissenting family here and there.' 
 
 ' Perhaps that is one explanation of the 
 Sundays being useless to them.' 
 
 Adela would scarcely have ventured upon 
 such a tone in reference to any secular matter ; 
 the subject being religion, she was of course 
 justified in expressing herself freely. 
 
 Mutimer smiled and held back his rejoin- 
 der for a moment. By that time Alfred had 
 taken his pipe from his lips and was giving 
 utterance to unmeasured scorn. 
 
 'But, Mr. Mutimer,' said Mrs. Waltham, 
 wvaing aside her son's vehemence, *you don't 
 
DEMOS i8i 
 
 seriously tell us that the working people have 
 no religion ? Surely that would be too shock- 
 ing!' 
 
 ' Yes, I say it seriously, Mrs. Waltham. 
 In the ordinary sense of the word, they have 
 no religion. The truth is, they have no time 
 to think of it.' 
 
 ' Oh, but surely it needs no thought ' 
 
 Alfred exploded. 
 
 ' I mean,' pursued his mother, ' that, how- 
 ever busy we are, there must always be intervals 
 to be spared from the world.' 
 
 Mutimer again delayed his reply. A look 
 which he cast at Adela appeared to move her 
 to speech. 
 
 ' Have they not their evenings free, as well 
 as every Sunday ? ' 
 
 ' Happily, Miss Waltham, you can't realise 
 their lives,' Pdchard began. He was not 
 smiling now ; Adela's tone had struck him like 
 a challenge, and he collected himself to meet 
 her. ' The man who lives on wages is never 
 free ; he sells himself body and soul to his 
 employer. What sort of freedom does a man 
 enjoy who may any day find himself and his 
 family on the point of starvation just because 
 he has lost his work ? All his life long he 
 has before his mind the fear of want — not only 
 of straitened means, mind you, but of desti- 
 tution and the workhouse. How can such a 
 
1 82 DEMOS 
 
 man put aside his common cares ? Eeligion 
 is a luxury ; the working man has no luxuries. 
 Now, you speak of the free evenings ; people 
 always do, when they're asking why the work- 
 ing classes don't educate themselves. Do you 
 understand what that free eveninsj means ? 
 He gets home, say, at six o'clock, tired out ; he 
 has to be up again perhaps at five next morn- 
 ing. What can he do but just lie about half 
 asleep ? Why, that's the whole principle of 
 the capitalist system of employment ; it's calcu- 
 lated exactly how long a man can be made to 
 work in a day without making him incapable 
 of beginning again on the day following — ^just 
 as it's calculated exactly how little a man can 
 live upon, in the regulation of wages. If the 
 workman returned home with strength to spare, 
 employers would soon find it out, and work- 
 shop legislation would be revised — because of 
 course it's the capitalists that make the laws. 
 The principle is that a man shall have no 
 strength left for himself ; it's all paid for, every 
 scrap of it, bought with the wages at each week 
 end. What religion can such men have ? 
 Eeligion, I suppose, means thankfulness for 
 life and its pleasures — at all events, that's a 
 great part of it — and what has a wage-earner 
 to be thankful for ? ' 
 
 'It sounds very shocking,' observed ]\irs. 
 Waltham. somewhat disturbed by the speaker's 
 
DEMOS 183 
 
 growing earnestness. Eichard paid no attention 
 and continued to address Adela. 
 
 ' I dare say you've lieard of the early trains — 
 workmen's trains — that they run on the London 
 railways. If only you could travel once by one 
 of those ! Between station and station there's 
 scarcely a man or boy in the carriage who can 
 keep awake ; there they sit, leaning over against 
 each other, their heads dropping forward, their 
 eyelids that heavy they can't hold them up. I 
 tell you, it's one of the most miserable sights 
 to be seen in this world. If you saw it, Miss 
 Waltham, you'd pity them, I'm very sure of 
 that ! You only need to know what their life 
 means. People who have never known hard- 
 ship often speak more cruelly than they think, 
 and of course it always will be so as long as the 
 rich and the poor are two different races, as 
 much apart as if there was an ocean between 
 them.' 
 
 Adela's cheeks were warm. It was a novel 
 sensation to be rebuked in this unconventional 
 way. She was feeling a touch of shame as well 
 as the shght resentment which was partly her 
 class-instinct, partly of her sex. 
 
 'I feel that I have no right to give any 
 opinion,' she said, in an undertone. 
 
 ' Meaning, Adela,' commented her brother, 
 ' that you have a very strong opinion and stick 
 to it.' 
 
1 84 DEMOS 
 
 ' One thing I dare say you are thinking, Miss 
 Waltham,' Eichard pursued, 'if you'll allow me 
 to say it. You think that I rayself don't exactly 
 prove what I've been saying — I mean to say, 
 that I at all events have had free time, not only 
 to read and reflect, but to give lectures and so 
 on. Yes, and I'll explain that. It was my 
 good fortune to have a father and mother who 
 were very careful and hard-working and 
 thoughtful people ; I and my sister and brother 
 were brought up in an orderly home, and taught 
 from the first that ceaseless labour and strict 
 economy were the things always to be .kept in 
 mind. All that was just fortunate chance \ I'm 
 not praising myself in saying I've been able to 
 get more into my time than most other working 
 men ; it's my father and mother I have to thank 
 for it. Suppose they'd been as ignorant and 
 careless as most of their class are made by the 
 hard lot they have to endure ; why, I should 
 have followed them, that's all. We've never 
 had to go without a meal, and why? Just 
 because we've all of us w^orked like slaves and 
 never allowed ourselves to think of rest or 
 enjoyment. When my father died, of course 
 we had to be more careful than ever ; but there 
 were three of us to earn money, fortunately, 
 and we kept up the home. We put our money 
 by for the club every week, what's more.' 
 
 'The club?' queried Miss Waltham, to 
 
DEMOS 185 
 
 whom the word sucrc^ested Pall Mall and vac^ue 
 
 CO o 
 
 glories which dwelt in her imagination. 
 
 ' That's to make provision for times when 
 we're ill or can't get work,' Mutimer explained. 
 ' If a wage-earner falls ill, what has he to look 
 to? The capitalist won't trouble himself to 
 keep him alive ; there's plenty to take his place. 
 Well, that's my position, or was a few months 
 ago. I don't suppose any w^orking man has 
 had more advantages. Take it as an example 
 of the most we can hope for, and pray say what 
 it amounts to ! Just on the right side, just 
 keeping afloat, just screwing out an hour here 
 and there to work your brain when you ought 
 to be taking^ wholesome recreation ! That's 
 nothing very grand, it seems to me. Yet 
 people will point to it and ask what there is 
 to grumble at ! ' 
 
 Adela sat uneasily under Mutimer 's gaze ; 
 she kept her eyes down. 
 
 ' And I'm not sure that I should always 
 have got on as easily,' the speaker continued. 
 ' Only a day or two before I heard of my rela- 
 tive's death, I'd just been dismissed from my 
 employment ; that was because they didn't like 
 my opinions. Well, I don't say they hadn't 
 a right to dismiss me, just as I suppose you've 
 a right to kill as many of -the enemy as you 
 can in time of war. But suppose I couldn't 
 have got work anywhere. I had nothing but 
 
iS6 DEMOS 
 
 my hands to depend upon ; if I couldn't sell my 
 muscles I must starve, that's all.' 
 
 Adela looked at him for almost the first 
 time. She had heard this story from her 
 brother, but it came more impressively from 
 Mu timer's own lips. A sort of heroism was 
 involved in it, the championship of a cause 
 regardless of self. She remained thoughtful 
 with troublous colours on her face. 
 
 Mrs. Waltham was more obviously uneasy. 
 There are certain things to which in good 
 society one does not refer, first and foremost 
 humiliating antecedents. The present circum- 
 stances were exceptional to be sure, but it was 
 to be hoped that Mr. Mutimer would outgrow 
 this habit of advertising his origin. Let him 
 talk of the working classes if he liked, but 
 always in the third person. The good lady 
 began to reflect whether she might not venture 
 shortly to give him friendly hints on this and 
 similar subjects. 
 
 But it was nearly tea-time. Mrs. Waltham 
 shortly rose and went into the house, whither 
 Alfred followed her. Mutimer kept his seat, 
 and Adela could not leave him to himself, 
 though for the moment he seemed unconscious 
 of her presence. When they had been alone 
 together for a little while, Eichard broke the 
 silence. 
 
 ' I hope 1 didn't speak rudely to you, Miss 
 
DEMOS 187 
 
 Waltliam. I don't think I need fear to say 
 what I mean, but I know there are always two 
 ways of saymg things, and perhaps I chose the 
 roughest.' 
 
 Adela was conscious of having said a few 
 hard things mentally, and this apology, de- 
 livered in a very honest voice, appealed to her 
 instmct of justice. She did not like Mutimer, 
 and consequently strove against the prejudice 
 which the very sound of his voice aroused in 
 her ; it was her nature to aim thus at equity in 
 her personal judgments. 
 
 ' To describe hard things we must use hard 
 words,' she replied pleasantly, ' but you said 
 nothing that could offend.' 
 
 ' I fear you haven't much sympathy with 
 my way of looking at the question. I seem to 
 you to be going to work the wrong way.' 
 
 ' I certainly think you value too little the 
 means of happiness that we all have within our 
 reach, rich and poor alike.' 
 
 ' Ah, if you could only see into the life of 
 the poor, you would acknowledge that those 
 means are and can be nothing to them. Besides, 
 my way of thinking in such things is the same 
 as your brother's, and I can't expect you to see 
 any good in it.' 
 
 Adela shook her head slightly. She had 
 risen and was examining the leaves upon an 
 apple branch which she had drawn down. 
 
1 88 DEMOS 
 
 ^ But I'm sure 3^ou feel that tliere is need 
 for doing something,' he urged, quitting his 
 seat. ' You're not indifferent to the hard lives 
 of the people, as most people are who have 
 always lived comfortable lives ? ' 
 
 She let the branch spring up, and spoke 
 more coldly. 
 
 ' I hope I am not indifferent, but it is not 
 in my power to do anything.' 
 
 ' Will you let me say that you are mistaken 
 in that?' Mutimer had never before felt him- 
 self constrained to qualify and adorn his phrases ; 
 the necessity made him. awkward. N'o.t only 
 did he aim at polite modes of speech altogether 
 foreign to his lips, but his OAvn voice sounded 
 strange to him in its forced suppression. He did 
 not as yet succeed in regarding himself from 
 the outside and criticising the influences which 
 had got hold upon him ; he was only conscious 
 that a young lady — the very type of young lady 
 that a little while ago he would have held up 
 for scorn — was subduing his nature by her 
 mere presence and exacting homage from him 
 to which she was wholly indifferent. * Every- 
 one can give help in such a cause as this. You 
 can work upon the minds of the people you 
 talk with and get them to throw away their 
 prejudices. The cause of the working classes 
 seems so hopeless just because they're too far 
 
DEMOS 189 
 
 away to catch the ears of those who oppress 
 them.' 
 
 ' I do not oppress them, Mr. Mutimer.' 
 Adela spoke with a touch of impatience" 
 She wished to bring this conversation to an end, 
 and the man would give her no opportunity of 
 doing so. She was not in reaUty paying atten- 
 tion to his arguments, as was evident in her 
 echo of his last words. 
 
 'Not wilhngly, but none the less you do 
 so,' he rejoined. ' Everyone wdio lives at ease 
 and without a thought of changing the present 
 state of society is tyrannising over the j^eople^ 
 Every article of clothing you put on means a 
 hfe worn out somewhere in a factory. What 
 would your existence be without the toil of 
 those men and women who live and die in 
 want of every comfort which seems as natural 
 to you as the air you breathe .^ Don't you feel 
 that you owe them something? It's a debt 
 that can very easily be forgotten, I know that, 
 and just because the creditors are too weak to 
 claim it. Think of it in that way, and I'm 
 quite sure you won't let it shp from your mind 
 
 agam. 
 
 Alfred came towards them, announcin«^ 
 that tea was ready, and Adela gladly moved 
 away. 
 
 ' You won't make any impression there,' 
 said Alfred, with a shrug of good-natured 
 
190 DEMOS 
 
 contempt. 'Argument isn't understood by 
 women. Now, if you were a revivalist 
 preacher ' 
 
 Mrs. Waltham and Adela went to church. 
 Mutimer returned to his lodgings, leaving his 
 friend Waltham smoking in the garden. 
 
 On the way home after service, Adela had 
 a brief murmured conversation with Letty 
 Tew. Her mother was walking with Mrs. 
 Mewling. 
 
 ' It was evidently pre-arranged,' said the 
 latter, after recounting certain details in a tone 
 of confidence. ' I was quite shocked. On his 
 part such conduct is nothing less than dis- 
 graceful. Adela, of course, cannot be expected 
 to know.' 
 
 ' I must tell her,' was the reply. 
 
 Adela was sitting rather dreamily in her 
 bedroom a couple of hours later when her 
 mother entered. 
 
 ' Little girls shouldn't tell stories,' Mrs. 
 Waltham began, with playfulness which was 
 not quite natural. ' Who was it that wanted 
 to go and speak a word to Letty this after- 
 noon ? ' 
 
 'It wasn't altogether a story, mother,* 
 pleaded the girl, shamed, but with an en- 
 deavour to speak independently. ' I did want 
 to speak to Letty.* 
 
I 
 
 DEMOS 191 
 
 ' And you put it off, I suppose ? Eeally, 
 Adela, you must remember that a girl of your 
 age has to be mindful of her self-respect. In 
 Wanley you can't escape notice ; besides * 
 
 ' Let me explain, mother.' Adela's voice 
 was made firm by the suggestion that she had 
 behaved unbecomingly. 'I went to Letty first 
 of all to tell her of a difficulty I was in. Yes- 
 terday afternoon I happened to meet Mr. Eldon, 
 and when he was saying good-bye I asked him 
 if he wouldn't come and see you before he left 
 Wanley. He promised to come this afternoon. 
 At the time of course I didn't know that Alfred 
 had invited Mr. Mutimer. It would have 
 been so disagreeable for Mr. Eldon to meet 
 him here, I made up my mind to walk towards 
 the Manor and tell Mr. Eldon what had hap- 
 pened.' 
 
 ' Why should Mr. Eldon have found the 
 meeting with Mr. Mutimer disagreeable ? ' 
 
 ' They don't like each other.' 
 
 ' I dare say not. Perhaps it was as well 
 Mr. Eldon didn't come. I should most likely 
 have refused to see him.' 
 
 ' Eefused to see him, mother ? ' 
 
 Adela gazed in the utmost astonishment. 
 
 ' Yes, my dear. I haven't spoken to you 
 about Mr. Eldon, just because I took it for 
 granted that he would never come in your way 
 again. That he should have dared to speak to 
 
192 
 
 DEMOS 
 
 you is something beyond what I could have 
 imagined. When I went to see Mrs. Eldon on 
 Friday I didn't take you with me, for fear lest 
 that young man should show himself. It was 
 impossible for you to be in the same room with 
 him.' 
 
 'With Mr. Hubert Eldon? My dearest 
 mother, what are you saying ? ' 
 
 ' Of course it surprises you, Adela. I too 
 was surprised. I thought there might be no 
 need to speak to you of things you ought never 
 to hear mentioned, but now I am afraid I have 
 no choice. The sad truth is that Mr. Eldon 
 has utterly disgraced himself. When he ought 
 to have been here to attend Mr. Mutimer's 
 funeral, he was living at Paris and other such 
 places in the most shocking dissipation. Things 
 are reported of him which I could not breathe 
 to you ; he is a bad young man ! ' 
 
 The inclusiveness of that description ! Mrs. 
 Waltham's head quivered as she gave utterance 
 to the words, for at least half of the feehng she 
 expressed was genuine. To her hearer the 
 final phrase was like a thunderstroke. In a 
 certain profound work on the history of her 
 country which she had been in the habit of 
 studying, the author, discussing the character 
 of Oliver Cromwell, achieved a most impressive 
 chmax in the words, ' He was a bold, bad 
 man.' The adjective ' bad ' derived for Adela 
 
DEMOS 193 
 
 a dark energy from her recollection of that 
 passage ; it connoted every imaginable phase of 
 moral degradation. ' Dissipation ' too ; to her 
 pnre mind the word had a terrible sound ; it 
 sketched in lurid' outlines hideous lurkino^- 
 places of vice and disease. ' Paris and other 
 such places.' With the name of Paris she 
 associated a feeling of reprobation ; Paris was 
 the head-quarters of sin — at all events on earth. 
 In Paris people went to the theatre on Sunday ; 
 that fact alone shed storm-light over the iniqui- 
 tous capital. 
 
 She stood mute with misery, appalled, horri- 
 iied. It did not occur to her to doubt the 
 truth of her mother's accusations : the strano-e 
 circumstance of Hubert's absence when every 
 sentiment of decency would have summoned 
 him home corroborated the charge. And she 
 had talked familiarly with this man a few hours 
 ago ! Her head swam. 
 
 ' Mr. Mu timer knew it,' proceeded her 
 mother, noting with satisfaction the effect she 
 was producing. ' That was why he destroyed 
 the will in which he had left everything to Mr. 
 Eldon ; I have no doubt the grief killed him. 
 And one thing more I may tell you. Mr. 
 Eldon's illness was the result of a wound he 
 received in some shameful quarrel; it is be- 
 lieved that he fought a duel.' 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
194 DEMOS 
 
 The girl sank back upon her chair. She 
 was white and breathed with difficulty. 
 
 ' You will understand now, my dear,' Mrs. 
 Waltham continued, more in her ordinary 
 voice, ' why it so shocked me to hear that you 
 had been seen talking with Mr. Eldon near the 
 Manor. I feared it was an appointment. Your 
 explanation is all I wanted : it relieves me. 
 The worst of it is, other people will hear of it, 
 and of course we can t explain to everyone.' 
 
 ' Why should people hear .^ ' Adela ex- 
 claimed, in a quivering vcice. It was not 
 that she feared to have the story known, but 
 mingled feelings made her almost passionate. 
 ' Mrs. Mewling has no right to go about talking 
 of me. It is very ill-bred, to say nothing of 
 the unkindness.' 
 
 ' Ah, but it is what we have to be prepared 
 for, Adela. That is the world, my child. You 
 see how very careful one has to be. But never 
 mind ; it is most fortunate that the Eklons are 
 going. I am so sorry for poor Mrs. Eldon ; 
 who could have thought that her son would 
 turn out so badly! And to think that he 
 would have dared to come into my house ! At 
 least he had the decency not to show himself 
 at church.' 
 
 Adela sat silent. The warring of her heart 
 made outward sounds indistinct. 
 
 ' After all,' pursued her mother, as if making 
 
DEMOS 195 
 
 a great concession, ' I fear it is only too true 
 that those old families become degenerate. 
 One does hear such shockinor stories of the 
 aristocracy. But get to bed, dear, and don't 
 let this trouble you. What a very ^ood thing 
 that all that wealth didn't go into such hands, 
 isn't it ? Mr. Mutimer will at all events use it 
 in a decent way ; it won't be scattered in 
 vulgar dissipation. — Xow kiss me, dear. I 
 haven't been scolding you, pet ; it was only 
 that I felt I had perhaps made a mistake in not 
 telling you these things before, and I blamed 
 myself rather than you.' 
 
 Mrs. Waltham returned to her own room, 
 and, after a brief turning over of speculations 
 and projects begotten of the new aspect of 
 things, found her reward for conscientiousness 
 in peaceful slumber. But Adela was late in 
 falling asleep. She, too, had many things 
 to revolve, not worldly calculations, but the 
 troubled phantasies of a virgin mind which is 
 experiencing its first shock against the barriers 
 of fate. 
 
 2 
 
196 DEMOS 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 PiiCHARD MuTiMER had stroiig domestic affec- 
 tions. The English artisan is not demonstrative 
 in such matters, and throughout his hfe Pdchard 
 had probably exchanged no word of endear- 
 ment with any one of his kin, whereas -language 
 of the tempestuous kind was common enough 
 from him to one and all of them ; for all that, 
 he clung closely to the hearth, and nothing in 
 truth concerned him so nearly as the well-being 
 of his mother, his sister, and his brother. For 
 them he had rejoiced as much as for himself in 
 the blessing of fortune. Now that the excite- 
 ment of change had had time to subside, Eichard 
 found himself realising the fact that capital 
 creates cares as well as removes them, and just 
 now the centre of his anxieties lay in the house 
 at Higlibury to which his family had removed 
 from Wilton Square. 
 
 He believed that as yet both the Princess 
 and 'Arry were ignorant of the true state of 
 affairs. It had been represented to them that 
 he had ' come in for ' a handsome legacy from 
 
DEMOS 197 
 
 his relative in the Midlands, toe^ether with 
 certain business responsibihties which would 
 keep him much away from home ; they were 
 given to understand that the change in their 
 own position and prospects was entirely of their 
 brother's making. If Alice Maud was allowed 
 to give up her work, to wear more expensive 
 gowns, even to receive lessons on the pianoforte, 
 she had to thank Dick for it. And when 'Arry 
 was told that his clerkship at the drain-pipe 
 manufactory was about to terminate, that he 
 might enter upon a career likely to be more 
 fruitful of distinction, again it was Dick's 
 brotherly kindness. Mrs. Mutimer did her best 
 to keep up this deception. 
 
 But Eichard was well aware that the decep- 
 tion could not be lasting, and had the Princess 
 alone been concerned he would probably never 
 have commenced it. It was about his brother 
 that he was really anxious. 'Arry might hear 
 the truth any day, and Eichard gravely feared 
 the result of such a discovery. Had he been 
 destined to future statesmanship, he could not 
 have gone through a more profitable course of 
 experience and reasoning than that into which 
 he was led by brotherly solicitude. For 'Arry 
 represented a very large section of Demos, 
 alike in his natural characteristics and in the 
 circumstances of his position ; 'Arry, being 
 'Arry, was on the threshold of emancipation, 
 
198 DEMOS 
 
 and without tlie smallest likelihood that the 
 event would change his nature. Hence the nut 
 to crack : Given 'Arry, by what rapid process 
 of discipline can he be prepared for a state in 
 which the 'Arrian characteristics will surely 
 prove ruinous not only to himself but to all 
 with whom he has dealings ? 
 
 Eichard saw reason to deeply regret that the 
 youth had been put to clerking in the first in- 
 stance, and not rather trained for some handi- 
 craft, clerkships being about the least hopeful of 
 positions for a working-class lad of small parts 
 and pronounced blackguard tendencies. He 
 came to the conclusion that even now it was 
 not too late to remedy this error. 'Arry must 
 be taught what work meant, and, before he 
 came into possession of his means, he must, if 
 possible, be led to devote his poor washy brains 
 to some pursuit quite compatible with the 
 standing of a capitalist, to acquire knowledge 
 of a kind which he could afterwards use for the 
 benefit of his own pocket. Deficient bodily 
 vigour had had something to do with his eleva- 
 tion to the office of the drain-pipe factory, but 
 that he appeared to have outgrown. Much 
 pondering enabled Eichard to hit at length on 
 what he considered a hopeful scheme ; he 
 would apprentice 'Arry to engineering, and 
 send him in the evenings to follow the courses 
 of lectures given to working men at the School 
 
DEMOS 199 
 
 of Mines. In this way the lad would be kept 
 constantly occupied, he would learn the mean- 
 ing of work and study, and when he became of 
 age would be in a position to take up some 
 capitalist enterprise. Thus he might float clear 
 of the shoals of blackguardism and develop into 
 a tolerable member of society, at all events 
 using his wealth in the direct employment of 
 labour. 
 
 We have seen Eichard engaged in iBsthetic 
 speculation ; now we behold him busied in the 
 training of a representative capitalist. But the 
 world would be a terrible place if the men of 
 individual energy were at all times consistent. 
 Eichard knew well enough that in planning 
 thus for his brother's future he was inconsistency 
 itself; but then the matter at issue concerned 
 someone in whom he had a strong personal 
 interest, and consequently he took counsel of 
 facts. When it was only the world at large 
 that he Avas bent on benefiting, too shrewd a 
 sifting of arguments was not called for, and 
 might seriously have interfered with his oratorical 
 effects. In regulating private interests one cares 
 singularly little for anything but hard demon- 
 stration and the lof^ic of cause and effect. 
 
 It was now more than a month since 'Arry 
 had been removed from the drain-pipes and set 
 going on his new course, and Eichard was 
 watching the experiment gravely. Connected 
 
200 DEMOS 
 
 with it was liis exceptional stay at Wanley over 
 the Sunday ; he designed to go up to London 
 quite unexpectedly about the middle of the 
 ensuing week, that he might see how things 
 worked in his absence. It is true there had 
 been another inducement to remain in the vil- 
 lage, for Eichard had troubles of his own in 
 addition to those imposed upon him by his 
 family. The Manor was now at his disposal ; 
 as soon as he had furnished it there w^as no 
 longer a reason for delaying his marriage. In 
 appearance, that is to say ; inwardly there had 
 been growing for some weeks reasons manifold. 
 They tormented him. For the first time in his 
 life he had begun to sleep indifferently ; when 
 he had resolutely put from his mind thought of 
 Alice and 'Arry, and seemed ready for repose, 
 there crept out of less obvious lurking-places 
 subtle temptations and suggestions which fevered 
 his blood and only allured the more, the more 
 they disquieted him. This Sunday night was 
 the w^orst he had yet known. When he left 
 the Walthams, he occupied himself for an hour 
 or two in writing letters, resolutely subduing 
 his thoughts to the subjects of his correspondence. 
 Then he ate supper, and after that walked to the 
 top of Stanbury Hill, hoping to tire himself. 
 But he returned as little prepared for sleep as 
 he had set out. Now he endeavoured to think 
 of Emma Vine ; by way of help, he sat down 
 
I 
 
 DEMOS 20I 
 
 and began a letter to her. But composition 
 had never been so difficult ; he positively had 
 nothing to say. Still he must think of her. 
 When he went up to town on Tuesday or Wed- 
 nesday one of his first duties would be to 
 appoint a day for his marriage. And he felt 
 that it would be a duty harder to perform than 
 any he had ever known. She seemed to have 
 drifted so far from him, or he from her. It 
 was difficult even to see her face in imagination ; 
 another face always came instead, and indeed 
 needed no summoning. 
 
 He rose next mornino- Avitli a stern deter- 
 mination to marry Emma Vine in less than a 
 month from that date. 
 
 On Tuesday he went to London. A hansom 
 put him down before the house in Highbury 
 about six o'clock. It was a semi-detached 
 villa, stuccoed, bow-windowed, of two storeys, 
 standing pleasantly on a wide road skirted by 
 similar dwellings, and with a row of acacias in 
 front. He admitted himself with a latch-key 
 and walked at once into the front room ; it 
 was vacant. He went to the dining-room and 
 there found his mother at tea with Alice and 
 'Arry. 
 
 Mrs. Mutimer and her younger son were in 
 appearance very much what they had been in 
 their former state. The mother's dress was of 
 better material, but she was not otherwise 
 
202 DEMOS 
 
 outwardly cliangecl. 'Arry was attired nearly 
 as when w^e saw liini in a festive condition on 
 the evening of Easter Sunday ; the elegance 
 then reserved for high days and holidays now 
 distinguished him every evening when the guise 
 of the workshop was thrown off. He still wore 
 a waistcoat of pronounced cut, a striking collar, 
 a necktie of remarkable hue. It was not neces- 
 sary to approach him closely to be aware that 
 his person was sprinkled with perfumes. A 
 recent acquisition was a heavy-looking ring on 
 the little finger of his right hand. Had you 
 been of his intimates, 'Arry would have ex- 
 plained to you the double advantage of this 
 ring ; not only did it serve as an adornment, 
 but, as playful demonstration might indicate, 
 it would prove of singular efficacy in pugilistic 
 conflict. 
 
 At the sight of his elder brother, 'Arry 
 hastily put his hands beneath the table, drew 
 ofip the ornament, and consigned it furtively to 
 his waistcoat pocket. 
 
 But AUce Maud was by no means what she 
 had been. In all that concerned his sister, 
 Mutimer was weak ; he could quarrel with 
 her, and abuse her roundly for frailties, but 
 none the less was it one of his keenest pleasures 
 to see her contented, even in ways that went 
 quite against his conscience. He might rail 
 against the vanity of dress, but if Alice needed 
 
DEMOS 203 
 
 a new gown, Eichard was the first to notice it. 
 The neat httle silver watch she carried w^as a 
 gift from himself of some years back ; with 
 difficnlty he had resisted the temptation to 
 replace it with a gold one now that it was in 
 his powxr to do so. Tolerable taste and handi- 
 ness with her needle liad always kept Alice 
 rather more ladylike in appearance than the 
 girls of her class are wont to be, but such com- 
 parative distinction no longer sufficed. After 
 certain struggles with himself, Eichard had told 
 his mother that Alice must in future dress ' as 
 a lady ' ; he authorised her to procure the 
 services of a competent dressmaker, and, w^ithin 
 the bounds of moderation, to expend freely. 
 And the result was on the whole satisfactory. 
 A girl of good figure, pretty face, and moderate 
 wit, who has spent some years in a City show- 
 room, does not need much instruction in the 
 art of wearing fashionable attire becomingly. 
 Alice wore this evenins^ a i2:own which would 
 not have been out of place at five o'clock in 
 a West-end drawiog-room ; the sleeves were 
 rather short, sufficiently so to exhibit a very 
 shapely lower arm. She had discovered new 
 ways of doing her hair ; at present it was 
 braided on either side of the forehead — a style 
 which gave almost a thoughtful air to her face. 
 When her brother entered she was eating a 
 piece of sponge-cake, which she lield to her 
 
204 DEMOS 
 
 lips with peculiar delicacy, as if rehearsing 
 graces. 
 
 ' Why, there now ! ' cried Mrs. Mutimer, 
 pleased to see her son. 'If I wasn't saying 
 not five minutes ago as Dick was likely to come 
 some day in the week ! Wasn't I, Alice ? 
 What'll you have for your tea .^ There's some 
 chops all ready in the 'ouse, if you'd care for 
 them.' 
 
 Eichard was not in a cheerful mood. He 
 made no reply immediately, but went and 
 stood before the fireplace, as he had been 
 accustomed to do in the old kitchen. 
 
 'Will you have a chop?' repeated his 
 mother. 
 
 'No; I Avon't eat just yet. But you can 
 give me a cup of tea.' 
 
 Mrs. Mutimer and Alice exchano-ed a 
 glance, as the former bent over the teapot. 
 Eichard was regarding his brother askance, 
 and it resulted in a question, rather sharply 
 put — 
 
 ^ Have you been to work to-day ? ' 
 
 'Any would have lied had he dared ; as it 
 was, he made his plate revolve, and murmured, 
 ^ No ; he 'adn't.' 
 
 ^ Why not?' 
 
 ' I didn't feel well,' replied the youth, strug- 
 gling for self-confidence and doing liis l)est to 
 put on an air of patient suffering. 
 
DEMOS 205 
 
 Eichard tapped his tea-cup and looked the 
 look of one who reserves discussion for a more 
 seasonable time. 
 
 'Daniel called last night,' remarked Mrs. 
 Mutimer. ' He says he wants to see you. I 
 think it's something particular ; he seemed 
 disappointed you weren't at the meeting on 
 Sunday.' 
 
 ' Did he ? I'll see if I can get round to- 
 night. If YOU like to have something cooked 
 for me about eight o'clock, mother,' he added, 
 consulting his w^atch ; ' I shall be ready for it 
 then.' 
 
 He turned to his brother again. 
 
 ' Is there a class to-night ? Is o ? Very well, 
 when they've cleared aw^ay, get your books out 
 and show me what you've been doing. What 
 are you going to do with yourself, Alice ? ' 
 
 The two addressed, as w^ell as their mother, 
 appeared to have some special cause for em- 
 barrassment. Instead of immediately replying, 
 Alice played with crumbs and stole glances on 
 either side. 
 
 ' Me and 'Arry are going out,' she said at 
 length, Avith a rather timid smile and a poise of 
 the head in pretty wilfulness. 
 
 ' Not 'Arry,' Eichard observed significantly. 
 
 ' Why not ? ' came from the younger Muti- 
 mer, with access of boldness. 
 
 ' If you're not well enough to go to work 
 
2o6 DEMOS 
 
 you certainly don't go out at niglit for your 
 pleasure/ 
 
 ' But it's a particular occasion,' explained 
 Alice, leaning back with crossed arms, evidently 
 prepared to do battle. ' A friend of 'Arrj^'s is 
 going to call and take us to the theatre.' 
 
 ' Oh, indeed ! And what friend is that ? ' 
 
 Mrs. Mutimer, who had been talked over to 
 compliance with a project she felt Eichard 
 would not approve — she had no longer the old 
 authority, and spent her days in trying to piece 
 on the present life to the former — found refuge 
 in a habit more suitable to the kitchen than the 
 dinmg-room ; she had collected all the tea- 
 spoons within reach and was pouring hot-water 
 upon them in the slop-basin, the fmiiliar pre- 
 liminary to washing up. 
 
 ' A gen'leman as lives near here,' responded 
 'Arry. ' He writes for the newspapers. His 
 name's Keene.' 
 
 ' Oh ? And how came you to know him ? ' 
 
 ' Met him,' was the airy reply. 
 
 ' And you've brought him here ? ' 
 
 ' Well, he's been here once.' 
 
 ' He said as he wanted to know you, Dick,' 
 put in Mrs. Mutimer. ' He was really a civil- 
 spoken man, and he gave 'Arry a lot of help 
 with his books.' 
 
 ' When was he here ? ' 
 
 ' Last Friday.' 
 
DEMOS 207 
 
 ' And to-uiglit lie wants to take you to the 
 theatre ? ' 
 
 The question was addressed to Ahce. 
 
 ' It won't cost him anything/ she rephed. 
 ' He says he can always get free passes.' 
 
 ' Xo doubt. Is he coming here to fetch 
 you? I shall be glad to see him.' 
 
 Eichard's tone was ambiguous. He put 
 down his cup, and said to Alice — 
 
 ' Come and let me hear how you get on 
 with your playing.' 
 
 Alice followed into the drawing-room. For 
 the furnishing of the new house Eichard had 
 not trusted to his own instincts, but had taken 
 counsel with a firm that he knew from adver- 
 tisements. The result was commonplace, but 
 not intolerable. His front room was regarded 
 as the Princess's peculiar domain ; she alone 
 dared to use it freely — dechned, indeed, to sit 
 elsewhere. Her mother only came a few feet 
 within the door now and then ; if obliged by 
 Alice to sit down, she did so on the edge of 
 a cliair as near to the door as possible. Most 
 of her time Mrs. Mutimer still spent in the 
 kitchen. She had resolutely refused to keep 
 more than one servant, and everything that 
 servant did she herself performed over again, 
 even to the making of beds. To all Alice's 
 objections she opposed an obstinate silence. 
 What was the poor woman to do? She had 
 
2o8 DEMOS 
 
 never in her life read more than an occasional 
 paragraph of police news, and could not be 
 expected to take up literature at her age. 
 Though she made no complaint, signs were 
 not wanting? that she had bee^un to suffer in 
 health. She fretted through the nights, and 
 was never really at peace save when she an- 
 ticipated the servant in rising early, and had 
 an honest scrub at saucepans or fireirons before 
 breakfast. Her main discomfort came of the 
 feeling that she no longer had a house of her 
 own ; nothing about her seemed to be her 
 property, with the exception of her old kitchen 
 clock, and one or two articles she could not 
 have borne to part with. From being a rather 
 talkative woman she had become very reti- 
 cent ; she w^ent about uneasily, with a look of 
 suspicion or of fear. Her children she no longer 
 ventured to command ; the secret of their 
 wealth weighed upon her, she was in constant 
 dread on their behalf. It is a bad thing for 
 one such as Mrs. Mutimer to be thrown back 
 upon herself in novel circumstances, and practi- 
 cally debarred from the only relief which will 
 avail her — free discussion with her own kind. 
 The result is a species of shock to the system, 
 sure to manifest itself before lons^ in one or 
 other form of debility. 
 
 Ahce seated herself at the piano, and began 
 a finger exercise, laboriously, imperfectly. For 
 
DEMOS 209 
 
 the first week or two it had given her vast 
 satisfaction to be learning the piano ; what 
 more certain sign of having achieved ladyhood ? 
 It pleased her to assume airs with her teacher 
 — a very deferential lady — to put off a lesson 
 for a fit of languidness; to let it be understood 
 how entirely time was at her command. Now 
 she was growing rather weary of fiats and 
 sharps, and much preferred to read of persons 
 to whom the same nomenclature was very 
 applicable in the books she obtained from a 
 circulating library. Her reading had hitherto 
 been confined to the fiction of the penny 
 papers ; to procure her pleasure in three gaily- 
 bound volimies was another evidence of rise 
 in the social scale ; it was like ordering your 
 wine by the dozen after being accustomed to 
 a poor chance bottle now and then. At present 
 Ahce spent the greater part of her day floating 
 on the gentle milky stream of English romance. 
 Her brother was made a little uneasy by this 
 taste ; he had not studied the literature in 
 question. 
 
 At half-past six a loud knock at the front 
 door announced the expected visitor. Alice 
 turned from the piano, and looked at her 
 brother apprehensively. Eichard rose, and 
 established himself on the hearthrug, his hands 
 behind him. 
 
 VOL. I. p 
 
2IO DEMOS 
 
 'What are you going to say to him, Dick?' 
 Ahce asked hurriedly. 
 
 ' He says he wants to know me. I shall 
 
 , " Here I am." ' 
 
 There were voices outside. 'Arry had 
 opened the door himself, and now he ushered 
 his acquaintance into the drawing-room. Mr. 
 Keene proved to be a man of uncertain age — 
 he might be eight-and-twenty, but was more 
 probably ten years older. He was meagre, 
 and of shrewd visage ; he wore a black frock 
 coat — rather shiny at the back — and his collar 
 was obviously of paper. Incipient baldness 
 endowed him in appearance with a noble fore- 
 head ; he carried eye-glasses. 
 
 Whilst 'Arry mumbled a form of introduc- 
 tion, the journalist — so Mr. Keene described 
 himself — stood in a bowing attitude, one hand 
 to his glasses, seeming to inspect Eichard with 
 extreme yet respectful interest. When he 
 spoke, it was in a rather mincing way, wdtli 
 interjected murmurs — the involuntary overflow, 
 as it were, of his deep satisfaction. 
 
 ' There are few persons in England whose 
 acquaintance I desire more than that of Mr. 
 Eichard Mutimer ; indeed, I may leave the state- 
 ment unquahfied and say at once that there is 
 no one. I have heard you speak in public, Mr. 
 Mutimer. My profession has necessarily led me 
 to hear most of our platform orators, and in one 
 
DEMOS 211 
 
 respect you distauce them all — in the quality of 
 sincerity. No speaker ever moved me as you 
 did. I had long been interested in your cause ; 
 I had long Avished for time and opportunity to 
 examine into it thoroughly. Your address — I 
 speak seriously — removed the necessity of 
 further study. I am of your party, Mr. Muti- 
 mer. There is nothing I desire so much as to 
 give and take the hand of brotherhood.' 
 
 He jerked his hand forward, still preserving 
 his respectful attitude. Eichard gave his own 
 hand carelessly, smiling as a man does who 
 cannot but enjoy flattery yet has a strong desire 
 to kick the flatterer out of the room. 
 
 ' Are you a member of the Union .^ ' he 
 inquired. 
 
 ' With pride I profess myself a member. 
 Some day — and that at no remote date — I may 
 have it in my power to serve the cause mate- 
 rially.' He smiled meaningly. ' The press — 
 you understand ? ' He spread his fingers to 
 represent wide dominion. ' An ally to whom 
 the columns of the bourgeois press are open — 
 you perceive ? It is the task of my life.' 
 
 ' What papers do you write for ? ' asked 
 Mutimer bluntly. 
 
 ' Several, several. Not as yet in a leading- 
 capacity. In fact, I am feeling my way. With 
 ends such as I propose to myself it won't do to 
 
 p 2 
 
212 DEMOS 
 
 stand committed to any formal creed in politics. 
 Politics, indeed ! Ha, ha ! ' 
 
 He laughed scornfully. Then, turning to 
 Alice — 
 
 'You will forgive me, I am sure, Miss* 
 Mu timer, that I address myself first to your 
 brother — I had almost said your illustrious 
 brother. To be confessed illustrious some day, 
 depend upon it. I trust you are well? ' 
 
 ' Thanks, I'm very well indeed,' murmured 
 Alice, rather disconcerted by such polite- 
 ness. 
 
 'And Mrs. Mutimer? That is well. By- 
 the-by,' he proceeded to Eichard, ' I have a 
 piece of work in hand that will deeply interest 
 you. I am translating the great treatise of 
 Marx, " Das Capital." It occurs to me that a 
 chapter now and then might see the light in the 
 " Fiery Cross." How do you view that sug- 
 gestion ? ' 
 
 Eichard did not care to hide his suspicion, 
 and even such an announcement as this failed 
 to move him to cordiality. 
 
 'You might drop a line about it to Mr. 
 Westlake,' he said. 
 
 ' Mr. Westlake ? Oh ! but I quite under- 
 stood that you had practically the conduct of 
 the paper.' 
 
 Richard again smiled. 
 
 ' Mr. Westlake edits it,' he said. 
 
I 
 
 DEMOS 213 
 
 Mr. Keene waved liis hand in sign of friendly 
 intelligence. Then he changed the subject. 
 
 ' I ventured to put at Miss Mutimer's dis- 
 posal certain tickets I hold — professionally — 
 for the Eeofent's Theatre to-ni^ht — the dress 
 circle. I have five seats in all. May I have 
 the pleasure of your company, Mr. Mutimer ? ' 
 
 ' I'm only in town for a night,' Eichard 
 replied ; ' and I can't very well spare the 
 time.' 
 
 ' To be sure, to be sure ; I was inconsiderate. 
 Then Miss Mutimer and my friend Harry ' 
 
 ' I'm sorry they're not at hberty,' was 
 Eichard's answer to the murmured interrogation. 
 ' If they had accepted your invitation, be so 
 good as to excuse them. I happen to want 
 them particularly this evening.' 
 
 ' In that case, I have of course not a word 
 to say, save to express my deep regret at losing 
 the pleasure of their company. But another 
 time, I trust. I — I feel presumptuous, but it is 
 my earnest hope to be allowed to stand on the 
 footing not only of a comrade in the cause, but 
 of a neighbour ; I live quite near. Forgive me 
 if I seem a little precipitate. The privilege is 
 so inestimable.' 
 
 Eichard made no answer, and Mr. Keene 
 forthwith took his leave, suave to the last. 
 When he was gone, Eichard went to the dining- 
 room, where his mother was sittim::^. Mrs. 
 
214 DEMOS 
 
 Mutimer would have given much to be allowed 
 to sit in the kitchen ; she had a room of her 
 own upstairs, but there she felt too remote from 
 the centre of domestic operations, and the 
 dining-room was a compromise. Her chair w^as 
 always placed in a rather dusky corner ; she 
 generally had sewing on her lap, but the con- 
 sciousness that her needle was not ideally in 
 demand, and that she might just as well have 
 sat idle, troubled her habits of mind. She often 
 had the face of one growing prematurely 
 aged. 
 
 '• I hope you won't let them bring, anyone 
 they like,' Eichard said to her. ' I've sent that 
 fellow about his business ; he's here for no good. 
 He mustn't come again. '^ 
 
 ' They won't heed me,' replied Mrs. Muti- 
 mer, using the tone of little interest with which 
 she was accustomed to speak of details of the 
 new order. 
 
 ' Well, then, they've (/c>^ to heed you, and I'll 
 have that understood. — Why didn't 'Arry go to 
 work to-day ? ' 
 
 ' Didn't want to, I s'pose.' 
 
 ' Has he stayed at home often lately ? ' 
 
 ' Not at 'ome, but I expect he doesn't always 
 go to work.' 
 
 ^ Will you go and sit with Alice in the front 
 room ? I'll have a talk with him.' 
 
 'Arry came whistling at the summons. 
 
DEMOS 215 
 
 There was a nasty look on his face, the look 
 which in his character corresponded to Eichard's 
 resoluteness. His brother eyed him. 
 
 ' Look here, 'Arry,' the elder began, ' I want 
 this explaining. What do you mean by shirk- 
 ing your work ? ' 
 
 There was no reply. 'Arry strode to the 
 window and leaned against the side of it, in the 
 attitude of a Sunday loafer waiting for the dram- 
 shop to open. 
 
 ' If this goes on,' Eichard pursued, ' you'll 
 find yourself in your old position again. I've 
 gone to a good deal of trouble to give you a 
 start, and it seems to me you ought to 
 show a better spirit. We'd better have an un- 
 derstanding ; do you mean to learn engineering, 
 or don't you ? ' 
 
 ' I don't see the use of it,' said tlje other, 
 
 ' What do you mean ? I suppose you must 
 make your living somehow ? ' 
 
 'Any laughed, and in such a way that 
 Eichard looked at him keenly, his brow gather- 
 ino; darkness. 
 
 ' What are you laughing at ? ' 
 
 ' Why, at you. There's no more need for 
 me to work for a living than there is for you. 
 As if I didn't know that ! ' 
 
 ' Who's been putting that into your head ? ' 
 
 No scruple prevented the lad from breaking 
 a promise he had made to Mr. Keene, thejour- 
 
2i6 DEMOS 
 
 nalist, when tlie latter explained to him the 
 disposition of the deceased Eichard Mutimer's 
 estate ; it was ojily that lie preferred to get 
 himself credit for acuteness. 
 
 ' Why, you don't think I was to be kept in 
 the dark about a thing like that ? It's just like 
 you to want to make a fellow sweat the flesh 
 off his bones when all tlie time there's a fortune 
 waiting for him. What have I got to work for, 
 I'd like to know? I don't just see the fun of it, 
 and you w^ouldn't neither, in my case. You've 
 took jolly good care you don't work your- 
 self, trust you ! I ain't a-going to work no 
 more, so there it is, plain and flat.' 
 
 Eichard was not prepared for this ; he could 
 not hit at once on a new^ course of procedure, 
 and probably it was the uncertainty revealed in 
 his countenance that brought 'Arry to a pitch 
 of boldness not altogether premeditated. The 
 lad came from the window, thrust his hands 
 more firmly into his pockets and stood prepared 
 to do battle for his freeman's riohts. It is not 
 every day that a youth of his stamp finds him- 
 self gloriously capable of renouncing work. 
 There was something like a glow of conscious 
 virtue on his face. 
 
 ' You're not going to work any more, eh ? ' 
 said his brother, half to himself. ' And who's 
 going to support you?' he asked, with rather 
 forced indi<]jnation. 
 
DEMOS 217 
 
 ' There's interest per cent, coming out of 
 my money.' 
 
 'Arry must not be credited with conscious 
 accuracy in his use of terms ; he merely jumbled 
 together two words which had stuck in his 
 memory. 
 
 ' Oh ? And what are you going to do with 
 your time ? ' 
 
 'That's my business. How do other men 
 spend their time ? ' 
 
 The reply was obvious, but Eichard felt the 
 full seriousness of the situation and restrained 
 his scornful impulses. 
 
 ' Sit down, will you ? ' he said quietly, 
 pointing to a chair. 
 
 His tone availed more than ancrer w^ould 
 have done. 
 
 ' You tell me I take good care not to do 
 any work myself? There you're wrong. I'm 
 working hard every day.' 
 
 ' Oh, we know what kind of work that is ! ' 
 
 'No, I don't think you do. Perhaps it 
 would be as well if you were to see. I think 
 you'd better go to Wauley with me.' 
 
 ' What for ? ' 
 
 ' I dare say I can give you a job for awhile.' 
 
 ' 1 tell you I don't want a job.' 
 
 Pdchard's eye wandered rather vacantly. 
 From the first it had been a question with him 
 whetlier it would not be best to employ 'Arry 
 
2i8 DEMOS 
 
 at Wanley, but on the whole the scheme 
 adopted seemed more fruitful. Had the works 
 been fully established it would have been a 
 different thing. Even now he could keep the 
 lad at work at Wanley, though not exactly in 
 the way he desired. But if it came to a choice 
 between a life of idleness in London and such 
 employment as could be found for him at the 
 works, 'Arry must clearly leave town at once. 
 In a few days the Manor would be furnished ; in 
 a few weeks Emma would be there to keep 
 house. 
 
 There was the difficulty of leaving his 
 mother and sister alone. It looked as if all 
 would have to quit London. Yet there would 
 be awkwardness in housing the whole family at 
 the Manor ; and besides — 
 
 What the ' besides ' implied Eichard did not 
 make formal even in his own thouohts. It 
 stood for a vague objection to having all his 
 relatives dwelling at Wanley. Alice he would 
 not mind ; it was not impossible to picture 
 Alice in conversation with Mrs. and Miss 
 Waltham ; indeed, he desired that for her. And 
 yet— 
 
 Eichard was at an awkward pass. Whither- 
 soever he looked he saw stumbling-blocks, the 
 more disagreeable in that they rather loomed 
 in a sort of mist than declared themselves for 
 what they were. He had not the courage to 
 
DEMOS 219 
 
 approach and examine them one by one ; lie 
 had not the audacity to imagine leaps over 
 them ; yet somehow they had to be surmounted. 
 At this moment, whilst 'Arry w^as waiting for 
 the rejoinder to his last reply, Eichard found 
 himself wrestling again with the troubles which 
 had kept him wakeful for the last two nights. 
 He had believed them finally thrown and got 
 rid of. Behold, they were more stubborn than 
 ever. 
 
 He kept silence so long that his brother 
 spoke. 
 
 ' What sort of a job is it .^ ' 
 
 To his surprise, Eichard displayed sudden 
 anger. 
 
 ' If you weren't such a young fool you'd see 
 what's best for you, and go on as I meant you 
 to ! What do you mean by saying you won't 
 Avork ? If you weren't such a thickhead you 
 might go to school and be taught how to behave 
 yourself, and how a man ought to live ; but it's 
 no use sending you to any such place. Can't 
 you understand that a man with money has to 
 find some sort of position in the world? I 
 suppose you'd hke to spend the rest of your life 
 in public-houses and music-halls P ' 
 
 Eichard was well aware that to give way 
 to his temper was worse than useless, and 
 could only defeat every end ; but something 
 within him just now gnawed so intolerably that 
 
2 20 DEMOS 
 
 there was nothing for it but an outbreak. The 
 difficuhies of life were hedging him in — diffi- 
 cukies he could not have conceived till they 
 became matter of practical experience. And 
 unfortunately a great many of them were not 
 of an honest kmd ; they would not bear ex- 
 posing. For a man of decision, Mutimer was 
 getting strangely remote from practical roads. 
 
 ' I shall live as I like,' observed 'Arry, 
 thrusting out his legs and bending liis body 
 forward, a combination of movements which, 
 I know not why, especially suggests disso- 
 luteness. 
 
 Eichard gave up the contest for the present, 
 and went in silence from the room. As he 
 joined his mother and sister they suddenly 
 ceased talking. 
 
 ' Don't cook anything for me,' he said, re- 
 maining near the door. ' I'm going out.' 
 
 ' But you must have something to eat,' pro- 
 tested his mother. ' See ' — she rose hastily — 
 ' I'll get a chop done at once.' 
 
 ' I couldn't eat it if you did. I dare say 
 you've got some cold meat. Leave it out for 
 me ; I don't knov/ what time I shall get back.' 
 
 ' You're very unkind, Dick,' here remarked 
 Alice, who wore a mutinous look. ' Why 
 couldn't you let us go to the theatre ? ' 
 
 Her lorother vouchsafed no reply, but with- 
 drew from the room, and almost immediately 
 
DEMOS 221 
 
 left the house. He walked lialf a mile witli 
 his eyes turned to the ground, then noticed a 
 hansom which was passing empty, and had 
 himself driven to Hoxton. He alighted near 
 the Britannia Theatre, and thence made his 
 way by foul streets to a public-house called 
 the ' Warwick Castle.' Only iwo customers 
 occupied the bar ; the landlord stood in his 
 shirt-sleeves, with arms crossed, musing. At 
 the sight of Mutimer he brightened up, and 
 extended his hand. 
 
 ' How d'you do ; how^ d'you do, sir ? ' he 
 exclaimed. ' Glad to see you.' 
 
 The shake of the hands Vv^as a tribute to 
 old times, the ' sir' was a recoo-nition of chanored 
 circumstances. Mr. Nicholas Dabbs, the bro- 
 ther of Daniel, was not a man to lose anything 
 but failure to acknowledge social distinctions. 
 A short time ago Daniel had expostulated with 
 his brother on the use of ' sir ' to Mutimer, 
 eliciting the profound reply, ' D'you think 
 he'd have 'ad that glass of wliiskey if I'd called 
 him Dick ? ' 
 
 ' Dan home yet ? ' Mutimer inquired. 
 
 ' l!^ot been in five minutes. Come round, 
 sir, will you ? I know he w^ants to see you.' 
 
 A portion of the counter was raised, and 
 Eichard passed into a parlour behind the bar. 
 
 ' I'll call him,' said the landlord. 
 
 Daniel appeared immediately. 
 
2 22 DEMOS 
 
 ' I want a bit of private talk,' he said to his 
 brother. ' We'll have this door shut, if you 
 don't mind.' 
 
 ' You may as well bring us a drop of some- 
 thing first, Nick,' put in Eichard. ' Give the 
 order, Dan.' 
 
 ' Wouldn't have 'ad it but for the " sir," ' 
 chuckled Nicholas to himself. ' Never used to 
 when he come here, unless I stood it.' 
 
 Daniel drew a chair to the table and stirred 
 his tumbler thoughtfully, his nose over the 
 steam. 
 
 ' We're going to have trouble with 'Arry,' 
 said Eichard, who had seated himself on a sofa 
 in a dispirited way. ' Of course someone's been 
 telling him, and now tlie young fool says he's 
 going to throw up work. I suppose I shall 
 have to take him down yonder with me.' 
 
 ' Better do so,' assented Daniel, without 
 much attention to the matter. 
 
 ' What is it you want to talk about, 
 Dan?' 
 
 Mr. Dabbs had a few minutes ago performed 
 the customary evening cleansing of his hands 
 and face, but it had seemed unnecessary to 
 brush his Iiair, which consequently stood up- 
 right upon his forehead, a wiry rampart, just as 
 it had been thrust by the vigorously-applied 
 towel. This, combined with an unwonted 
 lugubriousness of visage, made Daniel's aspect 
 
DEMOS 223 
 
 somewhat comical. He kept stirring very de- 
 liberately with his sugar-crusher. 
 
 ' Why, it's this, Dick,' he began at length. 
 ' And understand, to begin with, that I've got 
 no complaint to make of nobody ; it's only things 
 as are awk'ard. It's this way, my boy. When 
 you fust of all come and told me about what I 
 may call the great transformation scene, you 
 said, '' Now it ain't a-goin' to make no differ- 
 ence, Dan," you said. Now wait till I've 
 finished ; I ain't complainin' of nobody. Well, 
 and I tried to 'ope as it w^ouldn't make no 
 difference, though I 'ad my doubts. ''Come 
 an' see us all just as usu'l," you said. Well, 
 I tried to do so, and three or four wrecks I 
 come reg'lar, lookin' in of a Sunday night. 
 But somehow it wouldn't work ; something 'ad 
 got out of gear. So I stopped it off. Then 
 comes 'Arry a-askin' why I made myself scarce, 
 sayin' as th' old lady and the Princess missed 
 me. So I looked in again ; but it was wuss 
 than before, I saw I'd done better to stay away. 
 So I've done ever since. Y' understand me, 
 Dick ? ' 
 
 Eichard was not entirely at his ease in 
 listening. He tried to smile, but failed to smile 
 naturally. 
 
 'I don't see what you found wrong,' he 
 returned, abruptly. 
 
 ' Wliy, I'm a-tellin' you, my boy, I didn't 
 
2 24 DEMOS 
 
 find nothing wrong except in myself, as yon 
 may say. What's the good o' beatin' about 
 the bush ? It's just this 'ere, Dick, my lad. 
 When I come to the Square, you know very 
 well who it was as I come to see. Well, it 
 stands to reason as I can't go to the new 'ouse 
 with the same thoughts as I did to the old. 
 Mind, I can't say as she'd ever a' listened to me ; 
 It's more than hkely she wouldn't. But now 
 that's all over, and the sooner I forget all about 
 it the better for me. And th' only way to 
 forget is to keep myself to myself, — see, Dick ? ' 
 
 The listener drummed with his fingers on 
 the table, still endeavouring to smile. 
 
 ' I've thought about all this, Dan,' he said 
 at length, with an air of extreme frankness. 
 ' In fact, I meant to have a talk with you. Of 
 course I can't speak for my sister, and I don't 
 know that I can even speak to her about it, but 
 one thing I can say, and that is that she'll 
 never be encouraged by me to think herself 
 better than her old friends." He gave a laugh. 
 ' Why, that 'ud be a good joke for a man in my 
 position ! What am I working for, if not to do 
 away with distinctions between capital and 
 labour ? You'll never have my advice to keep 
 away, and that you know. Why, who am I 
 going to marry myself? Do you suppose I 
 shall cry ofi* with Emma Vine just because I've 
 got more money than I used to have ? ' 
 
DEMOS 225 
 
 Daniers eye was upon Inm as he said these 
 words, an eye at once reflective and scrutinising. 
 Eichard felt it, and laughed yet more scornfully. 
 
 ' I think we know you better than that,' 
 responded Dabbs. ' But it ain't quite the same 
 thing, you see. There's many a man high up as 
 married a poor girl. I don't know how it is ; 
 perhaps because women is softer than men, and 
 takes the polish easier. And then we know 
 very well how it looks when a man as has no 
 money goes after a girl as has a lot. No, no ; 
 it won't do, Dick.' 
 
 It was said with the voice of a man who 
 emphasises a negative in the hope of eliciting 
 a stronger argument on the other side. But 
 Eichard allowed the negative finality, in fact if 
 not in appearance. 
 
 'Well, it's for your own deciding, Dan. All 
 I have to say is that you don't stay away with 
 my approval. Understand that.' 
 
 He left Daniel idly stirring the dregs of his 
 liquor, and went oflf to pay another visit. This 
 was to the familiar house in Wilton Square. 
 There was a notice in the window that dress- 
 making and milhnery were carried on within. 
 
 Mrs. Clay (Emma's sister Kate) opened to 
 him. She was better dressed than in former 
 days, but still untidy. Emma was out making 
 purchases, but could not be many minutes. In 
 the kitchen the third sister, Jane, was busy 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
226 DEMOS 
 
 with lier needle ; at Eichard's entrance she 
 rose from her chair with evident feebleness : 
 her illness of the spring had lasted long, and its 
 effects were grave. The poor girl — she closely 
 resembled Emma in gentleness of face, but the 
 lines of her countenance were weaker — now 
 suffered from pronounced heart disease, and the 
 complicated maladies which rheumatic fever so 
 frequently leaves behind it in women. She 
 brightened at sight of the visitor, and her eyes 
 continued to rest on his face with quiet satis- 
 faction. 
 
 One of Kate's children was playing on the 
 floor. The mother caught it up irritably, and 
 began lamenting the necessity of washing its 
 dirty little hands and face before packing it off 
 to bed. In a minute or two she went upstairs 
 to discharge these duties. Between her and 
 Eichard there was never much exchange of 
 words. 
 
 ' How are you feeling, Jane ? ' Mutimer in- 
 quired, taking a seat opposite her. 
 
 ' Better — oh, very much better ! The cough 
 hasn't been not near so troublesome these last 
 nights.' 
 
 ' Mind you don't do too much work. You 
 ought to have put your sewing aside by now.' 
 
 ' Oh, this is only a bit of my own. I'm sorry 
 to say there isn't very much of the other kind 
 to do yet.' 
 
DEMOS 227 
 
 ' Comes in slo\Yly, does it ? ' Eichard asked, 
 without appearance of much interest. 
 
 'It'll be better soon, I dare say. People 
 want time, you see, to get to know of us.' 
 
 Eichard's eyes wandered. 
 
 ' Have you finished the port wine yet ^ ' he 
 asked, as if to fill a gap. 
 
 ' What an idea ! Why, there's foiu: whole 
 bottles left, and one as I've only had three 
 glasses out of.' 
 
 ' Emma was dreadfully disappointed when 
 you didn't come as usual,' she said presently. 
 
 Eichard nodded. 
 
 ' Have you got into your house .^ ' she asked 
 timidly. 
 
 ' It isn't quite ready yet ; but I've been 
 seeing about the furnishing.' 
 
 Jane dreamed upon the word. It was her 
 habit to escape from the suffering weakness of 
 her own life to joy in the lot which awaited her 
 sister. 
 
 ' And Emma will have a room all to her- 
 self.? ' 
 
 Jane had read of ladies' boudoirs ; it was 
 her triumph to have won a promise from 
 Eichard that Emma should have such a 
 chamber. 
 
 ' How is it going to be furnished ? Do 
 tell me.' 
 
 q2 
 
2 28 DEMOS 
 
 Eichard's imagination was not active in the 
 spheres of upholstery. 
 
 ' Well, I can't yet say,' he replied, as if with 
 an effort to rouse himself. ' How would you 
 hke it to be ? ' 
 
 Jane had ever before her mind a vague 
 vision of bright-hued drapery, of glistening 
 tables and chairs, of nobly patterned carpet, 
 setting which her heart deemed fit for that 
 priceless jewel, her dear sister. But to describe 
 it all in words was a task beyond her. And 
 the return of Emma herself saved her from the 
 necessity of trying. 
 
 Hearing her enter the house, Richard went 
 up to meet Emma, and they sat together in the 
 sitting-room. This room was just as it had 
 been in Mrs. Mutimer's day, save for a few 
 ornaments from the mantelpiece, which the old 
 lady could not be induced to leave behind her. 
 Here customers were to be received — when 
 they came ; a room upstairs was set apart for 
 work. 
 
 Emma wore a slightly anxious look ; it 
 showed even through her happiness. None 
 the less, the very perceptible change which the 
 last few months had wrought in her was in the 
 direction of cheerful activity ; her motions 
 were quicker, her speech had less of self-dis- 
 trust, she laughed more freely, displayed more 
 of youthful spontaneity in her whole bearing. 
 
DEMOS 229 
 
 The joy which possessed her at Eichard's 
 coming was never touched with disappointment 
 at his sober modes of exhibiting affection. 
 The root of Emma's character was steadfast 
 faith. She did not allow herself to judge of 
 Eichard by tlie impulses of her own heart ; 
 those, she argued, were womanly ; a man must 
 be more independent in his strength. Of what 
 a man ought to be she had but one criterion, 
 Eichard's self. Her judgment on this point 
 had been formed five or six years ago ; she 
 felt that nothing now could ever shake it. All 
 of expressed love that he was pleased to give 
 her she stored in the shrine of her memory ; 
 many a light word forgotten by the speaker as 
 soon as it was uttered lived still as a part of 
 the girl's hourly hfe, but his reticences she 
 accepted with no less devout humility. What 
 need of repetitions? He had spoken to her 
 the decisive word, and it was a column estab- 
 lished for ever, a monument of that over which 
 time had no power. Women are too apt to 
 make their fondness a source of infinite fears ; 
 in Emma growth of love meant growth of con- 
 fidence. 
 
 ' Does all go well at the works ? ' was her 
 first question. Eor she had made his interests 
 her own, and was following in ardent imagi- 
 nation the undertaking which stamped her 
 husband with nobility. 
 
230 
 
 DEMOS 
 
 Eichard talked on the subject for some 
 moments ; it was easier to do so than to come 
 at once to the words he had in mind. But he 
 worked round by degrees, fighting the way 
 hard. 
 
 ' The house is empty at last.' 
 
 ' Is it ? And you have gone to live there ? ' 
 
 'Not yet. I must get some furniture in 
 first.' 
 
 Emma kept silence ; the shadows of a smile 
 journeyed trembling from her eyes to her lips. 
 
 The question voiced itself from Eichard : 
 
 ' When will you be ready to go thither ? ' 
 
 'I'm afraid — I don't think I must leave 
 them just yet — for a little longer.' 
 
 He did not look at her. Emma was reading 
 his face ; the characters had become all at once 
 a little puzzHng ; her own fault, of course, but 
 the significance she sought was not readily 
 discoverable. 
 
 ' Can't they manage without you ? ' he 
 asked. He believed Ms tone to express an- 
 noyance : in fact, it scarcely did so. 
 
 ' I think it won't be very long before they 
 can,' Emma replied ; ' we have some plain sew- 
 ing to do for Mrs. Eobinson at the " Queen's 
 Head," and she's promised to recommend us. 
 I've just called there, and she really seems 
 anxious to help. If Jane was stronger I 
 shouldn't mind so much, but she mustn't work 
 
DEMOS 
 
 231 
 
 hard just yet, and Kate lias a great deal to do 
 with the children. Besides, Kate can't get out 
 of the slop sewing, and of course that won't do 
 for this kind of work. She'll get the stitch 
 very soon.' 
 
 Eichard seemed to be musing. 
 
 ' You see ' — she moved nearer to his side, 
 — ' it's only just the beginning. I'm so afraid 
 that they wouldn't be able to look about for 
 work if I left them now. Jane hasn't the 
 strength to go and see people ; and Kate — well, 
 you know, Eichard, she can't quite suit herself 
 to people's fancies. I'm sure I can do so much 
 in a few weeks ; just that'll make all the differ- 
 ence. The beginning's everything, isn't it ? ' 
 
 Eichard's eye travelled over her face. He 
 was not without understanding of the noble- 
 ness which housed in that plain-clad, simple- 
 featured woman there before him. It had shot 
 a ray to the secret places of his heart before 
 now ; it breathed a passing summer along his 
 veins at this present. 
 
 'What need is there to bother.^' he 
 said, of purpose fixing his eye steadily on hers. 
 'Work '11 come in time, I dare say. Let them 
 look after their house.' 
 
 Perhaps Emma detected something not 
 wholly sincere in this suggestion. She let her 
 eyes fall, then raised them more quickly. 
 
 ' Oh, but it's far better, Eichard ; and we 
 
232 DEMOS 
 
 really have made a beginning. Jane, I'm sure, 
 Avouldn't hear of giving it up. It's wonderful 
 what spirits she has. And she'd be miserable 
 if she wasn't trying to work — I know so well 
 how it would be. Just a few weeks longer. 
 She really does get much better, and she says 
 it's all '' the business." It gives her something 
 to occupy her mind.' 
 
 ' Well, it's just as you like,' said Eichard, 
 rather absently. 
 
 ' But you do think it best, don't you, dear?' 
 she urged. ' It's good to finish things you 
 begin, isn't it? I should feel rather dissatisfied 
 with myself if I gave it up, and just when 
 everything's promising. I beheve it's what you 
 really would wish me to do.' 
 
 'All right. I'll get the house furnished. 
 But I can't give you much longer.' 
 
 He continued to talk in a mechanical way 
 for a quarter of an hour, principally of the 
 w^orks ; then said that he had promised to be 
 home for supper, and took a rather hasty leave. 
 He called good-night to the sisters from the top 
 of the kitchen stairs. 
 
 Jane's face w^as full of joyous questioning as 
 soon as her sister reappeared, but Emma disclosed 
 nothing till they two were alone in the bed- 
 room. To Emma it was the simplest thing in 
 the world to put a duty before pleasure ; she 
 had no hesitation in tellino- her sister how 
 
DEMOS 233 
 
 matters stood. And the other accepted it as 
 pure love. 
 
 ' I'm sure it '11 only be a week or two before 
 we can manage for ourselves,' Jane said. * Of 
 course, people are far readier to give you work 
 than they would be to me or Kate. But it '11 be 
 all right when we're once started.' 
 
 ' I shall be very sorry to leave you, dear,' 
 murmured Emma. ' You'll have to be sure and 
 let me know if you're not feeling well, and I 
 shall come at once.' 
 
 ' As if you could do that ! ' laughed the 
 otlier. ' Besides, it '11 be quite enough to keep 
 me well to know you're liappy.' 
 
 ' I do hope Kate won't be trying.' 
 
 ' Oh, I'm sure she won't. Why, it's quite a 
 long time since she had one of her worst turns. 
 It was only the hard work and the trouble as 
 worried her. And now that's all over. It's 
 you we have to thank for it all, Em.' 
 
 ' You'll have to come and be with me some- 
 times, Jane. I know there'll always be some- 
 thing missing as long as you're out of my sight. 
 And you must see to it yourself that the sheets 
 is always aired ; Kate's often so careless about 
 that. You will promise me now, won't you .^ I 
 shall be dreadfully anxious every washing day, 
 I shall indeed. You know that the least thini^ '11 
 give you a chill.' 
 
 ' Yes, I'll be careful,' said the other, half 
 
234 DEMOS 
 
 sadly. She was lying in her bed, and Emma 
 sat on a chah' by the side. ' But you know it's 
 not much use, love. I don't suppose as I shall 
 live so very long. But I don't care, as soon as 
 I know you're happy.' 
 
 ' Jane, I sliould never know happiness if I 
 hadn't my little sister to come and talk to. 
 Don't think like that, don't for my sake, Janey 
 dear ! ' 
 
 They laid their cheeks together upon the 
 j^illows. 
 
 ' He'll be a good husband,' Jane whispered. 
 ' You know that, don't you, Emmy ? ' . 
 
 ' No better in all this world ! Why do you 
 ask, so ? ' 
 
 'No — no — I didn't mean anything. He 
 said you mustn't wait much longer, didn't 
 he?' 
 
 ' Yes, he did. But he'd rather see me doing 
 what's right. I often feel myself such a poor 
 thing by him. I must try and show him that 
 I do my best to follow his example. I'm 
 ashamed almost, sometimes, to think I shall be 
 his wife. It ouo-ht to be some one better than 
 me.' 
 
 ' Where would he find any one better, I'd 
 like to know? Let him come and ask me 
 about that ! There's no man good enough for 
 you, sister Emmy.' 
 
 • Eichard was talking with his sister Alice ; 
 
DEMOS 235 
 
 tlie others had gone to bed, and the house was 
 quiet. 
 
 ' I wasn't at all pleased to see that man 
 here to-night,' he said. 'You shouldn't have 
 been so ready to say yes when he asked you to 
 go to the theatre. It was like his impudence ! ' 
 
 ' Why, what ever's the harm, Dick .^ Be- 
 sides, we must have some friends, and — really 
 he looks a gentleman.' 
 
 ' I'll tell you a secret,' returned her brother, 
 with a half-smile, half-sneer. ' You don't know 
 a gentleman yet, and you'll have to be very 
 careful till you do.' 
 
 ' How am I to learn, then ? ' 
 
 ' Just wait. You've G;ot enous^h to do with 
 your music and your reading. Time enough 
 for getting acquainted Avith gentlemen.' 
 
 ' Aren't you going to let anybody come and 
 see us, then ? ' 
 
 ' You have the old friends,' replied Eichard, 
 raising his chin. 
 
 ' You're thinking of Mr. Dabbs, I suppose. 
 What did he want to see you for, Dick .^ ' 
 
 Alice looked at him from the corner of her 
 eye. 
 
 ' I think I'll tell you. He says he doesn't 
 intend to come here again. You've made him 
 feel uncomfortable.' 
 
 The girl laughed. 
 
 'I can't help how he feels, can I? At, all 
 
236 DEMOS 
 
 events, Mr. Dabbs isn't a gentleman, is he, 
 now ? ' 
 
 ' He's an honest man, and that's saying a 
 good deal, let me tell you. I rather thought 
 you liked him.' 
 
 ' Liked him ? Oh, in a way, of course. But 
 things are different.' 
 
 ' How different ? ' 
 
 Alice looked up, put her head on one side, 
 smiled her prettiest, and asked, — 
 
 ' Is it true, what 'Arry says — about the 
 money P ' 
 
 He had wanted to get at this, and was, on 
 the wliole, not sorry to hear it. Eichard was 
 studying tlie derivation of virtue from necessity. 
 
 ' What if it is ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Well, it makes things more different even 
 than I thought, that's all.' 
 
 She sprang to her feet and danced across 
 the room, one hand bent over her head. It was 
 not an ungraceful picture. Her brother smiled. 
 
 '" Alice, you'd better be guided by me. I 
 know a little of the world, and I can help 
 you where you'd make mistakes. Just keep to 
 yourself for a little, my girl, and get on with 
 your piano and your books. You can't do 
 better, believe me. J^ever mind whether you've 
 anyone to see you or not ; there's time enough. 
 And I'll tell you another secret. Before you 
 can tell a gentleman when you see him, you'll 
 
DEMOS 237 
 
 have to teach yourself to be a hid}^ Perhaps 
 that isn't quite so easy as you think.' 
 
 ' How am I to learn, then ? ' 
 
 ' We'll find a way before long. Get on with 
 your playing and reading.' 
 
 Presently, as they were about to leave the 
 room, the Princess inquired : 
 
 ' Dick, how soon are you going to be 
 married ? ' 
 
 ' ' I can't tell you,' was the answer. ' Emma 
 wants to put it off.' 
 
238 DEMOS 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 The declaration of independence so nobly 
 delivered by his brother 'Arr}^ necessitated 
 Eichard's stay in town over the following day. 
 The matter was laid before a family conncil, 
 held after breakfast in the dining-room. Eichard 
 opened the discussion with some vehemence, and 
 appealed to his mother and Alice for support. 
 Alice responded heartily; Mrs. Mutimer was 
 slower in coming to utterance, but at length 
 expressed herself in no doubtful terms. 
 
 ' If he don't go to his work,' she said sternly, 
 ' it's either him or me '11 have to leave this house. 
 If he wants to disgrace us all and ruin himself, 
 he shan't do it under my eyes.' 
 
 Was there ever a harder case ? A high- 
 spirited British youth asserts his intention of 
 living a life of elegant leisure, and is forthwith 
 scouted as a disgrace to the family. 'Arry sat 
 under the gross injustice with an air of doggish 
 defiance. 
 
 ' I thought you said I was to go to Wanley ? ' 
 
DEMOS 239 
 
 he exclaimed at length, angrily, glaring at his 
 brother. 
 
 Eichard avoided the look. 
 
 ' You'll have to learn to behave yourself 
 first,' he replied. ' If you can't be trusted to do 
 your duty here, you're no good to me at Wanley.' 
 
 'Arry would give neither yes nor no. The 
 council broke up after formulating an ultimatum. 
 
 In the afternoon Eichard had another private 
 talk with the lad. This time he addressed him- 
 self solely to 'Arry's self-interest, explained to 
 him the opportunities he would lose if he neg- 
 lected to make himself a practical man. What 
 if there was money waiting for him ? The use 
 of money was to breed money, and nowadays 
 no man was rich who didn't constantly increase 
 his capital. As a great ironmaster, he would 
 hold a position impossible for him to attain in 
 any other way ; he would employ hundreds, 
 perhaps thousands, of men ; society would re- 
 cognise him. What could he expect to be if he 
 did nothing but loaf about the streets ? 
 
 This was going the right way to work. 
 Eichard found that he was making an impres- 
 sion, and gradually fell into a kinder tone, so 
 that in the end he brouglit 'Any to moderately 
 cheerful acquiescence. 
 
 ' And don't let men like that Keene make a 
 fool of you,' the monitor concluded. ' Can't 
 you see that fellows like him '11 hang on and 
 
240 DEMOS 
 
 make their profit out of you if you know no 
 better than to let them ? You just keep to 
 yourself, and look after your own future.' 
 
 A suggestion that cunning was required of 
 him flattered the youth to some purpose. He 
 had begun to reflect that after all it might be 
 more profitable to combine work and pleasure. 
 He agreed to pursue the course planned for him. 
 
 So Eichard returned to Wanley, carrying 
 with him a small satisfaction and many great 
 anxieties. Nor did he visit London again until 
 four weeks had gone by ; it was understood that 
 the pressure of responsibilities grew daily more 
 severe. New Wanley, as the industrial settle- 
 ment in the valley was to be named, was shap- 
 ing itself in accordance with the ideas of the 
 committee with which Mutimer took counsel, 
 and the undertaking was no small one. 
 
 In spite of Emma's cheerful anticipations, 
 ' the business ' meanwhile made little progress. 
 A graver trouble was the state of Jane's health ; 
 the sufferer seemed wasting away. Emma de- 
 voted herself to her sister. Between her and 
 Mutimer there was no furtlier mention of mar- 
 riage. In Emma's mind a new term had fixed 
 itself — that of her sister's recovery ; but there 
 were dark moments when dread came to her 
 that not Jane's recovery, but something else, 
 would set her free. In the early autumn 
 Eichard persuaded her to take the invahd to 
 
DEMOS 241 
 
 the sea-side, and to remain with her there for 
 three weeks. Mrs. Clay during that time hved 
 alone, and was very content to receive her future 
 brother-in-law's subsidy, without troubling about 
 the work which would not come in. 
 
 Autumn liad always been a peaceful and 
 bounteous season at Wanley ; then the fruit- 
 trees bent beneath their golden charge, and the 
 air seemed rich with sweet odours. But the 
 autumn of tliis year was unlike any that had 
 visited the valley hitherto. Blight had fallen 
 upon all produce ; the crop of apples and 
 plums w^as bare beyond precedent. The west 
 wdnd breathing up between the hill-sides only 
 brought smoke from newly built chimneys ; 
 the face of the fields was already losing its 
 purity, and taking on a dun hue. Where a 
 large orchard had flourished were two streets 
 of small liouses, glaring Avith new brick and 
 slate. The w^orks were extending by degrees, 
 and a little apart rose the walls of a large 
 building which would contain library, reading- 
 rooms, and lecture-hall, for the use of the in- 
 dustrial community. New Wanley was in a 
 fair way to claim for itself a place on the map. 
 
 The Manor w^as long since furnished, and 
 Eichard entertained visitors. He had provided 
 himself with a housekeeper, as well as the three 
 or four necessary servants, and kept a saddle- 
 horse as well as that which drew his trap to 
 
 VOL. I. R 
 
242 DEMOS 
 
 and fro when he had occasion to go to Agworth 
 station. His estabhshment was still a modest 
 one; all things considered, it could not be 
 deemed inconsistent with his professions. Of 
 course, stories to the contrary got about ; among 
 his old comrades in London, thorough-going 
 Socialists like Messrs. Cowes and Cullen, who 
 perhaps thought themselves a little neglected 
 by the great light of the Union, there passed 
 occasionally nods and winks, which were meant 
 to imply much. There were rumours of ban- 
 queting which went on at Wanley ; the Manor 
 was spoken of by some who had not seen it as 
 little less than a palace — nay, it was declared 
 by one or two of the shrewder tongued that 
 a man-servant in livery opened the door, a 
 monstrous thing if true. Worse than this was 
 the talk which began to spread among the 
 Hoxton and Islington Unionists of a certain 
 young woman in a poor position to whom Mu- 
 timer had in former days engaged himself, and 
 whom he did not now find it convenient to 
 marry. A few staunch friends Eichard had, 
 who made it their business stoutly to contra- 
 dict the calumnies which came within their 
 hearing, Daniel Dabbs the first of them. But 
 even Daniel found himself before long jDrefer- 
 ring silence to speech on the subject of Emma 
 Vine. He grew uncomfortable about it, and 
 did not know what to think. 
 
DEMOS 243 
 
 The first of Eichard's visitors at the Manor 
 were Mr. and Mrs. Westlake. They came down 
 from London one day, and stayed over till the 
 next. Other prominent members of the Union 
 followed, and before the end of tlie autumn 
 Eichard entertained some dozen of the rank 
 and file, all together, pa3ang their railway fares, 
 and housing them from Saturday to Monday. 
 These men, be it noted in passing, distinguished 
 themselves from that day onwards by unsparing 
 detraction whenever the name of Mutimer came 
 up in private talk, though, of course, they were 
 the loudest in applause when platform refer- 
 ence to their leader demanded it. Besides the 
 expressly invited, there w^as naturally no lack of 
 visitors who presented themselves voluntarily. 
 Among the earliest of these was Mr. Keene, the 
 journalist. He sent in his name one Sunday 
 morning requesting an interview on a matter of 
 business, and, on being admitted, produced a 
 copy of the Belwick Chronicle^ which contained 
 a highly eulogistic semi-biographic -notice of 
 Mutimer. 
 
 ' I feel I ought to apologise to you for tliis 
 liberty,' said Keene, in his flowing way, 'and 
 that is why I have brought the paper myself. 
 You will observe that it is one of a series — not- 
 ' able men of the day. I supply the Chronicle 
 with a London letter, and give them one of 
 these little sketches fortnightly. I knew your 
 
 R 2 
 
244 
 
 DEMOS 
 
 modesty would stand in the way if I consulted 
 you in advance, so I can only beg pardon fost 
 delictum^ as we say.' 
 
 There stood the heading in bold type, ' Men 
 OF THE Day,' and beneath it ' XI. Mr. Pdchard 
 Mutimer.' Mr. Keene had likewise brought 
 in his pocket the placard of the newspaper, 
 whereon Eichard saw his name prominently 
 displayed. The journalist stayed for luncheon. 
 
 Alfred Waltham was frequently at the 
 Manor. Mutimer now seldom went up to 
 town for Sunday ; if necessity took him thither, 
 he chose some week-day. On Sunday h^e always 
 spent a longer or shorter time with the Walt- 
 hams, frequently having dinner at their house. 
 He hesitated at first to invite the ladies to the 
 Manor ; in his uncertainty on social usages he 
 feared lest there might be impropriety in a 
 bachelor giving such an invitation. He appealed 
 to Alfred, who naturally laughed the scruple to 
 scorn, and accordingly Mrs. and Miss Waltham 
 were begged to honour Mr. Mutimer with their 
 company. Mrs. Waltham reflected a little, but 
 accepted. Adela would much rather have re- 
 mained at home, but she had no choice. 
 
 By the end of September this invitation had 
 been repeated, and the Walthams had lunched 
 a second time at the Manor, no other guests 
 being present. On the afternoon of the follow- 
 ing day Mrs. Waltham and her daughter were 
 
DEMOS 245 
 
 talking together in their sitting-room, and the 
 former led the conversation, as of late she 
 almost invariably did when alone with her 
 daughter, to their revolutionary friend. 
 
 'I can't help thinking, Adela, that in all 
 essentials I never knew a more gentlemanly 
 man than Mr. Mutimer. There must be some- 
 thing superior in his family ; no doubt we were 
 altogether mistaken in speaking of him as a 
 mechanic' 
 
 ' But he has told us himself that he was a 
 mechanic,' replied Adela, in the impatient way 
 in which she was wont to speak on this subject. 
 
 'Oh, that is his modesty. And not only 
 modesty ; his views lead him to pride himself 
 on a poor orighi. He was an engineer, and we 
 know that engineers are in reality professional 
 men. Eemember old Mr. Mutimer ; he was a 
 perfect gentleman. I have no doubt the family 
 is really a very good one. Indeed, I am all but 
 sure that I remember the name in Hampshire ; 
 there was a Sir something Mutimer — I'm con- 
 vinced of it. No one really belonging to the 
 working class ever bore himself as Mr. Mutimer 
 does. Haven't you noticed the shape of his 
 hands, my dear ? ' 
 
 ' I've only noticed that they are very large, 
 and just what you would expect in a man who 
 had done much rough work.' 
 
 Mrs. Waltham laughed noisily. 
 
246 DEMOS 
 
 ' My dear child, liow can you be so per- 
 verse ? The shape of the fingers is perfect. 
 Do pray notice them next time.' 
 
 ' I really cannot promise, mother, to give 
 special attention to Mr. Mutimer's hands.' 
 
 Mrs. Waltham glanced at the girl, who had 
 laid down a book she was trying to read, and, 
 with lowered eyes, seemed to be collecting her- 
 self for further utterance. 
 
 ' Why are you so prejudiced, Adela? ' 
 
 'I am not prejudiced at all. I have no 
 interest of any kind in Mr. Mutimer.' 
 
 The words were spoken hurriedly and with 
 a ring almost of hostility. At the same time 
 the girl's cheeks flushed. She felt herself hard 
 beset. A network was being woven about her 
 by hands she could not deem other than loving ; 
 it was time to exert herself that the meshes 
 might not be completed, and the necessity cost 
 her a feeling of shame. 
 
 ' But your brother's friend, my dear. Surely 
 you ought not to say that you have no interest 
 in him at all.' 
 
 ' I do say it, mother, and I wish to say it so 
 plainly that you cannot after this mistake me. 
 Alfred's friends are very far from being neces- 
 sarily my friends. Not only have I no interest 
 in Mr. Mutimer, I even a little dislike him.' 
 
 'I had no idea of that, Adela,' said her 
 mother, rather blankly. 
 
DEMOS 247 
 
 ' But it is the trutli, and I feel I ought to 
 have tried to make you understand that sooner. 
 I thought you would see that I had no pleasure 
 in speaking of him.' 
 
 ' But how is it possible to dislike him ? I 
 confess that is very hard for me to understand. 
 I am sure his behaviour to you is perfect — so 
 entirely respectful, so gentlemanly.' 
 
 ' No, mother, that is not quite the word to 
 use. You are mistaken ; Mr. Mutimer is not 
 a perfect gentleman.' 
 
 It was said with much decision, for to 
 Adela's mind this clenched her argument. 
 Granted the absence of certain qualities which 
 she held essential in a gentleman, there seemed 
 to her no reason for another word on the subject. 
 
 ' Pray, when has he misbehaved himself? ' 
 inquired her mother, with a touch of pique. 
 
 ' I cannot go into details. Mr. Mutimer 
 has no doubt many excellent qualities ; no 
 doubt he is really an earnest and a well-mean- 
 ing man. But if I am asked to say more than 
 that, it must be the truth — as it seems to me. 
 Please, mother dear, don't ask me to talk about 
 him in future. And there is something else I 
 wish to say. I do hope you won't be offended 
 with me, but indeed I — I hope you will not 
 ask me to go to the Manor again. I feel I 
 ought not to go. It is painful ; I suffer when 
 I am there.' 
 
248 DEMOS 
 
 ' How strange you are to-day, Adela ! 
 Eeally, I think you might allow me to decide 
 what is proper and what is not. My experience 
 is surely the best judge. You are worse than un- 
 kind, Adela ; it's rude to speak to me like that.' 
 
 ' Dear mother,' said the girl, with infinite 
 gentleness, ' I am very, very sorry. How could 
 I be unkind or rude to you ? I didn't for a 
 moment mean that my judgment was better 
 than yours ; it is my feelings that I speak of. 
 You won't ask me to explain — to say more 
 than that ? You must understand me ? ' 
 
 ' Oh yes, my dear, I understand you too 
 w^ell/ was the stiff reply. ' Of course I am old- 
 fashioned, and I suppose old-fashioned people 
 are a little coarse ; their feelings are not quite 
 as fine as they might be. We will say no more 
 for the present, Adela. I will do my best not 
 to lead you into disagreeable situations through 
 my lack of delicacy.' 
 
 There were tears in Adela's eyes. 
 
 ' Mother, now it is you who are unkind. I 
 am so sorry that I spoke. You won't take my 
 words as they were meant. Must I say that I 
 cannot let Mr. Mutimer misunderstand the way 
 in which I regard him ? He comes here really so 
 
 very often, and if we begin to go there too 
 
 People are talking about it, indeed they are ; 
 Letty has told me so. How can I help feehng 
 pained ? ' 
 
DEMOS 249 
 
 Mrs. Waltham drew out her handkerchief 
 and appeared mildly agitated. When Adela 
 bent and kissed her she sighed deeply, then 
 said in an undertone of gentle melancholy : 
 
 ' I ask your pardon, my dear. I am afraid 
 there has been a little misunderstanding on 
 both sides. But we won't talk any more of it 
 — there, there ! ' 
 
 By which tlie good lady of course meant that 
 she would renew the subject on the very earhest 
 opportunity, and that, on the whole, she was 
 not discouraged. Mothers are often unaware 
 of their daughters' strong points, but their weak- 
 nesses they may be trusted to understand pretty 
 well. 
 
 The little scene was just well over, and 
 Adela had taken a seat by the window, when 
 a gentleman who was approaching the front 
 door saw her and raised his hat. She went 
 very pale. 
 
 The next moment there was a knock at the 
 front door. 
 
 ' Mother,' the girl whispered, as if she could 
 not speak louder, 'it is Mr. Eldon.' 
 
 ' Mr. Eldon ? ' Mrs. Waltham drew herself 
 up with dignity, then started from her seat. 
 ' The idea of his daring to come here ! ' 
 
 She intercepted the servant wlio was going 
 to open the door. 
 
 ' Jane, we are not at home ! ' 
 
250 DEMOS 
 
 The maid stood in astonishment. She was 
 not used to the polite fictions of society ; never 
 before had that welcome mortal, an afternoon 
 visitor, been refused at Mrs. Waltham's. 
 
 ' What did you say, please, mum ? ' 
 
 ' You will say that we are not at home, 
 neither I nor Miss Waltham.' 
 
 Even if Hubert Eldon had not seen Adela 
 at the window he must have been dull not to 
 read the meaning of the servant's singular face 
 and tone. He walked away with a quiet 
 ' Thank you.' 
 
 Mrs. Waltham cast a side glance at Adela 
 when she heard the outer door close. The girl 
 had reopened her book. 
 
 ' I'm not sorry that he came. Was tliere 
 ever such astonishing impudence ? If that is 
 
 gentlemanly, then I must confess I Eeally 
 
 I am not at all sorry he came : it will give him 
 a lesson.' 
 
 'Mr. Eldon may have had some special 
 reason for calling,' Adela remarked disinte- 
 restedly. 
 
 ' My dear, I have no business of any kind 
 with Mr. Eldon, and it is impossible that he can 
 have any with me.' 
 
 Adela very shortly went from the room. 
 
 That evening Eichard had for guest at din- 
 ner Mr. Willis Eodman ; so that gentleman 
 named himself on his cards, and so he liked to 
 
DEMOS 251 
 
 be announced. Mr. Eoclman was invaluable as 
 surveyor of the works ; his experience appeared 
 boundless, and had been acquired in many 
 lands. He was now a Socialist of the purest 
 water, and already he enjoyed more of Muti- 
 mer's intimacy than anyone else. Eichard not 
 seldom envied the easy and, as it seemed to him, 
 polished manner of his subordinate, and won- 
 dered at it the more since Eodman declared 
 himself a proletarian by birth, and, in private, 
 was fond of referring to the hardships of his 
 early life. That there may be no needless 
 mystery about Mr. Eodman, I am under the 
 necessity of stating the fact that he was the son 
 of a prosperous railway contractor, that he was 
 born in Canada, and would have succeeded to 
 a fortune on his father's death, but for an un- 
 happy contretemps in the shape of a cheque, 
 whereof Mr. Eodman senior (the name was not 
 Eodman, but the true one is of no importance) 
 disclaimed the signature. From that day to 
 the present good and ill luck had alternated in 
 the young man's career. His fortunes in detail 
 do not concern us just now ; there will be 
 future occasion for returning to the subject. 
 
 ' Young Eldon has been in Wanley to-day,' 
 Mr. Eodman remarked as he sat over his wine 
 after dinner. 
 
 ' Has he ? ' said Eichard, with indifference. 
 ' What's he been after ? ' 
 
252 DEMOS 
 
 'I saw him going up towards the Walthams'.' 
 
 Eichard exhibited more interest. 
 
 ' Is he a particular friend of theirs ? ' he 
 asked. He had o'athered from Alfred Waltham 
 that there had been a certain intimacy between 
 the two famihes, but desired more detailed in- 
 formation than his disciple had offered. 
 
 ' Well, he used to be,' replied Eodman, with 
 a significant smile. ' But I don't suppose Mrs. 
 W. gave him a very affectionate reception to- 
 day. His little doings have rather startled the 
 good people of Wanley, especially since he has 
 lost his standing. It wouldn't have mattered 
 much, I dare say, but for that.' 
 
 ' But was there anything particular up 
 there?' 
 
 Mutimer had a careworn expression as he 
 asked, and he nodded his head, as if in the 
 direction of the village, with a certain weariness. 
 
 ' I'm not quite sure. Some say there was, 
 and others deny it, as I gather from general 
 conversation. But I suppose it's at an end 
 now, in any case.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Waltham would see to that, you 
 mean ? ' said Mutimer, with a short laugh. 
 
 ' Probably.' 
 
 Eodman made his glass revolve, his fingers 
 on the stem. 
 
 ' Take another cigar. I suppose they're not 
 too well off*, the Walthams ? ' 
 
DEMOS 253 
 
 ' Mrs. Waltham has an annuity of two hun- 
 dred and fifty pounds, that's all. The gh^l — 
 Miss Waltham — has nothing.' 
 
 ' How the deuce do you get to know so 
 much about people, Eodman? ' 
 
 The other smiled modestly, and made a 
 silent gesture, as if to disclaim any special 
 abilities. 
 
 ' So he called there to-day .^ I wonder 
 whether he stayed long ? ' 
 
 ' I will let you know to-morrow.' 
 
 On the morrow Eichard learnt that Hubert 
 Eldon had been refused admittance. The in- 
 formation gave him pleasure. Yet all through 
 the night he had been earnestly hoping that he 
 might hear something quite different, had tried 
 to see in Eldon's visit a possible salvation for 
 himself. For the struggle which occupied him 
 more and more had by this time declared its 
 issues plainly enough ; daily the temptation be- 
 came stronger, the resources of honour more 
 feeble. In the beginning he had only played 
 with dangerous thoughts ; to break faith with 
 Emma Vine had appeared an impossibiHty, and 
 a marriage such as liis fancy substituted, the 
 most improbable of things. But in men of 
 Eichard's stamp that which allures the fancy 
 will, if circumstances give but a little encourage- 
 ment, soon take hold upon the planning brain. 
 His acquaintance with the Walthams had ripened 
 
254 DEMOS 
 
 to intimacy, and custom nourished liis self- 
 confidence ; moreover, he could not misunder- 
 stand the all but direct encouragement whicli 
 on one or two recent occasions he had received 
 from Mrs. Waltham. That lady had begun to 
 talk to him, when they w^ere alone together, in 
 almost a motherly way, confiding to him this or 
 that pecuharity in the characters of her children, 
 deploring her inability to give Adela the plea- 
 sures suitable to her age, then again pointing out 
 the advantage it w^as to a girl to have all her 
 thoughts centred in home. 
 
 ' I can truly say,' remarked Mrs. Waltham 
 in the course of the latest such conversation, 
 ' that Adela has never given me an hour's 
 serious uneasiness. The dear child has, I be- 
 lieve, no will apart from her desire to please 
 me. Her instincts are so beautifully submissive.' 
 
 To a man situated like Mutimer this tone 
 is fatal. In truth it seemed to make offer to 
 him of w^hat he supremely desired. JN'o such 
 encouragement had come from Adela herself, 
 but that meant nothing either way ; Eichard 
 had already perceived that maidenly reserve 
 was a far more complex matter in a girl of 
 g;entle breedino- than in those with whom he 
 had formerly associated ; for all he knew, in- 
 crease of distance in manner might represent 
 the very hope that he was seeking. That hope 
 he sought, in all save the hours when conscience 
 
DEMOS 255 
 
 lorded over silence, witli a reality of desire such 
 as lie had never known. Perhaps it was not 
 Adela, and Adela alone, that inspired this 
 passion ; it was a new ideal of the feminine 
 addressing itself to his instincts. Adela had 
 the field to herself, and did indeed embody in 
 almost an ideal degree the fine essence of dis- 
 tinctly feminine qualities which appeal most 
 strongly to the masculine mind. Mutimer was 
 not capable of love in the highest sense ; he was 
 not, again, endowed with strong appetite ; but 
 his nature contained possibihties of refinement 
 which, in a situation like the present, constituted 
 motive force the same in its efiects as either 
 form of passion. He was suffering, too, from the 
 malaise peculiar to men who suddenly acquire 
 riches ; secret impulses drove him to gratifica- 
 tions which would not otherwise have troubled 
 his thoughts. Of late he had been yielding to 
 several such caprices. One morning the idea 
 possessed him that he must have a horse for 
 riding, and he could not rest till the horse was 
 purchased and in his stable. It occurred to 
 him once at dinner-time that there were sundry 
 delicacies which he knew by name but had 
 never tasted ; forthwith he gave orders that 
 these delicacies should be supphed to him, and 
 so there appeared upon his breakfast-table a 
 'pate de foie gras. Very similar in kind was 
 liis desire to possess Adela Waltham. 
 
256 DEMOS 
 
 And the voice of his conscience lost potency, 
 though it troubled him more than ever, even 
 as a beggar will sometimes become rudely 
 clamorous when he sees that there is no real 
 hope of extracting an alms. Eichard was em- 
 barked on the practical study of moral philo- 
 sophy ; he learned more in these months of 
 the constitution of his inner being than all his 
 literature of 'free thought' had been able to 
 convey to liim. To break with Emma, to cast his 
 faith to the winds, to be branded henceforth in 
 the sight of his intimate friends as a mere traitor, 
 and an especially mean one to boot — that at the 
 first blush was of the things so impossible that 
 one does not trouble to study their bearings. 
 But the wall of habit once breached, the citadel 
 of conscience laid bare, what garrison was re- 
 vealed ? With something like astonishment, 
 Eichard came to recognise that the garrison was 
 of the most contemptible and tatterdemalion de- 
 scription. Fear of people's talk — absolutely 
 nothing else stood in his way. 
 
 Had he, then, no affection for Emma.^ 
 Hardly a scrap. He had never even tried to 
 persuade himself that he was in love with her, 
 and the engagement had on his side been an 
 affair of cool reason. His mother had practi- 
 cally brought it about ; for years it had been a 
 pet project of hers, and her joy was great in 
 its realisation. Mrs. Vine and she had been 
 
DEMOS 257 
 
 lifelong gossips ; she knew that to Emma had 
 descendecl the larger portion of her parent's 
 sterling qualities, and that Emma was the one 
 wife for such a man as Eichard. She talked 
 him into approval. In those days Eichard had 
 no dream of wedding above his class, and he 
 understood very well that Emma Vine was dis- 
 tinguished in many ways from the crowd of 
 working o'irls. There was no one else he 
 wished to marry. Emma would feel herself 
 honoured by his choice, and, what he had not 
 himself observed, his mother led him to see 
 that yet deeper feelings were concerned on the 
 girl's side. This flattered him — a form of 
 emotion to which he was ever susceptible — and 
 the match was speedily arranged. 
 
 He liad never repented. The more he 
 knew of Emma, the more confirmation his 
 favourable judgments received. He even knew 
 at times a stirring of the senses, which is the 
 farthest tliat many of his kind ever progress in 
 the direction of love. Of the nobler features 
 in Emma's character he of course remained ig- 
 norant ; they did not enter into his demands 
 upon woman, and he was unable to discern 
 them even when they were brought prominently 
 before him. She would keep his house admi- 
 rably, would never contradict him, would 
 mother his children to perfection, and even 
 would go so far as to take an intelligent in- 
 
 YOL. I. s 
 
258 DEMOS 
 
 terest in the Propaganda. What more could a 
 man look for ? 
 
 So there was no strife between old love and 
 new; so far as it concerned himself, to put 
 Emma aside would not cost a pang. The garri- 
 son was absolutely mere tongue, mere gossip of 
 public-house bars, firesides, &c. — more serious, 
 «3f the Socialist lecture-rooms. And what of 
 the sirl's own feelino- ? Was there no sense of 
 compassion in him ? Very little. And in say- 
 ing so I mean anything but to convey that 
 Mutimer was conspicuously hard-hearted,. The 
 fatal defect in working people is abs.ence of 
 imagination, the power which may be solely a 
 gift of nature and irrespective of circumstances, 
 but which in most of us owes so much to intel- 
 lectual training. Half the brutal cruelties per- 
 petrated by uneducated men and women are 
 directly traceable to lack of the imaginative 
 spirit, which comes to mean lack of kindly 
 sympathy. Mutimer, we know, had got for 
 himself only the most profitless of educations, 
 and in addition nature had scanted him on the 
 emotional side. He could not enter into the 
 position of Emma deserted and hopeless. Want 
 of money was intelhgible to him, so was bitter 
 disappointment at the loss of a good position, 
 but the former he would not allow Emma to 
 suffer ; and the latter she would, in the nature 
 of things, soon get over. Her love for him he 
 
I 
 
 DEMOS 259 
 
 judged by his own feeling, making allowance, 
 of course, for the weakness of women in affairs 
 such as this. He might admit that she would 
 ' fret,' but the thouglit of her fretting did not 
 affect him as a reality. Emma had never been 
 demonstrative, had never sought to show him 
 all that was in her heart ; hence he rated her 
 devotion lightly. 
 
 The opinion of those who knew him ! What 
 of the opinion of Emma herself? Yes, that 
 went for much ; he knew shame at the thought, 
 perhaps keener shame than in anticipating the 
 judgment, say, of Daniel Dabbs. No one of 
 liis acquaintances thought of him so highly as 
 Emma did ; to see himself dethroned, the ob- 
 ject of her contempt, was a bitter pill to 
 swallow. In all that concerned his own dic:- 
 nity Eichard was keenly appreciative ; he felt 
 in advance every pricking of the blood that 
 was in store for him if he became guilty of this 
 treachery. Yes, from tliat point of view he 
 feared Emma Vine. 
 
 Considerations of larger scope did not come 
 within the purview of his intellect. It never 
 occurred to him, for instance, that in forfeiting 
 his honour in this instance he began a process 
 of undermining which would sooner or later 
 threaten the stability of the purposes on which 
 he most prided himself. A suggestion that 
 domestic perfidy was in the end incompatible 
 
 s 2 
 
26o DEMOS 
 
 with public zeal would liave seemed to him 
 ridiculous, and for the simple reason that he 
 recognised no moral sanctions. He could not 
 reo-ard his nature as a whole; he had no under- 
 standing for the subtle network of communica- 
 tion between its various parts. ]^ay, he told 
 himself that the genuineness and value of his 
 life's work would be increased by a marriage 
 with Adela Waltham ; he and she would repre- 
 sent the union of classes — of the Avage-earning 
 with the bourgeois^ between which two lay the 
 real gist of the combat. He thought of this 
 frequently, and allowed the thought to .inspirit 
 him. 
 
 To the question of whether Adela would 
 ever find out what he had done, and, if so, with 
 what result, he gave scarcely a moment. Mar- 
 riao-es are not undone by subsequent discovery 
 of moral faults on either side. 
 
 This is a tabular exposition of the man's 
 consciousness. Logically, there should result 
 from it a self-possessed state of mind, bordering 
 on cynicism. But logic was not predominant 
 in Mu timer's constitution. So far from con- 
 templating treason with the calm intelhgence 
 which demands judgment on other grounds 
 than the common, he was in reahty possessed 
 by a spirit of perturbation. Such reason as he 
 could command bade him look up and view 
 with scorn the rncfired defenders of the fort ; 
 
DEMOS 201 
 
 but whence came this hail of missiles which 
 kept him so sore? Clearly there was some 
 element of his nature which eluded grasp and 
 definition, a misty influence making itself felt 
 here and there. To none of the sources upon 
 which I have touched was it clearly traceable ; 
 in truth, it arose from them all. The man had 
 never in his life been guilty of offence against 
 his graver conscience ; he had the sensation of 
 being about to plunge from firm footing into 
 untried depths. His days \vere troubled ; his 
 appetite w^as not what it should have been ; he 
 could not take the old thorough interest in his 
 work. It w^as becoming clear to him that the 
 matter must be settled one w^ay or another with 
 brief delay. 
 
 One day at the end of September he re- 
 ceived a letter addressed by Alice. On opening 
 it he found, with much surprise, that the con- 
 tents were in his mother's writing. It was so 
 very rarely that Mrs. Mutimer took up that 
 dangerous instrument, the pen, that something 
 unusual must have led to her doing so at pre- 
 sent. And, indeed, the letter contained unex- 
 pected matter. There were numerous errors of 
 orthography, and the hand was not very legible ; 
 but Eicliard got at the sense quickly enougli. 
 
 ' I write this,' began Mrs. Mutimer, 'because 
 it's a long time since you've been to see us, and 
 because I want to say something tliat's better 
 
262 DEMOS 
 
 written tliaii spoken. I saw Emma last night, 
 and I'm feeling uncomfortable about her. She's 
 getting very low, and that's the truth. Not as 
 she says anything, nor shows it, but she's got a 
 deal on her hands, and more on her mind. You 
 haven't written to her for three weeks. You'll 
 be saying it's no business of mine, but I can't 
 stand by and see Emma putting up with things 
 as there isn't no reason. Jane is in a very bad 
 way, poor girl ; I can't think she'll live long. 
 Now, Dick, what I'm aiming at you'll see. I 
 can't understand why you don't get married and 
 done with it. Jane won't never be able to work 
 again, and that Kate '11 never keep up a-dress- 
 making. Why don't you marry Emma, and take 
 poor Jane to live with you, where she could be 
 well looked after? for she won't never part from 
 her sister. And she does so hope and pray to 
 see Emma married before she goes. You can't 
 surely be waiting for her death. Now, there's 
 a good lad of mine, come and marry your wife 
 at once, and don't make delays. That's all, but 
 I hope you'll think of it ; and so, from your 
 affectionate old mother, S. Mutimer.' 
 
 Eichard read the letter several times, and 
 sat at home through the morning in despond- 
 ency. It had got to the pass that he could not 
 marry Emma ; for all his sufferiDg he no longer 
 aave a glance in that direction. Not even if 
 Adela Waltham refused him ; to have a ' lady ' 
 
DEMOS 263 
 
 for his wife was now an essential in his plans for 
 the future, and lie knew that the desired posses- 
 sion was purchasable for coin of the realm. No 
 way of retreat any longer ; movement must be 
 forward, at whatever cost. 
 
 He let a day intervene, then replied to his 
 mother's letter. He represented himself as 
 worked to death and without a moment for his 
 private concerns ; it was out of the question for 
 him to marry for a few weeks yet. He would 
 write to Emma, and would send her all the 
 money she could possibly need to supply the 
 sick girl with comforts. She must keep up her 
 courage, and be content to vv^ait a short while 
 longer. He was quite sure she did not com- 
 plain ; it was only his mother's fancy that she 
 w^as in low spirits, except, of course, on Jane's 
 account. 
 
 Another fortnight went by. Skies were 
 lowering towards winter, and the sides of the 
 valley showed bare patches amid the rich-hued 
 death of leaves ; ere long a night of storm would 
 leave 'ruined choirs.' Eichard was in truth 
 w^orking hard. He had just opened a course of 
 lectures at a newly established Socialist branch 
 in Belwick. The extent of his daily correspond- 
 ence threatened to demand the services of a 
 secretary in addition to the help already given 
 by Eodman. Moreover, an event of importance 
 was within view^ ; the New Wanley Public Hall 
 
264 DEMOS 
 
 was completed, and its formal opening must be 
 made an occasion of ceremony. In that cere- 
 mony Eichard would be the central figure. He 
 proposed to gather about him a representative 
 company ; not only would the Socialist leaders 
 attend as a matter of course, invitations should 
 also be sent to prominent men in the conven- 
 tional lines of politics. A speech from a certain 
 Eadical statesman, who could probably be in- 
 duced to attend, would command the attention 
 of the press. For the sake of preliminary 
 trumpetings in even so humble a journal as 
 the Belwich Chronicle^ Mutimer put himself in 
 communication with Mr. Keene. That gentle- 
 man was now a recognised visitor at the house 
 in Highbury ; there was frequent mention of him 
 in a close correspondence kept up between 
 Eichard and his sister at this time. The letters 
 which Alice received from Wanley were not 
 imparted to the other members of the family ; 
 she herself studied them attentively, and with 
 much apparent satisf^iction. 
 
 For advice on certain details of the ap- 
 proaching celebration Eichard had recourse to 
 Mrs. Waltham. He found her at home one 
 rainy morning. Adela, aware of his arrival, 
 retreated to her little room upstairs. Mrs. 
 Waltham had a slight cold ; it kept her close by 
 the fireside, and encouraged confidential talk. 
 
 ' I have decided to invite about twenty people 
 
DEMOS 265 
 
 to lunch,' Eicharcl said. ' Just the members of 
 the committee and a few others. It '11 be better 
 than mvinoj a dinner. Westlake's lecture will 
 be over by four o'clock, and that allows people 
 to get away in good time. The workmen's tea 
 will be at half-past five.' 
 
 ' You must have refreshments of some kind 
 for casual comers,' counselled Mrs. Waltham. 
 
 ' I've thought of that. Eodman suggests that 
 we shall get the " Wheatsheaf " people to have 
 joints and that kind of thing in the refreshment- 
 room at the Hall from half-past twelve to half- 
 past one. We could put up some notice to that 
 effect in Agworth station.' 
 
 ' Certainly, and inside the railway carriages.' 
 
 Mutimer's private line, which ran from the 
 works to Agworth station, was to convey visitors 
 to Xew Wanley on this occasion. 
 
 ' I think I shall have three or four ladies,' 
 Eichard pursued. 'Mrs. Westlake'll be sure to 
 come, and I think Mrs. Eddlestone — the wife 
 of the Trades Union man, you know. And I've 
 been rather calculating on you, Mrs. Waltham ; 
 do you think you could ? ' 
 
 The lady's eyes were turned to tJie window, 
 watching the sad, steady rain. 
 
 ' Eeally, you're making a downright Socialist 
 of me, Mr. Mu timer,' she replied, with a laugh 
 v/hich betrayed a touch of sore throat. ' I'm 
 half afraid to accept such an invitation. Shouldn't 
 
266 DEMOS 
 
 I be there on false pretences, don't you 
 think?' 
 
 Eichard mused ; his legs were crossed, and 
 he swayed his foot up and down. 
 
 ' Well, no, I can't see that. But I tell you 
 what would make it simpler : do you think Mr. 
 Wyvern would come if I asked him ? ' 
 
 ' Ah, now, that would be capital ! Oh, ask 
 Mr. Wyvern, by all means. Then, of course, I 
 should be delighted to accept.' 
 
 ' But I haven't much hope that he'll come. 
 I rather think he regards me as his enemy. And, 
 you see, I never go to church.' 
 
 ' What a pity that is, Mr. Mutimer ! Ah, 
 if I could only persuade you to think differently 
 about those things ! There really are so many 
 texts that read quite like Socialism ; I was 
 looking them over with Adela on Sunday. 
 Wliat a sad thing it is that you go so astray ! 
 It distresses me more than you think. Indeed, 
 if I may tell you such a thing, I pray for you 
 nightly.' 
 
 Mutimer made a movement of discomfort, 
 but laughed off the subject. 
 
 ' I'll go and see the vicar, at all events,' he 
 said. ' But must your coming depend on his ? ' 
 
 Mrs. Waltham hesitated. 
 
 ' It really would make things easier.' 
 
 ' Might I, in that case, hope that Miss 
 Waltham would come ? ' 
 
DEMOS 267 
 
 Eichard seemed to exert himself to ask the 
 question. Mrs. Waltham sank her eyes, smiled 
 feebly, and in the end shook her head. 
 
 ' On a public occasion, I'm really afraid ' 
 
 ' I'm sure she would like to know Mrs. 
 Westlake,' urged Eichard, without his usual 
 
 confidence. ' And if you and her brother ' 
 
 ' If it were not a Socialist gathering.' 
 Eichard uncrossed his legs and sat for a 
 moment looking into the fire. Then he turned 
 suddenly. 
 
 ' Mrs. Waltham, may I ask her myself.^ ' 
 She was visibly agitated. There was this 
 time no afiectation in the tremulous lips and the 
 troublous, unsteady eyes. Mrs. Waltham was 
 not by nature the scheming mother who is 
 indifferent to the upshot if she can once get her 
 daughter loyally bound to a man of monev. 
 Adela's happiness was a very real care to her ; 
 she would never have opposed an unobjection- 
 able union on wliicli she found her daughter's 
 heart bent, but circumstances had a second 
 time made offer of brilhant advantages, and she 
 had grown to deem it an ordinance of the higher 
 powers that Adela should marry possessions. 
 She flattered herself that her study of Mutimer's 
 character had been profound ; the necessity of 
 making sucli a study excused, she thought, any 
 little excess of familiarity in which she had 
 indulged, for it had long been clear to her that 
 
268 DEMOS 
 
 Mutimer would some day make an offer. He 
 lacked polish, it was true, but really he was 
 more a gentleman than a great many whose 
 right to the name was never contested. And 
 then he had distinctly high aims ; such a man 
 could never be brutal in the privacy of his home. 
 There was every chance of his achieving some 
 kind of eminence ; already she had suggested 
 to him a Parliamentary career, and the idea had 
 not seemed altosrether distasteful. Adela herself 
 was as yet far from regarding Mutimer in the 
 light of a future husband ; it was perhaps true 
 that she even disliked him. But then a young 
 girl's likes and dislikes have, as a rule, small 
 bearing on her practical content in the married 
 state ; so, at least, Mrs. Waltham's experience 
 led her to believe. Only, it was clear that there 
 must be no precipitancy. Let the ground be 
 thoroughly prepa red . 
 
 ' May I advise you, Mr. Mutimer ? ' she 
 said, in a lowered voice, bending forward. ' Let 
 me deliver the invitation. I think it would be 
 better, really. We shall see whether you can 
 persuade Mr. Wyvern to be present. I promise 
 you to — in fact, not to interpose any obstacle 
 if Adela thinks she can be present at the lunch.' 
 
 ' Then I'll leave it so,' said Eichard, more 
 cheerfully. Mrs. Waltham could see that his 
 nerves were in a dancing state. Eeally, he had 
 much fine feelimr. 
 

 269 
 
 CHAPTEE XL 
 
 It being only midday, Pdcliard directed his 
 steps at once to the Vicarage, and had the good 
 fortune to find Mr. Wyvern within. 
 
 ' Be seated, Mr. Mutimer ; I'm glad to see 
 you,' was the vicar's greeting. 
 
 Their mutual intercourse had as yet been 
 hmited to an exchange of courtesies in public, 
 and one or two casual meetings at the Walthams' 
 house. Pdchard had felt shy of the vicar, whom 
 he perceived to be a clergyman of other than 
 the weak-brained type, and the circumstances 
 of the case would not allow Mr. Wyvern to 
 make advances. The latter proceeded with 
 friendliness of tone, speaking of the progress of 
 New Wanley. 
 
 ' That's what I've come to see you about,' 
 said Eichard, trying to put himself at ease by 
 mentally comparing his own worldly estate with 
 that of his interlocutor, yet failing as often as 
 he felt the scrutiny of the vicar's dark-gleaming 
 eye. ' We are going to open the Hall.' He 
 
270 DEMOS 
 
 added details. ' I shall have a number of 
 friends who are interested in our undertaking 
 to lunch with me on that day. I wish to ask 
 if you will give us the pleasure of your 
 company.' 
 
 Mr. Wyvern reflected for a moment. 
 ' Why, no, sir,' he replied at length, using 
 the Johnsonian phrase with grave courtesy. 
 ' I'm afraid I cannot acknowledge your kindness 
 as I should wish to. Personally, I would accept 
 your hospitality with pleasure, but my position 
 here, as I understand it, forbids me to join you 
 on that particular occasion.' 
 
 ' Then personally you are not hostile to me, 
 Mr. Wyvern ? ' 
 
 ' To you personally, by no means.' 
 ' But you don't like the movement ? ' 
 ' In so far as it has the good of men in view 
 it interests me, and I respect its supporters.' 
 
 ' But you think we go the wrong way to 
 work?' 
 
 ' That is my opinion, Mr. Mtitimer.' 
 ' What would you have us do .^ ' 
 • To see faults is a much easier thing than 
 to orioinate a sound scheme. I am iiir from 
 prepared with any plan of social reconstruc- 
 tion.' 
 
 Nor could Mr. Wyvern be moved from the 
 negative attitude, though Mutimer pressed him. 
 ' Well, I'm sorry you won't come,' Eichard 
 
DEMOS 
 
 271 
 
 said as he rose to take liis leave. ' It didn't 
 strike me that you would feel out of place.' 
 
 ' ]^or should I. But you will understand 
 that my opportunities of being useful in the 
 village depend on the existence of sympathetic 
 feeling in my parishioners. It is my duty to 
 avoid any behaviour which could be misinter- 
 preted.' 
 
 ' Then you deliberately adapt yourself to 
 the prejudices of unintelligent people F ' 
 
 ' I do so, deliberately,' assented the vicar, 
 with one of his fleeting smiles. 
 
 Eichard went away feeling sorry that he 
 had courted this rejection. He would never 
 have thought of inviting a ' parson ' but for Mrs. 
 Waltham's suggestion. After all, it mattered 
 little whether Adela came to the luncheon or 
 not. He had desired her presence because he 
 wished her to see him as an entertainer of 
 guests such as the Westlakes, whom she would 
 perceive to be people of refinement ; it occurred 
 to him, too, that such an occasion might aid his 
 suit by exciting her ambition ; for he was any- 
 thing but confident of immediate success with 
 Adela, especially since recent conversations with 
 Mrs. Waltham. But in any case she would 
 attend the afternoon ceremony, when his glory 
 would be proclaimed. 
 
 Mrs. Waltham was anxiously meditative of 
 plans for bi^inging Adela to regard her Sociahst 
 
272 DEMOS 
 
 wooer with more fiivourable eyes. She, too, 
 had hopes that Mutimer's fame in the mouths 
 of men might prove an attraction, yet she sus- 
 pected a strengtli of principle in Adela which 
 might well render all such hopes vain. And 
 she thought it only too likely, though obser- 
 vation gave her no actual assurance of this, that 
 the girl still thought of Hubert Eldon in a way 
 to render it doubly hard for any other man to 
 make an impression upon her. It was danger- 
 ous, she knew, to express her abhorrence of 
 Hubert too persistently; yet, on the other hand, 
 she was convinced that Adela had been so 
 deeply shocked by the revelations of Hubert's 
 wickedness that her moral nature would be in 
 arms against her lingering inclination. After 
 much mental wear and tear, she decided to 
 adopt the strong course of asking Alfred's assist- 
 ance. Alfred was sure to view the proposed 
 match with hearty approval, and, though he 
 might not have much influence directly, he 
 could in all probability secure a potent ally in 
 the person of Letty Tew. This was rather a 
 brilliant idea ; Mrs. Waltham waited impatiently 
 for her son's return from Bel wick on Saturday. 
 
 She broached the subject to him with much 
 delicacy. 
 
 ' I am so convinced, Alfred, that it would 
 be for your sister's happiness. There really is 
 no harm whatever in aiding her inexperience ; 
 
DEMOS 273 
 
 that is all that I wish to do. I'm sure you 
 understand me ? ' 
 
 'I understand well enough,' returned the 
 young man ; ' but if you convince Adela against 
 her will youll do a clever thing. You've been 
 so remarkably successful in closing her mind 
 against all arguments of reason ' 
 
 ' Now, Alfred, do not begin and talk in that 
 way ! It has nothing whatever to do with the 
 matter. This is entirely a personal question.' 
 
 ' Nothing of the kind. It's a question of 
 religious prejudice. She hates Mutimer be- 
 cause he doesn't go to church, there's the long 
 and short of it.' 
 
 ' Adela very properly condemns his views, 
 but that's quite a different thing from hating 
 him.' 
 
 ' Oh dear, no ; they're one and the same 
 thing. Look at the history of persecution. 
 She would like to see him — and me too, I dare 
 say — brought to the stake.' 
 
 ' Well, well, of course if you won't talk sen- 
 sibly ! I had something to propose.' 
 
 ' Let me hear it, then.' 
 
 ' You yourself agree with me that there 
 would be nothing to repent in urging her.' 
 
 ' On the contrary, I think she might con- 
 sider herself precious lucky. It's only that ' — • 
 he looked dubious for a moment — ' I'm not 
 quite sure whether she's the kind of girl to be 
 
 VOL. I. T 
 
274 DEMOS 
 
 content with a husband she found she couldn't 
 convert. I can imagine her marrying a rake 
 on the hope of bringing him to regular church- 
 going, but then Mutimer doesn't happen to be 
 a blackguard, so he isn't very interesting to 
 her.' 
 
 ' I know what you're thinking of, but I 
 don't think we need take that into account. 
 And, indeed, we can't afford to take anything 
 into account but her establishment in a respect- 
 able and happy home. Our choice, as you are 
 aware, is not a wide one. I am often deeply 
 anxious about the poor girl.' 
 
 ' I dare say. Well, what was your proposal ? ' 
 
 ' Do you think Letty could help us ? ' 
 
 ' H'm, can't say. Might or might not. 
 
 She's as bad as Adela. Ten to one it'll be a 
 
 point of conscience with her to fight the project 
 
 tooth and nail' 
 
 ' I don't think so. She has accepted you.' 
 ' So she has, to my amazement. Women 
 are monstrously illogical. She must think of 
 my latter end with mixed feelings.' 
 
 ' I do wish you were less flippant in dealing 
 with grave subjects, Alfred. I assure you I am 
 very much troubled. I feel that so much is at 
 stake, and yet the responsibility of doing any- 
 thing is so very great.' 
 
 ' Shall I talk it over with Letty ? ' 
 
 ' If you feel able to. But Adela would be 
 
DEMOS 275 
 
 very seriously ofTendecl if she guessed that you 
 had done so.' 
 
 ' Then she mustn't guess, that's alL I'll see 
 what I can do to-night.' 
 
 In the home of the Tews there was some 
 difficulty in securing privacy. The house was 
 a small one, and the sacrifice of general con- 
 venience when Letty wanted a whole room for 
 herself and Alfred was considerable. To-night 
 it was managed, however ; the front parlour 
 was granted to the pair for one hour. 
 
 It could not be said that there was much 
 delicacy in Alfred's way of approaching the 
 subject he wished to speak of. This young 
 man had a scorn of periphrases. If a topic had 
 to be handled, why not be succinct in the hand- 
 ling ? Alfred was of opinion that much time 
 was lost by mortals in windy talk. 
 
 ' Look here, Letty : what's your idea about 
 Adela marrying Mutimer ? ' 
 
 The girl looked startled. 
 
 ' She has not accepted him ? ' 
 
 ' Not yet. Don't you think it would be a 
 <?ood thino; if she did .^ ' 
 
 ' I really can't say,' Letty replied very 
 gravely, her head aside. ' I don't think any 
 one can judge but Adela herself. Eeally, 
 Alfred, I don't think we ought to interfere.' 
 
 ' But suppose I ask you to try and get her 
 to see the affair sensibly ? ' 
 
 T 2 
 
2 76 DEMOS 
 
 ' Sensibly P What a word to use ! ' 
 
 ' The right word, I think.' 
 
 ' What a vexatious boy you are ! You 
 don't really think so at all. You only speak 
 so because you like to tease me.' 
 
 ' Well, you certainly do look pretty when 
 you're defending the castles in the air. Give 
 me a kiss.' 
 
 ' Indeed I shall not. Tell me seriously 
 what you mean. What does Mrs. Waltham 
 think about it ? ' 
 
 ' Give me a kiss, and I'll tell you. If not, 
 I'll go away and leave you to iind out every- 
 thing as best you can.' 
 
 ' Oh, Alfred, you're a sad tyrant ! ' 
 
 ' Of course I am. But it's a benevolent des- 
 potism. Well, mother wants Adela to accept 
 him. In fact, she asked me if I didn't think 
 you'd help us. Of course I said you would.' 
 
 ' Then you were very hasty. I'm not joking 
 now, Alfred. I think of Adela in a w^ay you 
 very likely can't understand. It w^ould be 
 shocking, oh ! shocking, to try and make her 
 marry him if she doesn't really wish to.' 
 
 ' No fear ! We shan't manage that.' 
 
 ' And surely wouldn't wish to ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know^ Girls often can't see wdiat't? 
 best for them. I say, you understand that all 
 this is in confidence ? ' 
 
 ' Of course I do. But it's a confidence I had 
 
DEMOS 277 
 
 rather not have received. I shall be miserable, 
 I know that.' 
 
 ' Then you're a little — goose.' 
 
 ' You were going to call me something far 
 worse.' 
 
 ' Give me credit, then, for correcting myself. 
 You'll have to help us, Lettycoco.' 
 
 The girl kept silence. Then for a time the 
 conversation became graver. It was inter- 
 rupted precisely at the end of the granted hour. 
 
 Letty w^ent to see her friend on Sunday 
 afternoon, and the two shut themselves up in 
 the dainty little chamber. Adela was in low 
 spirits ; with her a most unusual state. She sat 
 with her hands crossed on her lap, and the 
 sunny li,2;ht of her eyes Avas dimmed. When she 
 had tried for a while to talk of ordinary things, 
 Letty saw a tear glisten upon her cheek. 
 
 ' What is the matter, love ? ' 
 
 Adela was in sore need of telling her 
 troubles, and Letty was the only one to whom 
 she could do so. In such spirit-gentle words 
 as could express the perplexities of her mind 
 she told what a source of pain her mother's 
 conversation had been to her of late, and how 
 she dreaded what micfht still be to come. 
 
 ' It is so dreadful to think, Letty, that 
 mother is encouraoino; him. She thinks it is 
 for my happiness ; she is offended if I try to 
 say what I suffer. Oh, I couldn't ! I couldn't!' 
 
2 78 DEMOS 
 
 She put her pahiis before her face ; her 
 maidenhood shamed to speak of these things 
 even to her bosom friend. 
 
 ' Can't you show him, darhng, that — that he 
 mustn't hope anything ? ' 
 
 ' How can I do so ? It is impossible to be 
 rude, and everything else it is so easy to mis- 
 understand.' 
 
 ' But when he really speaks, then it will 
 come to an end.' 
 
 ' I shall grieve mother so, Letty. I feel as 
 if the best of my life had gone by. Everything 
 seemed so smooth. Oh, why did he fall so, 
 Letty? and I thought he cared for me, dear.' 
 
 She whispered it, her face on her friend's 
 shoulder. 
 
 ' Try to forget, darling ; try ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, as if I didn't try night and day ! I 
 know it is so wrong to give a thought. How 
 could he speak to me as he did that day when 
 I met him on the hill, and again when I went 
 just to save him an annoyance? He was al- 
 most the same as before, only I thought him a 
 little sad from his illness. He had no right 
 to talk to me in that way ! Oh, I feel wicked, 
 that I can't forget ; I hate myself for still — for 
 still ' 
 
 Tliere was a word Letty could not hear, only 
 her listening heart divined it. 
 
 ' Dear Adela ! pray for strength, and it will 
 
DEMOS 279 
 
 be sure to come to you. How hard it is to 
 know myself so happy when you have so much 
 trouble ! ' 
 
 ' I could have borne it better but for this 
 new pain. I don't think I should ever have 
 shown it ; even you wouldn't have known all I 
 felt, Letty. I should have hoped for him — I 
 don't mean hoped on my own account, but that 
 he might know how wricked he had been. How 
 — how can a man do things so unworthy of him- 
 self, when it's so beautiful to be good and 
 faithful ? I think he did care a little for me 
 once, Letty.' 
 
 ' Don't let us talk of him, pet.' 
 
 ' You are right ; we mustn't. His name 
 ought never to pass my lips, only in my prayers.' 
 
 She grew calmer, and they sat hand in hand. 
 
 ' Try to make your mother understand,' 
 advised Letty. ' Say that it is impossible you 
 should ever accept him.' 
 
 ' She won't believe that, I'm sure she w^on't. 
 And to think that, even if I did it only to please 
 her, people would believe I had married him 
 because he is rich ! ' 
 
 Letty spoke with more emphasis than 
 hitherto. 
 
 'But you cannot and must not do such a 
 thing to please any one, Adela ! It is wrong 
 even to think of it. Xothing, nothing can 
 justify that.' 
 
28o DEMOS 
 
 How strong she was in tlie purity of her 
 own love, good httle Letty ! So they talked 
 together, and mingled their tears, and the room 
 was made a saci-ed place as by the presence of 
 sorrowing angels. 
 
:8i 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The New Wanley Lecture Hall had been pub- 
 licly dedicated to the service of the New 
 Wanley Commonwealth, and only in one 
 respect did the day's proceedings fall short of 
 Mutimer's expectations. He had hoped to 
 have all the Waltham family at his luncheon 
 party, but in the event Alfred alone felt himself 
 able to accept the invitation. Mutimer had 
 even nourished the hope that something might 
 happen before that day to allow of Adela's 
 appearing not merely in the character of a 
 guest, but, as it were, ex officio. By this time he 
 had resolutely forbidden his eyes to stray to the 
 right hand or the left, and kept them directed 
 with hungry, relentless steadiness straight 
 along the path of his desires. He had received 
 no second letter from his mother, nor had Alice 
 anything to report of danger-signals at home ; 
 from Emma herself came a letter regularly once 
 a week, a letter of perfect patience, chiefly con- 
 cerned with her sister's health. He had made 
 
282 DEMOS 
 
 up his mind to declare notliing till the irretriev- 
 able step was taken, when reproaches only 
 could befall him ; to Alice as little as to any 
 one else had he breathed of his purposes. And 
 he could no lonsfer even take into account the 
 uncertainty of his success ; to doubt of that 
 would have been insufferable at the point which 
 he had reached in self-abandonment. Yet day 
 after day saw the postponement of the question 
 which would decide his fate. Between him 
 and Mrs. Waltham the lano-uas^e of allusion was 
 at length put aside ; he spoke plainly of his 
 wishes, and sought her encouragement, This 
 was not v/antino' but the mother beo^G;ed for 
 time. Let the day of the ceremony come 
 and go. 
 
 Eichard passed through it in a state of ex- 
 altation and anxiety which bordered on fever. 
 Mr. Westlake and his wife came down from 
 London by an early train, and he went over 
 New Wanley with them before luncheon. The 
 luncheon itself did not lack festive vivacity ; 
 Eichard, in surveying his guests from the head 
 of the board, had feelings not unlike those 
 wherein King Polycrates lulled himself of old ; 
 there wanted, in truth, one thing to complete 
 his self-complacence, but an extra glass or two 
 of wine enrubied his imagination, and he already 
 saw Adela's face smilinof to him from the table's 
 unoccupied end. What was such conquest in 
 
DEMOS 283 
 
 comparison with that -wliich Fate had accorded 
 him ? 
 
 There was a satisfactory gathering to hear 
 Mr. Westlake's address ; Eichard did not fail to 
 note the presence of a few reporters, only it 
 seemed to him that their pencils might have 
 been more active. Here, too, v\"as Adela at 
 length ; every time his name was uttered, per- 
 force she heard ; every encomium bestowed 
 upon Inm by the various speakers was to him 
 like a new bud on the tree of hope. After all, 
 why should he feel this humility towards her ? 
 What man of prominence, of merit, at all like 
 his own would ever seek her hand ? The 
 semblance of chivalry which occasionally stirred 
 within him was, in fact, quite inconsistent with 
 his reasoned view of thino-s ; the Enoiish work- 
 ing class has, on the whole, as little of that 
 quality as any other people in an elementary 
 stage of civilisation. He Avas a- man, she a 
 woman. A lady, to be sure, but then 
 
 After Mutimer, Alfred Waltham had pro- 
 bably more genuine satisfaction in the ceremony 
 than any one else present. Mr. Westlake he 
 was not quite satisfied with ; there was a mild- 
 ness and restraint about the style of the address 
 which to Alfred's taste smacked of feebleness ; 
 he was for Cambyses' vein. Still it rejoiced 
 him to hear the noble truths of democracy 
 delivered as it were from the be ma. To a cer- 
 
284 DEMOS 
 
 tain order of intellect the word addressed by 
 the living voice to an attentive assembly is 
 always vastly impressive ; when the word coin- 
 cides with private sentiment it excites enthu- 
 siasm. Alfred hated the aristocratic order of 
 things with a rabid hatred. In practice he 
 could be as coarsely overbearing with his social 
 inferiors as that scion of the nobility — existing 
 of course somewhere — wdio bears the bell for 
 feebleness of tlie pia. mater ; but that made 
 him none the less a sound Eadical. In thinking 
 of the upper classes he always thought of 
 Hubert Eldon, and that name was scarlet to 
 him. Never trust the thoroughness of the man 
 who is a revolutionist on abstract principles ; 
 personal feeling alone goes to the root of the 
 matter. 
 
 Many were the gentlemen to whom Alfred 
 had the happiness of being introduced in the 
 course of the day. Among others was Mr. 
 Keene the journalist. At the end of a lively 
 conversation Mr. Keene brought out a copy of 
 the Belwick Chronicle, that day's issue. 
 
 ' You'll find a few things of mine here,' he 
 said. ' Put it in your pocket, and look at it 
 afterwards. By- the- by, there is a paragraph 
 marked ; I meant it for Mu timer. Never mind, 
 give it him when you've done with it.' 
 
 Alfred bestowed the paper in the breast pocket 
 of his great-coat, and did not happen to think of 
 
DEMOS 285 
 
 it again till late tliat evening. His discovery 
 of it at length was not the only event of the 
 day which came just too late for the happi- 
 ness of one witli Avhose fortunes we are con- 
 cerned. 
 
 A little after dark, when the bell was rino-- 
 ing which summoned Mutimer's workpeople 
 to the tea provided for them, Hubert Eldon 
 was approaching the village by the road from 
 Ag worth : he was on foot, and had chosen his 
 time in order to enter Wanley unnoticed. His 
 former visit, when he was refused at the 
 Walthams' door, had been paid at an impulse ; 
 he had come down from London by an early 
 train, and did not even call to see his mother 
 at her new house in Agworth. Nor did he 
 visit her on his way back ; he walked straight 
 to the railway station and took the first train 
 town wards. To-day he came in a more leisurely 
 way. It was certain news contained in a letter 
 from his mother which brought him, and with 
 her he spent ^ some hours before starting to 
 walk towards Wanley. 
 
 ' I hear,' Mrs. Eldon had written, ' from 
 Wanley something which really surprises me. 
 They say that Adela Waltham is going to marry 
 Mr. Mutimer. The match is surely a very 
 strange one. I am only fearful that it is the mak- 
 ing of interested people, and that the poor girl 
 herself has not liad much voice in decidin'.^- her 
 
2 86 DEMOS 
 
 own fate. Oh, this money ! Adela was worthy 
 of better things.' 
 
 Mrs. Eldon saw her son with surprise, the 
 more so that she divined the cause of his com- 
 ing. When they had talked for a while, 
 Hubert frankly admitted what it was that had 
 brought him. 
 
 ' I must know,' he said, ' whether the news 
 from Wanley is true.' 
 
 ' But can it concern you, Hubert ? ' his 
 mother asked gently. 
 
 He made no direct reply, but expressed 
 his intention of going over to Wanley. 
 
 ' Whom shall you visit, dear ? ' 
 
 ' Mr. Wyvern.' 
 
 'The vicar? But you don't know him 
 personally.' 
 
 'Yes, I know him pretty welk We write 
 to each other occasionally.' 
 
 Mrs. Eldon always practised most reserve 
 when her surprise was greatest — an excellent 
 rule, by-the-by, for general observation. She 
 looked at her son with a lialf-smile of wonder, 
 but only said ' Indeed ? ' 
 
 ' I had made his acquaintance before his 
 coming to Wanley,' Hubert explained. 
 
 His mother just bent her head, acquiescent. 
 And with that their conversation on the subject 
 ended. But Hubert received a tender kiss on 
 his cheek when he set forth in the afternoon. 
 
DEMOS 287 
 
 To one entering tlie valley after night- 
 fall tlie situation of the much -discussed New 
 Wanley could no longer be a source of doubt. 
 Two blast-furnaces sent up their flare and lit 
 luridly the devastated scene. Having glanced 
 in that direction Hubert did his best to keep his 
 eyes averted during the remainder of the walk. 
 He was surprised to see a short passenger train 
 rush by on the private line connecting the works 
 with Agworth station ; it was taking away 
 certain visitors who had lingered in New 
 Wanley after the lecture. Knowing nothing 
 of the circumstances, he supposed that general 
 traffic had been commenced. He avoided the 
 village street, and reached the Vicarage by a 
 path through fields. 
 
 He found the vicar at dinner, though it was 
 only half-past six. The welcomiC he received 
 was, in Mr. Wyvern's manner, almost silent ; 
 but when he had taken a place at the table he 
 saw satisfaction on his host's face. The meal 
 was very plain, but the vicar ate with extra- 
 ordinary appetite ; he was one of those men in 
 whom the demands of the stomach seem to be 
 in direct proportion to the activity of the brain. 
 A question Hubert put about the train led to a 
 brief account of what was going on. Mr. 
 Wyvern spoke on the subject with a gravity 
 which was not distinctly ironical, but suggested 
 criticism. 
 
2 88 DEMOS 
 
 They repaired to the study. A volume of 
 Plato was open on the reading-table. 
 
 ' Do yon remember Socrates' prayer in the 
 " Pheedrus "?' said the vicar, bending affection- 
 ately over the page. He read a few words of the 
 Greek, then gave a free rendering. ' Beloved 
 Pan, and all ye other gods who haunt this 
 place, give me beauty in the inward soul ; and 
 may the outward and inward be at one. May 
 I esteem the wise alone wealthy, and may I 
 have such abundance of Avealth as none but the 
 temperate can carry.' 
 
 He paused a moment. 
 
 ' Ah, when I came hither I hoped to fiiid Pan 
 undisturbed. Well, well, after all, Hephaestus 
 was one of the gods.' 
 
 ' How I envy you your quiet mind ! ' said 
 Hubert. 
 
 ' Quiet ? Nay, not always so. Just now I 
 am far from at peace. What brings you hither 
 to-day?' 
 
 The equivoque was obviated by Mr. 
 Wyvern's tone. 
 
 ' I have heard stories about Adela Waltham. 
 Is there any truth in them ? ' 
 
 ' I fear so ; I fear so.' 
 
 'That she is really going to marry Mr. 
 Mutimer ? ' 
 
 He tried to speak the name without dis- 
 courtesy, but his lips writhed after it. 
 
DEMOS 289 
 
 ' I fear she is going to marry him,' said the 
 vicar deliberately. 
 
 Hubert held his peace. 
 
 ' It troubles me. It angers me,' said Mr. 
 Wyvern. ' I am angry with more than one.' 
 
 ' Is there an engagement ? ' 
 
 ' I am unable to say. Tattle generally gets 
 ahead of fact.' 
 
 ' It is monstrous ! ' burst from the young 
 man. ' They are taking advantage of her 
 innocence. She is a child. Why do they 
 educate girls like that? I sliould say, how- 
 can they leave them so uneducated? In an 
 ideal world it would be all very well, but see 
 what comes of it here ? She is walking with 
 her eyes open into horrors and curses, and 
 understands as little of what awaits her as a 
 lamb led to butchery. Do you stand by and 
 say nothing ? ' 
 
 ' It surprises me that you are so affected,' 
 remarked the vicar quietly. 
 
 ' No doubt. I can't reason about it. But 
 I know that my life will be hideous if this goes 
 on to the end.' 
 
 ' You are late.' 
 
 'Yes, I am late. I was in Wanley some 
 weeks ago ; I did not tell you of it. I called 
 at their house ; they were not at home to me. 
 Yet Adela was sitting at the window. What 
 did that mean ? Is her mother so contemptible 
 
 VOL. I. U 
 
290 DEMOS 
 
 that my change of fortune leads her to treat 
 me in that way ? ' 
 
 ' But does no other reason occur to you ? * 
 asked Mr. Wyvern, with grave surprise. 
 ' Other reason ! What other ? ' 
 ' You must remember that gossip is active.' 
 ' You mean that they have heard about — ? ' 
 ' Somehow it had become the common talk 
 of the village very shortly after my arrival 
 here.' 
 
 Hubert dropped his eyes in bewilderment. 
 ' Then they think me unfit to associate with 
 them ? She — Adela — will look upon me as a 
 vile creature ! But it wasn't so when I saw 
 her immediately after my illness. She talked 
 freely and with just the same friendliness as 
 before.' 
 
 ' Probably she had heard nothing then.' 
 ' And her mother only began to poison 
 her mind when it was advantageous to do 
 so.?' 
 
 Hubert laughed bitterly. 
 ' Well, there is an end of it,' he pursued. 
 ' Yes, I was forgetting all that. Oh, it is quite 
 intelhgible ; I don't blame them. By all means 
 let her be preserved from contagion ! Pooh ! 
 I don't know my own mind. Old fancies that 
 I used to have somehow got hold of me again. 
 If I ever marry, it must be a woman of the 
 world, a woman with brain and heart to judge 
 
DEMOS 291 
 
 human nature. It is gone, as if I had never 
 had such a thought. Poor child, to be sure ; 
 but that's all one can say.' 
 
 His tone was as far from petulance as could 
 be. Hubert's emotions were never feebly 
 coloured ; his nature ran into extremes, and 
 vehemence of scorn was in him the true voice 
 of injured tenderness. Of humility he knew 
 but httle, least of all where his affections were 
 concerned, but there was the ring of noble 
 metal in his self-assertion. He would never 
 consciously act or speak a falsehood, and was 
 intolerant of the lies, petty or great, which con- 
 ventionality and warped habits of thought en- 
 courage in those of weaker personality. 
 
 ' Let us be just,' remarked Mr. Wyvern, his 
 voice sounding rather sepulchral after the out- 
 burst of youthful passion. 'Mrs. Waltham's 
 point of view is not inconceivable. I, as you 
 know, am not altogether a man of formulas, but 
 I am not sure that my behaviour would greatly 
 differ from hers in her position ; I mean as 
 regards yourself.' 
 
 ' Yes, yes ; I admit the reasonableness of it,' 
 said Hubert more calmly, ' granted that you 
 have to deal with children. But Adela is too 
 old to have no will or understanding. It may 
 be she has both. After all she would scarcely 
 allow herself to be forced into a detestable 
 
292 DEMOS 
 
 marriage. Very likely she takes her mother's 
 practical views.' 
 
 ' There is such a thing as blank indifference 
 in a young girl who has suffered disappoint- 
 ment.' 
 
 ' I could do nothing,' exclaimed Hubert. 
 ' That she thinks of me at all, or has ever 
 seriously done so, is the merest supposition. 
 There was nothing binding between us. If 
 she is false to herself, experience and suffering 
 must teach her.' 
 
 The vicar mused. 
 
 ' Then you go your way untroubled ? ' was 
 his next question. 
 
 ' If I am strong enough to overcome foolish- 
 ness.' 
 
 ' And if foolishness persists in asserting 
 itself?' 
 
 Hubert kept gloomy silence. 
 
 ' Thus much I can say to you of my own 
 knowledge,' observed Mr. Wjrv^ern with weight. 
 ' Miss Waltham is not one to speak words 
 lightly. You call her a child, and no doubt 
 her view of the world is childlike ; but she is 
 strong in her simplicity. A pledge from her 
 will, or I am much mistaken, bear no two 
 meanings. Her marriage with Mr. Mutimer 
 would be as little pleasing to me as to you, but 
 I cannot see that I have any claim to interpose, 
 
DEMOS 293 
 
 or, indeed, power to do so. Is it not the same 
 with yourself? ' 
 
 ' No, not quite the same.' 
 
 ' Then you have hope that you might still 
 affect her destiny ? ' 
 
 Hubert did not answer. 
 
 ' Do you measure the responsibility you 
 would incur ? I fear not, if you have spoken 
 sincerely. Your experience has not been of a 
 kind to aid you in understanding her, and, I 
 warn you, to make her subject to your caprices 
 would be little short of a crime, whether now 
 — heed me — or hereafter.' 
 
 ' Perhaps it is too late,' murmured Hubert. 
 
 ' That may well be, in more senses than one.' 
 
 ' Can you not discover whether she is really 
 engaged ? ' 
 
 'If that were the case, I think I should 
 have heard of it.' 
 
 ' If I were allowed to see her ! So much 
 at least should be granted me. I should not 
 poison the air she breathes.' 
 
 ' Do you return to Agworth to-night ? ' Mr. 
 Wyvern inquired. 
 
 ' Yes, I shall walk back.' 
 
 ' Can you come to me again to-morrow 
 evening ? ' 
 
 It was agreed that Hubert should do so. 
 Mr. Wyvern gave no definite promise of aid, 
 
294 DEMOS 
 
 but the youDg man felt that he would do some- 
 thing. 
 
 ' The night is fine,' said the vicar ; ' I will 
 walk half a mile with you.' 
 
 They left the Vicarage, and ten yards from 
 the door turned into the path which would 
 enable them to avoid the village street. JSTot 
 two minutes after their quitting the main 
 road the spot was passed by Adela herself, 
 who was walking towards Mr. Wyvern's 
 dwelling. On her inquiring for the vicar, she 
 learnt from the servant that he had just left 
 home. She hesitated, and seemed about to 
 ask further questions or leave a message, but 
 at length turned away from the door and re- 
 traced her steps, slowly and with bent head. 
 
 She knew not whether to feel glad or sorry 
 that the interview she had come to seek could 
 not immediately take place. This day had 
 been a hard one for Adela. In the morning 
 her mother had spoken to her without disguise 
 or affectation, and had told her of Mutimer's 
 indirect proposal. Mrs. Waltham went on to 
 assure her that there was no hurry, that 
 Mutimer had consented to refrain from visits 
 for a short time in order that she might take 
 counsel with herself, and that — the mother's 
 voice trembled on the words — absolute freedom 
 was of course left her to accept or refuse. But 
 Mrs. Waltham could not pause there, though 
 
DEMOS 295 
 
 she tried to. She went on to speak of the 
 day's proceedings. 
 
 'Think what we may, my dear, of Mr. 
 Mutimer's opinions, no one can deny that he 
 is making a most unselfish use of his wealth. 
 We shall have an opportunity to-day of hearing 
 how it is regarded by those who — who under- 
 stand such questions.' 
 
 Adela implored to be allowed to remain at 
 home instead of attending the lecture, but on 
 this point Mi's. Waltham was inflexible. The 
 girl could not offer resolute opposition in a 
 matter which only involved an hour or two's 
 endurance. She sat in pale silence. Then her 
 mother broke into tears, bewailed herself as a 
 luckless being, entreated her daughter's pardon, 
 but in the end was perfectly ready to accept 
 Adela's self-sacrifice. 
 
 On her return from New Wanley, Adela 
 sat alone till tea-time, and after that meal again 
 went to her room. She was not one of those 
 girls to whom tears come as a matter of course 
 on any occasion of annoyance or of grief; her 
 bright eyes had seldom been dimmed since 
 childhood, for the lightsomeness of her character 
 threw off trifling troubles almost as soon as 
 they were felt, and of graver aflilictions she had 
 hitherto known none since her father's death. 
 But since the shock she received on that day 
 when her mother revealed Hubert Eldon's 
 
296 DEMOS 
 
 unwortliiness, her emotional life had suffered a 
 slow change. Evil, previously known but as 
 a dark mystery shadowing far-off regions, had 
 become the constant preoccupation of her 
 thoughts. Drawing analogies from the story of 
 her faith, she imaged Hubert as the angel wdio 
 fell from supreme purity to a terrible lordship 
 of perdition. Of his sins she had the dimmest 
 conception ; she was told that they were sins 
 of impurity, and her understanding of such 
 could scarcely have been expressed save in the 
 general language of her prayers. Guarded 
 jealously at every moment of her life, the 
 world had made no blur on the fair tablet of 
 her mind ; her Eden had suffered no invasion. 
 She could only repeat to herself that her heart 
 had gone dreadfully astray in its fondness, and 
 that, whatsoever it cost her, the old hopes, the 
 strength of which was only now proved, must 
 be utterly uprooted. And knowing that, she 
 wept. 
 
 Sin was too surely sorrow, though it neared 
 her only in imagination. In a few weeks she 
 seemed to have almost outgrown girlhood; 
 her steps were measured, her smile was seldom 
 and lacked mirth. The revelation would have 
 done so much ; the added and growing trouble 
 of Mutimer's attentions threatened to sink her 
 in melancholy. She would not allow it to be 
 seen more than she could help ; cheerful activity 
 
DEMOS 297 
 
 in the life of home was one of her moral duties, 
 and she strove hard to sustain it. It was a 
 relief to find herself alone each night, alone 
 with her sickness of heart. 
 
 The repugnance aroused in her by the 
 thought of becoming Mutimer's wife was rather 
 instinctive than reasoned. From one point of 
 view, indeed, she deem^ed it wrong, since it 
 might be entirely the fruit of the love she was 
 forbidden to cherish. Strivins^ to read her 
 conscience, which for years had been with her a 
 daily task and was now become the anguish of 
 every hour, she found it hard to estabhsh vahd 
 reasons for steadfastly refusing a man who was 
 her mother's choice. She read over the marriage 
 service frequently. There stood the promise 
 — to love, to honour, and to obey. Honour 
 and obedience she might render him, but what 
 of love ? The question arose, what did love 
 mean ? Could there be such a thing as love 
 of an unworthy object .^ Was she not led astray 
 by the spirit of perverseness which was her 
 heritage ? 
 
 Adela could not bring herself to believe that 
 ' to love ' in the sense of the marriage service 
 and to ' be in love ' as her heart understood it 
 were one and the same thing. The Puritanism 
 of her training led her to distrust profoundly 
 those impulses of mere nature. And the cir- 
 cumstances of her own unhappy affection tended 
 
298 DEMOS 
 
 to confirm her in this way of thinking. Letty 
 Tew certainly thought otherwise, but was not 
 Letty 's own heart too exclusively occupied by 
 worldly considerations ? 
 
 Yet it said ' love.' Perchance that w^as 
 something which would come after marriage ; 
 the promise, observe, concerned the future. 
 But she was not merely indifferent ; she shrank 
 from Mutimer. 
 
 She returned home from the lecture to-day 
 full of dread — dread more active than she had 
 yet known. And it drove her to a step she 
 had timidly contemplated for more than a week. 
 She stole from the house, bent on seeinor Mr. 
 Wyvern. She could not confess to him, but 
 she could speak of the conflict between her 
 mother's will and her own, and beg his advice ; 
 perhaps, if he appeared favourable, ask him 
 to intercede with her mother. She had liked 
 Mr. Wyvern from the first meeting with him, 
 and a sense of trust had been nourished by each 
 succeeding conversation. In her agitation she 
 thought it would not be hard to tell him so 
 much of the circumstances as w^ould enable him 
 to judge and counsel. 
 
 Yet it was with relief, on the whole, that she 
 turned homewards with her object unattained. 
 It would be much better to wait and test herself 
 yet further. Why should she not speak with 
 
DEMOS 299 
 
 her mother about that vow she was asked to 
 make? 
 
 She did not seek soHtude again, but joined 
 her mother and Alfred in the sitting-room. 
 Mrs. Waltham made no inquiry about the short 
 absence. Alfred had only just called to mind 
 the newspaper which Mr. Keene had given him, 
 and was unfolding it for perusal. His eye 
 caught a marked paragraph, one of a number 
 under the heading ' Gossip from Town.' As 
 he read it he uttered a ' Hullo ! ' of surprise. 
 
 ' Well, here's the latest,' he continued, look- 
 ing at his companions with an amused eye. 
 ' Something about that fellow Eldon in a 
 Belwick newspaper. What do you think .^ ' 
 Adela kept still and mute. 
 ' Whatever it is, it cannot interest us, Alfred,' 
 said Mrs. Waltham, with dignity. ' We had 
 rather not hear it.' 
 
 ' Well, you shall read it for yourself,' replied 
 Alfred on a second thought. ' I think 3^ou'd 
 like to know.' 
 
 His mother took the paper under protest, 
 and glanced down at the paragraph carelessly. 
 But speedily her attention became closer. 
 
 ' An item of intelhgence,' wrote the London 
 gossip er, ' which I dare say will interest readers 
 in certain parts of — shire. A lady of French 
 extraction who made a name for herself at a 
 
300 DEMOS 
 
 leading metropolitan theatre last winter, and 
 who really promises great things in the Thespian 
 art, is back among us from a sojourn on the 
 Continent. She is understood to have spent 
 much labour in the study of a new part, which 
 she is about to introduce to us of the modern 
 Babylon. But Albion, it is whispered, possesses 
 other attractions for her besides appreciative 
 audiences. In brief, though she will of course 
 appear under the old name, she will in reality 
 have changed it for one of another nationality 
 before presenting herself in the radiance of the 
 foothghts. The happy man is Mr. Hubert 
 Eldon, late of Wanley Manor. We fehcitate 
 Mr. Eldon.' 
 
 Mrs. Waltham's hands trembled as she 
 doubled the sheet : there was a gleam of 
 pleasure on her face. 
 
 ' Give me the paper when you have done 
 with it,' she said. 
 
 Alfred laughed, and whistled a tune as he 
 continued the perusal of Mr. Keene's political 
 and social intelhgence, on the whole as trust- 
 worthy as the style in which it w^as written was 
 terse and elegant. Adela, finding she could 
 feign indifierence no longer, went from the 
 room. 
 
 ' Wliere did you get this .^ ' Mrs. Waltham 
 asked with eagerness as soon as the girl was 
 gone. 
 
DEMOS 301 
 
 'From the writer himself,' Alfred replied, 
 visibly proud of his intimacy with a man of 
 letters. 'Fellow called Keene. Had a long 
 talk with him.' 
 
 ' About this ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, no. I've only just come across it. 
 But he said he'd marked something for Mutimer. 
 I'm to pass the paper on to him.' 
 
 ' I suppose this is the same woman ? ' 
 
 'No doubt.' 
 
 'You think it's true?' 
 
 'True? Why, of course it is. A newspaper 
 with a reputation to support can't go printing 
 people's names at haphazard. Keene's very 
 thick with all the London actors. He told me 
 some first-class stories about ' 
 
 ' Never mind,' interposed his mother. ' Well, 
 to think it should come to this ! I'm sure I feel 
 for poor Mrs. Eldon. Eeally, there is no end 
 to her misfortunes.' 
 
 ' Just how such families always end up,' 
 observed Alfred complacently. 'No doubt 
 he'll drink himself to death, or something of 
 that kind, and then we shall have the pleasure 
 of seeing a new tablet in the church, inscribed 
 with manifold virtues ; or even a stained-glass 
 window : the last of the Eldons deserves some- 
 thing noteworthy.' 
 
 ' I think it's hardly a subject for joking, 
 Alfred. It is very, very sad. And to think 
 
302 
 
 DEMOS 
 
 what a fine handsome boy he used to be ! But 
 he was always dreadfully self-willed.' 
 
 ' He was always an impertinent puppy ! 
 How he'll play the swell on his wife's earnings I 
 Oh, our glorious aristocracy ! ' 
 
 Mrs. Waltham went early to her daughter's 
 room. Adela w^as sitting with her Bible before 
 lier — had sat so since coming upstairs, yet had 
 not read three consecutive verses. Her face 
 showed no effect of tears, for the heat of a 
 consuming suspense had dried the fountains of 
 woe. 
 
 ' I don't like to occupy your mind with such 
 things, my dear,' began her mother, ' but per- 
 haps as a warning I ought to show you the 
 news AKred spoke of. It pleases Providence 
 that there should be evil in the world, and for 
 our own safety we must sometimes look it in 
 the face, especially we poor women, Adela. 
 Will you read that ? ' 
 
 Adela read. She could not criticise the 
 style, but it affected her as something unclean ; 
 Hubert's very name suffered degradation when 
 used in such a way. Prepared for worse things 
 than that which she saw, no shock of feelings 
 was manifest in her. She returned the paper 
 without speaking. 
 
 ' I wanted you to see that my behaviour to 
 Mr. Eldon was not unjustified,' said her mother. 
 ' You don't blame me any longer, dear ? ' 
 
DEMOS 303 
 
 ' I Lave never blamed you, mother.' 
 
 ' It is a sad, sad end to what might have 
 been a life of usefulness and honour. I have 
 thought so often of the parable of the talents ; 
 only I fear this case is worse. His poor mother ! 
 I wonder if I could write to her ! Yet I hardly 
 know how to.' 
 
 ' Is this a — a wicked woman, mother ? ' 
 Adela asked falteringly. 
 
 Mrs. Waltham shook her head and sighed. 
 
 'My love, don't you see that she is an 
 actress ? ' 
 
 ' But if all actresses are wicked, how is it 
 that really good people go to the theatre ? ' 
 
 ' I am afraid they oughtn't to. The best of 
 us are tempted into thoughtless pleasure. But 
 now I don't want you to brood over things 
 which it is a sad necessity to have to glance 
 at. Eead your chapter, darling, and get to 
 bed.' 
 
 To bed — but not to sleep. The child's ima- 
 gination was aflame. This scarlet woman, this 
 meteor from hell flashing before the delighted 
 eyes of men, she, then, had bound Hubert for 
 ever in her toils ; no release for him now, no ran- 
 som to eternity. No instant's doubt of the news 
 came to Adela ; in her eyes imprimatur was 
 the guarantee of truth. She strove to picture 
 the face which had drawn Hubert to his doom. 
 It must be lovely beyond compare. For the 
 
304 DEMOS 
 
 first time in lier life she knew the agonies of 
 jealousy. 
 
 She could not shed tears, but in her anguish 
 she fell upon prayer, spoke the words above 
 her breath that they might silence that terrible 
 voice within. Poor lost lamb, crying in the 
 darkness, sending forth such piteous utterance 
 as might create a spirit of love to hear and 
 rescue. 
 
 Eescue — none. When the fire wasted itself, 
 she tried to find solace in the thought that one 
 source of misery w^as stopped. Hubert was 
 married, or would be very soon, and if she had 
 sinned in loving him till now, such sin would 
 henceforth be multiplied incalculably ; she 
 durst not, as she valued her soul, so much as 
 let his name enter her thoughts. And to guard 
 against it, was there not a means ofiered her ? 
 The doubt as to what love meant was well 
 nigh solved ; or at all events she held it proved 
 that the ' love ' of the marriage service was 
 something she had never yet felt, something 
 which would follow upon marriage itself. 
 Earthly love had surely led Hubert Eldon to 
 ruin ; oh, not that could be demanded of her ! 
 What reason had she now to ofier against her 
 mother's desire ? Letty's arguments were vain ; 
 they were but as the undisciplined motions of 
 her own heart. Marriage with a worthy man 
 must often have been salvation to a rudderless 
 
DEMOS 305 
 
 life ; for was it not the ceremony whicli, after 
 all, constituted the exclusive sanction ? 
 
 Mutimer, it was true, fell sadly short of her 
 ideal of goodness. He was an unbeliever. 
 But might not this very circumstance involve 
 a duty ? As his wife, could she not plead with 
 him and bring him to the truth ? Would not 
 that be loving him, to make his spiritual good 
 the end of her existence ? It was as though 
 a great hght shot athwart her darkness. She 
 raised herself in bed, and, as if with her very 
 hands, clung to the inspiration which had been 
 granted her. The light was not abiding, but 
 something of radiance lingered, and that must 
 stead her. 
 
 Her brother returned to Belwick next 
 morning after an early breakfast. He was in 
 his wonted high spirits, and talked with much 
 satisfaction of the acquaintances he had made 
 on the previous day, while Adela waited upon 
 him. Mrs. Waltham only appeared as he was 
 setting off. 
 
 Adela sat almost in silence whilst her 
 mother breakfasted. 
 
 ' You don't look well, dear ? ' said the latter, 
 coming to the little room upstairs soon after 
 the meal. 
 
 ' Yes, I am well, mother. But I want to 
 speak to you.' 
 
 Mrs. Waltham seated herself in expectation. 
 
 VOL. I. X 
 
3o6 DEMOS 
 
 ' Will you tell me why you so mucli wish 
 me to marry Mr. Mutimer ? ' 
 
 Adela's tone was quite other than she had 
 hitherto used in conversations of this kind. 
 It was submissive, patiently questioning. 
 
 ' You mustn't misunderstand me,' replied 
 the mother with some nervousness. ' The 
 wish, dear, must of course be yours as well. 
 You know that I — that I really have left you 
 to consult your own ' 
 
 The sentence was unfinished. 
 
 ' But you have tried to persuade me, mother 
 dear,' pursued the gentle voice. ' You would 
 not do so if you did not think it for my good.' 
 
 Something shot painfully through Mrs. 
 Waltham's heart. 
 
 ' I am sure I have thought so, Adela ; really 
 I have thought so. I know there are objec- 
 tions, but no marriage is in every way perfect 
 I feel so sure of his character — I mean of his 
 character in a worldly sense. And you might 
 do so much to — to show him the true way, 
 might you not, darling ? I'm sure his heart is 
 good.' 
 
 Mrs. Waltham also was speaking with less 
 confidence than on former occasions. She 
 cast side glances at her daughter's colourless 
 face. 
 
 ' Mother, may I marry without feeling that 
 — that I love him ? ' 
 
DEMOS 307 
 
 The face was flushed now for a moment. 
 Adela had never spoken that word to anyone ; 
 even to Letty she had scarcely murmured it. 
 The effect upon her of hearing it from her own 
 lips was mysterious, awful ; the sound did not 
 die with her voice, but trembled in subtle 
 harmonies along the chords of her being. 
 
 Her mother took the shaken form and drew 
 it to her bosom. 
 
 ' If he is your husband, darling, you will 
 find that love grows. It is always so. Have 
 no fear. On his side there is not only love : 
 he respects you deeply ; he has told me so.' 
 
 ' And you encourage me to accept him, 
 mother ? It is your desire ? I am your child, 
 and you can wish nothing that is not for my 
 good. Guide me, mother. It is so hard to 
 judge for myself. You shall decide for me, 
 indeed you shall.' 
 
 The mother's heart was wrung. For a 
 moment she strove to speak the very truth, 
 to utter a Avord about that love which Adela 
 was resolutely excluding. But the temptation 
 to accept this unhoped surrender proved too 
 strong. She sobbed her answer. 
 
 ' Yes, I do wish it, Adela. You will find 
 that I — that I was not wrong.' 
 
 ' Then if he asks me, I will marry him.' 
 
 As those words were spoken Mutimer 
 issued from the Manor gates, uncertain whether 
 
 X 2 
 
3o8 DEMOS 
 
 to go his usual way down to the works or to 
 pay a visit to Mrs. Waltham. The latter 
 purpose prevailed. 
 
 The evening before, Mr. Willis Kodman 
 had called at the Manor shortly after dinner. 
 He found Mutimer smoking, with coffee at his 
 side, and was speedily making himself comfort- 
 able in the same way. Then he drew a news- 
 paper from his pocket. 
 
 'Have you seen the Belwick Chronicle 
 of to-day ? ' he inquired. 
 
 ' Why the deuce should I read such a 
 paper?' exclaimed Eichard with good-humoured 
 surprise. He was in excellent spirits to-night, 
 the excitement of the day having swept his 
 mind clear of anxieties. 
 
 ' There's something in it, though, that you 
 ought to see.' 
 
 He pointed out the paragraph relating to 
 Eldon. 
 
 ' Keene's writing, eh ? ' said Mutimer 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 ' Yes, he gave me the paper.' 
 
 Eichard rekindled his cigar with delibera- 
 tion, and stood for a few moments with one 
 foot on the fender. 
 
 ' Who is the woman ? ' he then asked. 
 
 ' I don't know her name. Of course it's 
 the same story continued.' 
 
 * And concluded.' 
 
DEMOS 309 
 
 ' Well, I don't know about that,' said the 
 other, smiling and shaking his head. 
 
 ' This may or may not be true, I suppose,' 
 was Eichard's next remark. 
 
 ' Oh, I suppose the man hears all that 
 kind of thing. I don't see any reason to 
 doubt it.' 
 
 ' May I keep the paper .^ ' 
 
 ' Oh, yes. Keene told me, by-the-by, that 
 he gave a copy to young Waltham.' 
 
 Mr. Eodman spoke whilst rolling the cigar 
 in his mouth. Mutimer allowed the subject to 
 lapse. 
 
 There was no impossibility, no improbability 
 even, in the statement made by the newspaper 
 correspondent ; yet, as Eichard thought it over 
 in the night, he could not but regard it as 
 singular that Mr. Keene should be the man to 
 make public such a piece of information so very 
 opportunely. He was far from having admitted 
 the man to his confidence, but between Keene 
 and Eodman, as he was aware, an intimacy had 
 sprung up. It might be that one or the other 
 had thought it worth while to serve him ; why 
 should Keene be particular to put a copy of 
 the paper into Alfred Waltham's hands ? Well, 
 he personally knew nothing of the affair. If 
 the news effected anything, so much the better. 
 He hoped it might be trustworthy. 
 
 Among his correspondence in the morning 
 
310 DEMOS 
 
 was a letter from Emma Vine. He opened 
 it last ; anyone observing him would have 
 seen with what reluctance he began to read 
 it. 
 
 ' My dear Eichard,' it ran, ' I write to thank 
 you for the money. I would very much rather 
 have had a letter from you, however short a 
 one. It seems long since you wrote a real 
 letter, and I can't think how long since I have 
 seen you. But I know how full of business you 
 are, dear, and I'm sure you would never come 
 to London mthout telling me, because if you 
 hadn't time to come here, I should be only too 
 glad to go to Highbury, if only for one word. 
 We have got some mourning dresses to make 
 for the servants of a lady in Islington, so that is 
 good news. But poor Jane is very bad indeed. 
 She suffers a great deal of pain, and most of all 
 at night, so that she scarcely ever gets more 
 than half an-hour of sleep at a time, if that. 
 What makes it worse, dear Eichard, is that she 
 is so very unhappy. Sometimes she cries nearly 
 through the whole night. I try my best to 
 keep her up, but I'm afraid her weakness has 
 much to do with it. But Kate is very well, I 
 am glad to say, and the children are very well 
 too. Bertie is beginning to learn to read. He 
 often says he would like to see you. Thank 
 you, dearest, for the money and all your kind- 
 
DEMOS 311 
 
 ness, and believe that I shall think of yon every 
 minute with much love. From yours ever and 
 ever, 
 
 ' Emma Vine.' 
 
 It would be cruel to reproduce Emma's 
 errors of spelUng. Eichard had sometimes 
 noted a bad instance with annoyance, but it 
 was not that which made him hurry to the end 
 this morning with lowered brows. When he 
 had finished the letter he crumpled it up and 
 threw it into the fire. It was not heartless- 
 ness that made him do so : he dreaded to have 
 these letters brought before his eyes a second 
 time. 
 
 He was also throwing the envelope aside, 
 when he discovered that it contained yet an- 
 other slip of paper. The writing on this was 
 not Emma's : the letters were cramped and not 
 easy to decipher. 
 
 'Dear Eichard, come to London and see 
 me. I want to speak to you, I must speak to 
 you. I can't have very long to live, and I 
 laust^ must see you. 
 
 ' Jane Vine.' 
 
 This too he threw into the fire. His lips 
 w^ere hard set, his eyes wide. And almost 
 immediately he prepared to leave the house. 
 
312 
 
 DEMOS 
 
 It was early, but he felt that he must go 
 to the Walthams'. He had promised Mrs. 
 Waltham to refrain from visiting the house for 
 a week, but that promise it was impossible to 
 keep. Jane's words were ringing in his ears : 
 he seemed to hear her very voice calling and 
 beseeching. So far from changing his purpose, 
 it impelled him in the course he had chosen. 
 There must and should be an end of this sus- 
 pense. 
 
 Mrs. Waltham had just come downstairs 
 from her conversation with Adela, when she 
 saw Mutimer approaching the door. She ad- 
 mitted him herself. Surely Providence was on 
 her side ; she felt almost young m her satis- 
 faction. 
 
 Eichard remained in the house about twenty 
 minutes. Then he walked down to the works 
 as usual. 
 
 Shortly after his departure another visitor 
 presented himself. This was Mr. Wyvern. 
 The vicar's walk in Hubert's company the even- 
 ing before had extended itself from point to 
 point, till the two reached Agworth together. 
 Mr. Wyvern was addicted to night-rambling, 
 and he often covered considerable stretches of 
 country in the hours when other mortals slept. 
 To-night he was in the mood for such exercise ; 
 it worked off unwholesome accumulations of 
 thought and feeling, and good counsel often 
 
DEMOS 313 
 
 came to him in what the Greeks called tlie 
 kindly time. He did not hurry on his way 
 back to Wanley, for just at present he w^as 
 much in need of calm reflection. 
 
 On his arrival at the Vicarage about eleven 
 o'clock the servant informed him of Miss 
 Waltham's having called. Mr. Wyvern heard 
 this with pleasure. He thought at first of writ- 
 ing a note to Adela, begging her to come to 
 the Vicarage again, but by the morning he had 
 decided to be himself the visitor. 
 
 He gathered at once from Mrs. Waltham's 
 face that events of some amtatim]^ kind were 
 in progress. She did not keep him Jong 
 in uncertainty. Upon his asking if he might 
 speak a few words with Adela, Mrs. Waltham 
 examined him curiously. 
 
 ' I am afraid,' she said, ' that I must ask you 
 to excuse her this morning, Mr. Wyvern. She 
 is not quite prepared to see anyone at present. 
 In fact,' she lowered her voice and smiled 
 very graciously, ' she has just had an — an 
 agitating interview with Mr. Mutimer — she 
 has consented to be his wife.' 
 
 ' In that case I cannot of course trouble 
 her,' the vicar replied, with gravity which to 
 Mrs. Waltham appeared excessive, rather 
 adapted to news of a death than of a betrothal. 
 The dark searching eyes, too, made her feel 
 uncomfortable. And lie did not utter a 
 
314 DEMOS 
 
 syllable of the politeness expected on these 
 occasions. 
 
 ' What a very shocking thing about Mr. 
 Eldon ! " the lady pursued. ' You have heard ? ' 
 
 ' Shocking ? Pray, what has happened ? ' 
 
 Hubert had left him in some depression 
 the night before, and for a moment Mr. Wy- 
 vern dreaded lest some fatality had become 
 known in Wanley. 
 
 ' Ah, you have not heard ? It is in this 
 newspaper.' 
 
 The vicar examined the column indicated. 
 
 ' But,' he exclaimed, with subdued indigna- 
 tion, ' this is the merest falsehood ! ' 
 
 ' A falsehood ! Are you sure of that, Mr. 
 Wy vern ? ' 
 
 ' Perfectly sure. There is no foundation 
 or it whatsoever.' 
 
 ' You don't say so ! I am very glad to hear 
 that, for poor Mrs. Eldon's sake.' 
 
 ' Could you lend me this newspaper for 
 to-day?' 
 
 ' With pleasure. Eeally you relieve me, 
 Mr. Wyvern. I had no means of inquiring 
 into the story, of course. But how disgraceful 
 that such a thing should appear in print ! ' 
 
 ' I am sorry to say, Mrs. Waltham, that the 
 majority of things which appear in print now- 
 adays are more or less disgraceful. However, 
 this may claim prominence, in its way.' 
 
DEMOS 
 
 315 
 It will 
 
 ' And I may safely contradict, it ? 
 be such a happiness to do so.' 
 
 ' Contradict it by all means, madam. You 
 may cite me as your authority.' 
 
 The vicar crushed the sheet into his pocket 
 and strode homewards. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
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