Will Warburton

by

George Gissing

CHAPTER 1

The sea-wind in his hair, his eyes agleam with the fresh memory ofAlpine snows, Will Warburton sprang out of the cab, paid the driver adouble fare, flung on to his shoulder a heavy bag and ran up, two stepsat a stride, to a flat on the fourth floor of the many-tenantedbuilding hard by Chelsea Bridge. His rat-tat-tat brought to the door athin yellow face, cautious in espial, through the narrow opening. 

"Is it you, sir?"

"All right, Mrs. Hopper! How are you?--how are you?"

He threw his bag into the passage, and cordially grasped the woman'shands. 

"Dinner ready? Savagely hungry. Give me three minutes, and serve. "

For about that length of time there sounded in the bedroom a splashingand a blowing; then Warburton came forth with red cheeks. He seizedupon a little pile of letters and packets which lay on hiswriting-table, broke envelopes, rent wrappers, and read with now anejaculation of pleasure, now a grunt of disgust, and again a mirthfulhalf roar. Then, dinner--the feeding of a famished man of robustappetite and digestion, a man three or four years on the green side ofthirty. It was a speedy business, in not much more than a quarter of anhour there disappeared a noble steak and its appurtenances, agolden-crusted apple tart, a substantial slice of ripe Cheddar, twobottles of creamy Bass. 

"Now I can talk!" cried Will to his servant, as he threw himself into adeep chair, and began lighting his pipe. "What's the news? I seem tohave been away three months rather than three weeks. "

"Mr. Franks called yesterday, sir, late in the afternoon, when I washere cleaning. He was very glad to hear you'd be back to-day, and saidhe might look in to-night. "

"Good! What else?"

"My brother-in-law wishes to see you, sir. He's in trouble again--losthis place at Boxon's a few days ago. I don't exac'ly know how ithappened, but he'll explain everything. He's very unfortunate, sir, isAllchin. "

"Tell him to come before nine to-morrow morning, if he can. "

"Yes, sir. I'm sure it's very kind of you, sir. "

"What else?"

"Nothing as I can think of just now, sir. "

Warburton knew from the woman's way of speaking that she had somethingstill in her mind; but his pipe being well lit, and a pleasantlassitude creeping over him, he merely nodded. Mrs. Hopper cleared thetable, and withdrew. 

The window looked across the gardens of Chelsea Hospital (old-timeRanelagh) to the westward reach of the river, beyond which layBattersea Park, with its lawns and foliage. A beam of the July sunsetstruck suddenly through the room. Warburton was aware of it withhalf-closed eyes; he wished to stir himself, and look forth, butlanguor held his limbs, and wreathing tobacco-smoke kept his thoughtsamong the mountains. He might have quite dozed off had not a suddennoise from within aroused him--the unmistakable crash of fallingcrockery. It made him laugh, a laugh of humorous expostulation. Aminute or two passed, then came a timid tap at his door, and Mrs. Hopper showed her face. 

"Another accident, sir, I'm sorry to say, " were her faltering words. 

"Extensive?"

"A dish and two plates, I'm sorry to say, sir. "

"Oh, that's nothing. "

"Of course I shall make them good, sir. "

"Pooh! Aren't there plates enough?"

"Oh, quite enough--just yet, sir. "

Warburton subdued a chuckle, and looked with friendly smile at hisdomestic, who stood squeezing herself between the edge of the door andthe jamb--her habit when embarrassed. Mrs. Hopper had served him forthree years; he knew all her weaknesses, but thought more of hervirtues, chief of which were honest intention and a moderate aptitudefor plain cooking. A glance about this room would have proved to anyvisitor that Mrs. Hopper's ideas of cleanliness were by no means rigid, her master had made himself to a certain extent responsible for thisdefect; he paid little attention to dust, provided that things were intheir wonted order. Mrs. Hopper was not a resident domestic; she cameat stated hours. Obviously a widow, she had a poor, loose-hung, trailing little body, which no nourishment could plump or fortify. Hervisage was habitually doleful, but contracted itself at moments into agrin of quaint drollery, which betrayed her for something of a humorist. 

"My fingers is all gone silly to-day, sir, " she pursued. "I daresayit's because I haven't had much sleep these last few nights. "

"How's that?"

"It's my poor sister, sir--my sister Liza, I mean--she's had one of herworst headaches--the extra special, we call 'em. This time it's lastedmore than three days, and not one minute of rest has the poor thinggot. "

Warburton was all sympathy; he inquired about the case as though itwere that of an intimate friend. Change of air and repose were obviousremedies; no less obviously, these things were out of the question fora working woman who lived on a few shillings a week. 

"Do you know of any place she could go to?" asked Warburton, addingcarelessly, "if the means were provided. "

Mrs. Hopper squeezed herself more tightly than ever between door andjamb. Her head was bent in an abashed way, and when she spoke it was ina thick, gurgling tone, only just intelligible. 

"There's a little lodging 'ouse at Southend, sir, where we used to gowhen my 'usband could afford it. "

"Well, look here. Get a doctor's opinion whether Southend would do; ifnot, which place would. And just send her away. Don't worry about themoney. "

Experience enabled Mrs. Hopper to interpret this advice. She stammeredgratitude. 

"How's your other sister--Mrs. Allchin?" Warburton inquired kindly. 

"Why, sir, she's doing pretty well in her 'ealth, sir, but her babydied yesterday week. I hope you'll excuse me, sir, for all this badnews just when you come back from your holiday, and when it's naturalas you don't feel in very good spirits. "

Will had much ado not to laugh. On his return from a holiday, Mrs. Hopper always presumed him to be despondent in view of the resumptionof daily work. He was beginning to talk of Mrs. Allchin's troubles, when at the outer door sounded a long nervous knock. 

"Ha! That's Mr. Franks. "

Mrs. Hopper ran to admit the visitor. 

CHAPTER 2

"Warburton!" cried a high-pitched voice from the passage. "Have youseen _The Art World_?"

And there rushed into the room a tall, auburn-headed young man offive-and-twenty, his comely face glowing in excitement. With one handhe grasped his friend's, in the other he held out a magazine. 

"You haven't seen it! Look here! What d'you think of that, confoundyou!"

He had opened the magazine so as to display an illustration, entitled"Sanctuary, " and stated to be after a painting by Norbert Franks. 

"Isn't it good? Doesn't it come out well?--deuce take you, why don'tyou speak?"

"Not bad--for a photogravure, " said Warburton, who had the air of agrave elder in the presence of this ebullient youth. 

"Be hanged! We know all about that. The thing is that it's _there_. Don't you feel any surprise? Haven't you got anything to say? Don't yousee what this means, you old ragamuffin?"

"Shouldn't wonder if it meant coin of the realm--for your shrewddealer. "

"For me too, my boy, for me too! Not out of this thing, of course. ButI've arrived, I'm _lance_, the way is clear! Why, you don't seem toknow what it means getting into _The Art World_. "

"I seem to remember, " said Warburton, smiling, "that a month or twoago, you hadn't language contemptuous enough for this magazine and allconnected with it. "

"Don't be an ass!" shrilled the other, who was all this time circlingabout the little room with much gesticulation. "Of course one talkslike that when one hasn't enough to eat and can't sell a picture. Idon't pretend to have altered my opinion about photogravures, and allthat. But come now, the thing itself? Be honest, Warburton. Is it bad, now? Can you look at that picture, and say that it's worthless?"

"I never said anything of the kind. "

"No, no! You're too deucedly good-natured. But I always detected whatyou were thinking, and I saw it didn't surprise you at all when theAcademy muffs refused it. "

"There you're wrong, " cried Warburton. "I was really surprised. "

"Confound your impudence! Well, you may think what you like. I maintainthat the thing isn't half bad. It grows upon me. I see its merits moreand more. "

Franks was holding up the picture, eyeing it intently. "Sanctuary"represented the interior of an old village church. On the groundagainst a pillar, crouched a young and beautiful woman, her dress andgeneral aspect indicating the last degree of vagrant wretchedness; wornout, she had fallen asleep in a most graceful attitude, and the rays ofa winter sunset smote upon her pallid countenance. Before her stood thevillage clergyman, who had evidently just entered, and found her here;his white head was bent in the wonted attitude of clerical benevolence;in his face blended a gentle wonder and a compassionate tenderness. 

"If that had been hung at Burlington House, Warburton, it would havebeen the picture of the year. "

"I think it very likely. "

"Yes, I know what you mean, you sarcastic old ruffian. But there'sanother point of view. Is the drawing good or not? Is the colour goodor not? Of course you know nothing about it, but I tell you, for yourinformation, I think it's a confoundedly clever bit of work. Thereremains the subject, and where's the harm in it? The incident's quitepossible. And why shouldn't the girl be good-looking?"

"Angelic!"

"Well why not? There _are_ girls with angelic faces. Don't I know one?"

Warburton, who had been sitting with a leg over the arm of his chairsuddenly changed his position. 

"That reminds me, " he said. "I came across the Pomfrets in Switzerland. "

"Where? When?"

"At Trient ten days ago. I spent three or four days with them. Hasn'tMiss Elvan mentioned it?"

"I haven't heard from her for a long time, " replied Franks. "Well, formore than a week. Did you meet them by chance?"

"Quite. I had a vague idea that the Pomfrets and their niece weresomewhere in Switzerland. "

"Vague idea!" cried the artist "Why, I told you all about it, andgrowled for five or six hours one evening here because I couldn't gowith them. "

"So you did, " said Warburton, "but I'm afraid I was thinking ofsomething else, and when I started for the Alps, I had really forgottenall about it. I made up my mind suddenly, you know. We're having atroublesome time in Ailie Street, and it was holiday now or never. Bythe bye, we shall have to wind up. Sugar spells ruin. We must get outof it whilst we can do so with a whole skin. "

"Ah, really?" muttered Franks. "Tell me about that presently; I want tohear of Rosamund. You saw a good deal of her, of course?"

"I walked from Chamonix over the Col de Balme--grand view of Mont Blancthere! Then down to Trient, in the valley below. And there, as I wentin to dinner at the hotel, I found the three. Good old Pomfret wouldhave me stay awhile, and I was glad of the chance of long talks withhim. Queer old bird, Ralph Pomfret. "

"Yes, yes, so he is, " muttered the artist, absently. "But Rosamund--wasshe enjoying herself?"

"Very much, I think. She certainly looked very well. "

"Have much talk with her?" asked Franks, as if carelessly. 

"We discussed you, of course. I forget whether our conclusion wasfavourable or not. "

The artist laughed, and strode about the room with his hands in hispockets. 

"You know what?" he exclaimed, seeming to look closely at a print onthe wall. "I'm going to be married before the end of the year. On thatpoint I've made up my mind. I went yesterday to see a house atFulham--Mrs. Cross's, by the bye, it's to let at Michaelmas, rentforty-five. All but settled that I shall take it. Risk be hanged. I'mgoing to make money. What an ass I was to take that fellow's firstoffer for 'Sanctuary'! It was low water with me, and I felt bilious. Fifty guineas! Your fault, a good deal, you know; you made me thinkworse of it than it deserved. You'll see; Blackstaffe'll make a smallfortune out of it; of course he has all the rights--idiot that I was!Well, it's too late to talk about that. --And I say, old man, don't takemy growl too literally. I don't really mean that you were to blame. Ishould be an ungrateful cur if I thought such a thing. "

"How's 'The Slummer' getting on?" asked Warburton good-humouredly. 

"Well, I was going to say that I shall have it finished in a few weeks. If Blackstaffe wants 'The Slummer' he'll have to pay for it. Of courseit must go to the Academy, and of course I shall keep all therights--unless Blackstaffe makes a really handsome offer. Why, it oughtto be worth five or six hundred to me at least. And that would startus. But I don't care even if I only get half that, I shall be marriedall the same. Rosamund has plenty of pluck. I couldn't ask her to startlife on a pound a week--about my average for the last two years; butwith two or three hundred in hand, and a decent little house, like thatof Mrs. Cross's, at a reasonable rent--well, we shall risk it. I'm sickof waiting. And it isn't fair to a girl--that's my view. Two years now;an engagement that lasts more than two years isn't likely to come tomuch good. You'll think my behaviour pretty cool, on one point. I don'tforget, you old usurer, that I owe you something more than a hundredpounds--"

"Pooh!"

"Be poohed yourself! But for you, I should have gone without dinnermany a day; but for you, I should most likely have had to chuckpainting altogether, and turn clerk or dock-labourer. But let me stayin your debt a little longer, old man. I can't put off my marriage anylonger, and just at first I shall want all the money I can lay my handson. "

At this moment Mrs. Hopper entered with a lamp. There was a pause inthe conversation. Franks lit a cigarette, and tried to sit still, butwas very soon pacing the floor again. A tumbler of whisky and sodareanimated his flagging talk. 

"No!" he exclaimed. "I'm not going to admit that 'Sanctuary' is cheapand sentimental, and all the rest of it. The more I think about it, themore convinced I am that it's nothing to be ashamed of. People have gothold of the idea that if a thing is popular it must be bad art. That'sall rot. I'm going in for popularity. Look here! Suppose that's what Iwas meant for? What if it's the best I have in me to do? Shouldn't I bea jackass if I scorned to make money by what, for me, was good work, and preferred to starve whilst I turned out pretentious stuff that wasworth nothing from my point of view?"

"I shouldn't wonder if you're right, " said Warburton reflectively. "Inany case, I know as much about art as I do about the differentialcalculus. To make money is a good and joyful thing as long as onedoesn't bleed the poor. So go ahead, my son, and luck be with you!"

"I can't find my model yet for the Slummer's head. It mustn't be toolike the 'Sanctuary' girl, but at the same time it must be a populartype of beauty. I've been haunting refreshment bars and florists'shops; lots of good material, but never _quite_ the thing. There's adamsel at the Crystal Palace--but this doesn't interest you, you oldmisogynist. "

"Old what?" exclaimed Warburton, with an air of genuine surprise. 

"Have I got the word wrong? I'm not much of a classic--"

"The word's all right. But that's your idea of me, is it?"

The artist stood and gazed at his friend with an odd expression, as ifa joke had been arrested on his lips by graver thought. 

"Isn't it true?"

"Perhaps it is; yes, yes, I daresay. "

And he turned at once to another subject. 

CHAPTER 3

The year was 1886. 

When at business, Warburton sat in a high, bare room, which looked uponlittle Ailie Street, in Whitechapel; the air he breathed had a tasteand odour strongly saccharine. If his eye strayed to one of the walls, he saw a map of the West Indies; if to another, it fell upon a map ofSt. Kitts; if to the third, there was before him a plan of a sugarestate on that little island. Here he sat for certain hours of thesolid day, issuing orders to clerks, receiving commercial callers, studying trade journals in sundry languages--often reading some bookwhich had no obvious reference to the sugar-refining industry. It wasnot Will's ideal of life, but hither he had suffered himself to be ledby circumstance, and his musings suggested no practicable issue into amore congenial world. 

The death of his father when he was sixteen had left him with a certainliberty for shaping a career. What he saw definitely before him was asmall share in the St. Kitts property of Messrs. Sherwood Brothers, asmall share in the London business of the same firm, and a small sum ofready money--these things to be his when he attained his majority. Hismother and sister, who lived in a little country house down inHuntingdonshire, were modestly but securely provided for, and Willmight have gone quietly on with his studies till he could resolve upona course in life. But no sooner was he freed from paternal restraintthan the lad grew restive; nothing would please him but an adventure inforeign lands; and when it became clear that he was only wasting histime at school, Mrs. Warburton let him go to the West Indies, where aplace was found for him in the house of Sherwood Brothers. At St. Kitts, Will remained till he was one-and-twenty. Long before that, hehad grown heartily tired of his work disgusted with the climate, andoppressed with home sickness, but pride forbade him to return until hecould do so as a free man. 

One thing this apprenticeship to life had taught him--that he was notmade for subordination. "I don't care how poor I am, " thus he wrote tohis mother, "but I will be my own master. To be at other people'sorders brings out all the bad in me; it makes me sullen and bearish, and all sorts of ugly things, which I certainly am not when my trueself has play. So, you see, I must find some independent way of life. If I had to live by carrying round a Punch and Judy show, I shouldvastly prefer it to making a large income as somebody's servant. "

Meanwhile, unfortunately for a young man of this temperament, hisprospects had become less assured. There was perturbation in the sugarworld; income from St. Kitts and from Whitechapel had sensiblydiminished, and it seemed but too likely, would continue to do so. Forsome half-year Will lived in London, "looking about him, " then heannounced that Godfrey Sherwood, at present sole representative ofSherwood Brothers, had offered him an active partnership in LittleAilie Street, and that he had accepted it. He entered upon thisposition without zeal, but six months' investigation had taught himthat to earn money without surrendering his independence was no veryeasy thing; he probably might wait a long time before an opening wouldpresent itself more attractive than this at the sugar-refinery. 

Godfrey Sherwood was a schoolfellow of his, but some two or three yearsolder; much good feeling existed between them, their tastes and tempershaving just that difference in similarity which is the surest bond offriendship. Judged by his talk, Sherwood was all vigour, energy, fire;his personal habits, on the other hand, inclined to tranquillity andease--a great reader, he loved the literature of romance and adventure, knew by heart authors such as Malory and Froissart, had on his shelvesall the books of travel and adventure he could procure. As a boy heseemed destined to any life save that of humdrum commerce, of which hespoke with contempt and abhorrence; and there was no reason why heshould not have gratified his desire of seeing the world, of leadingwhat he called "the life of a man. " Yet here he was, sitting each dayin a counting-house in Whitechapel, with nothing behind him but a fewrambles on the continent, and certainly with no immediate intention ofgoing far afield. His father's death left him in sole command of thebusiness, and his reasonable course would have been to retire from itas soon as possible, for foreign competition was making itself felt inthe English trade, and many firms more solidly established than that inLittle Ailie Street had either come to grief or withdrawn from thestruggle. But Godfrey's inertia kept him in the familiar routine, withday-to-day postponement of practical decision. When Warburton came backfrom St. Kitts, and their friendship was renewed, Godfrey's talk gavefull play to his imaginative energies. Yes, yes, the refining businesswas at a bad pass just now, but this was only temporary; those firmsthat could weather the storm for a year or two longer would enter upona time of brilliant prosperity. Was it to be supposed that theGovernment would allow a great industry to perish out of mere regardfor the fetish of Free Trade? City men with first-hand informationdeclared that "measures" were being prepared; in one way or another, the English trade would be rescued and made triumphant over thosebounty-fed foreigners. 

"Hold on?" cried Sherwood. "Of course I mean to hold on. There'spleasure and honour in the thing. I enjoy the fight. I've had thoughtsof getting into Parliament, to speak for sugar. One might do worse, youknow. There'll be a dissolution next year, certain. First-rate fun, fighting a constituency. But in that case I must have a partnerhere--why that's an idea. How would it suit you? Why not join me?"

And so the thing came about. The terms which Godfrey offered were sogenerous that Will had to reduce them before he accepted: even thus, hefound his income, at a stroke, all but doubled. Sherwood, to be sure, did not stand for Parliament, nor was anything definite heard aboutthat sugar-protecting budget which he still believed in. In LittleAilie Street business steadily declined. 

"It's a disgrace to England!" cried Godfrey. "Monstrous that not afinger should be lifted to save one of our most important industries. You, of course, are free to retire at any moment, Will. For my ownpart, here I stand, come what may. If it's ruin, ruin let it be. I'llfight to the last. A man owes me ten thousand pounds. When I recoverit, and I may any day--I shall put every penny into the business. "

"Ten thousand pounds!" exclaimed Warburton in astonishment. "A tradedebt, do you mean?"

"No, no. A friend of mine, son of a millionaire, who got intodifficulties some time ago, and borrowed of me to clear himself. Goodinterest, and principal safe as Consols. In a year at most I shall havethe money back, and every penny shall go into the business. "

Will had his private view of the matter, and not seldom suffered a gooddeal of uneasiness as he saw the inevitable doom approach. But alreadyit was too late to withdraw his share from the concern; that would havebeen merely to take advantage of Sherwood's generosity, and Will washimself not less chivalrous. In Godfrey's phrase, they continued "tofight the ship, " and perhaps would have held out to the moment ofsinking, had not the accession of the Liberals to power in the springof this present year caused Sherwood so deep a disgust that he turneddespondent and began to talk of surrender to hopeless circumstance. 

"It's all up with us, Will. This Government spells ruin, and will countit one of its chief glories if we come to grief. But, by Heaven, theyshan't have that joy. We'll square up, quietly, comfortably, withdignity. We'll come out of this fight with arms and baggage. It's stillpossible, you know. We'll sell the St. Kitts estate to the Germans. We'll find some one to buy us up here--the place would suit a brewer. And then--by Jove! we'll make jam. "

"Jam?"

"Isn't it an idea? Cheap sugar has done for the refiners, but it's afortune for the jam trade. Why not put all we can realize into a jamfactory? We'll go down into the country; find some delightful placewhere land is cheap; start a fruit farm; run up a building. Doesn't ittake you, Will? Think of going to business every day through lanesoverhung with fruit-tree blossoms! Better that than the filth andstench and gloom and uproar of Whitechapel--what? We might found avillage for our workpeople--the ideal village, perfectly healthy, everycottage beautiful. Eh? What? How does it strike you, Will?"

"Pleasant. But the money?"

"We shall have enough to start; I think we shall. If not, we'll find amoneyed man to join us. "

"What about that ten thousand pounds?" suggested Warburton. 

Sherwood shook his head. 

"Can't get it just yet. To tell you the truth, it depends on the deathof the man's father. No, but if necessary, some one will easily befound. Isn't the idea magnificent? How it would rile the Government ifthey heard of it! Ho, ho!"

One could never be sure how far Godfrey was serious when he talked likethis; the humorous impulse so blended with the excitability of hisimagination, that people who knew him little and heard him talking atlarge thought him something of a crack-brain. The odd thing was that, with all his peculiarities, he had many of the characteristics of asound man of business; indeed, had it been otherwise, thebalance-sheets of the refinery must long ago have shown a disastrousdeficit. As Warburton knew, things had been managed with no littleprudence and sagacity; what he did not so clearly understand was thatSherwood had simply adhered to the traditions of the firm, followingvery exactly the path marked out for him by his father and his uncle, both notable traders. Concerning Godfrey's private resources, Warburtonknew little or nothing; it seemed probable that the elder Sherwood hadleft a considerable fortune, which his only son must have inherited. Nodoubt, said Will to himself, this large reserve was the explanation ofhis partner's courage. 

So the St. Kitts estate was sold, and, with all the deliberate dignitydemanded by the fact that the Government's eye was upon them, SherwoodBrothers proceeded to terminate their affairs in Whitechapel. In July, Warburton took his three weeks' holiday, there being nothing better forhim to do. And among the letters he found on his table when hereturned, was one from Sherwood, which contained only these words:

"Great opportunity in view. Our fortunes are made!"

CHAPTER 4

When Franks was gone, Warburton took up _The Art World_, which hisfriend had left, and glanced again at the photogravure of "Sanctuary. "He knew, as he had declared, nothing about art, and judged pictures ashe judged books, emotionally. His bent was to what is called therealistic point of view, and "Sanctuary" made him smile. But verygood-naturedly; for he liked Norbert Franks, and believed he would dobetter things than this. Unless--?

The thought broke off with an uneasy interrogative. 

He turned to the few lines of text devoted to the painter. NorbertFranks, he read, was still a very young man; "Sanctuary, " now onexhibition at Birmingham, was his first important picture; hitherto hehad been chiefly occupied with work in black and white. There followeda few critical comments, and prophecy of achievements to come. 

Yes. But again the uneasy interrogative. 

Their acquaintance dated from the year after Warburton's return fromSt. Kitts. Will had just established himself in his flat near ChelseaBridge, delighted to be a Londoner, and was spending most of hisleisure in exploration of London's vastness. He looked upon all hisearlier years as wasted, because they had not been passed in the cityon the Thames. The history of London, the multitudinous life of Londonas it lay about him, with marvels and mysteries in every highway andbyway, occupied his mind, and wrought upon his imagination. Being astout walker, and caring little for any other form of exercise, in hisfree hours he covered many a league of pavement. A fine summer morningwould see him set forth, long before milk-carts had begun to rattlealong the streets, and on one such expedition, as he stepped brisklythrough a poor district south of the river, he was surprised to see anartist at work, painting seriously, his easel in the dry gutter. Heslackened his pace to have a glimpse of the canvas, and the painter, ayoung, pleasant-looking fellow, turned round and asked if he had amatch. Able to supply this demand, Warburton talked whilst the otherrelit his pipe. It rejoiced him, he said, to see a painter engaged uponsuch a subject as this--a bit of squalid London's infinitepicturesqueness. 

The next morning Warburton took the same walk, and again found thepainter at work. They talked freely; they exchanged invitations; andthat same evening Norbert Franks climbed the staircase to Will's flat, and smoked his first pipe and drank his first whisky-and-soda in thepleasant room overlooking Ranelagh. His own quarters were in Queen'sRoad, Battersea, at no great distance. The two young men were soonseeing a great deal of each other. When their friendship had ripenedthrough a twelvemonth, Franks, always impecunious, cheerily borrowed afive-pound note; not long after, he mirthfully doubled his debt; andthis grew to a habit with him. 

"You're a capitalist, Warburton, " he remarked one day, "and a generousfellow, too. Of course I shall pay what I owe you when I sell a bigpicture. Meanwhile, you have the gratification of supporting a man ofgenius, without the least inconvenience to yourself. Excellent idea ofyours to strike up a friendship, wasn't it?"

The benefit was reciprocal. Warburton did not readily form intimacies;indeed Godfrey Sherwood had till now been almost the only man he calledfriend, and the peculiarity of his temper exposed him to the risk ofbeing too much alone. Though neither arrogant nor envious, Will foundlittle pleasure in the society of people who, from any point of view, were notably his superiors; even as he could not subordinate himself inmoney-earning relations, so did he become ill-at-ease, lose allspontaneity, in company above his social or intellectual level. Such aman's danger was obvious; he might, in default of congenial associates, decline upon inferiors; all the more that a softness of heart, afineness of humanity, ever disposed him to feel and show specialkindness for the poor, the distressed, the unfortunate. Sherwood'sacquaintances had little attraction for him; they were mostly peoplewho lived in a luxurious way, went in for sports, talked about themoney market--all of which things fascinated Godfrey, though in truthhe was far from belonging by nature to that particular world. WithFranks, Will could be wholly himself, enjoying the slight advantage ofhis larger means, extending his knowledge without undue obligation, andgetting all the good that comes to a man from the exercise of hiskindliest feelings. 

With less of geniality, because more occupied with himself, NorbertFranks resembled his new friend in a distaste for ordinary socialpleasures and an enjoyment of the intimacies of life. He stood verymuch alone in the world, and from the age of eighteen he had in one wayor another supported himself, chiefly by work on illustrated papers. His father, who belonged to what is called a good family, began life ineasy circumstances, and gained some reputation as a connoisseur of art;imprudence and misfortune having obliged him to sell his collection, Mr. Franks took to buying pictures and bric-a-brac for profit, andduring the last ten years of his life was associated in that capacitywith a London firm. Norbert, motherless from infancy and an only child, received his early education at expensive schools, but, showing littleaptitude for study and much for use of the pencil, was taken by hisfather at twelve years old to Paris, and there set to work under a goodart-teacher. At sixteen he went to Italy, where he remained for acouple of years. Then, on a journey in the East, the elder Franks died. Norbert returned to England, learnt that a matter of fifty pounds wasall his heritage, and pluckily turned to the task of keeping himselfalive. Herein his foreign sketch-books proved serviceable, but thestruggle was long and hard before he could house himself decently, andget to serious work as a painter. Later on, he was wont to say thatthis poverty had been the best possible thing for him, its enforcedabstinences having come just at the time when he had begun to"wallow"--his word for any sort of excess; and "wallowing" wasundoubtedly a peril to which Norbert's temper particularly exposed him. Short commons made him, as they have made many another youth, sober andchaste, at all events in practice; and when he began to lift up hishead, a little; when, at the age of three-and-twenty, he earned whatseemed to him at first the luxurious income of a pound or so a week;when, in short, the inclination to "wallow" might again have taken holdupon him, it was his chance to fall in love so seriously and hopefullythat all the better features of his character were drawn out, emphasized, and, as it seemed, for good and all established inpredominance. 

Not long after his first meeting with Warburton, he one day received, through the publishers of a book he had illustrated, a letter signed"Ralph Pomfret, " the writer of which asked whether "Norbert Franks" wasthe son of an old friend of whom he had lost sight for many years. Byway of answer, Franks called upon his correspondent, who lived in apleasant little house at Ashtead, in Surrey; he found a man ofsomething less than sixty, with a touch of eccentricity in his thoughtsand ways, by whom he was hospitably received, and invited to returnwhenever it pleased him. It was not very long before Franks askedpermission to make the Pomfrets acquainted with his friend Warburton, astep which proved entirely justifiable. Together or separately, the twoyoung men were often to be seen at Ashtead, whither they were attractednot only by the kindly and amusing talk of Ralph Pomfret, but at leastas much by the grace and sweetness and sympathetic intelligence of themistress of the house, for whom both entertained respect and admiration. 

One Sunday afternoon, Warburton, tempted as usual by the thought of teaand talk in that delightful little garden, went out to Ashtead, and, ashe pushed open the gate, was confused and vexed at the sight ofstrangers; there, before the house, stood a middle-aged gentleman and ayoung girl, chatting with Mrs. Pomfret. He would have turned away andtaken himself off in disappointment, but that the clank of the gate hadattracted attention, and he had no choice but to move forward. Thestrangers proved to be Mrs. Pomfret's brother and his daughter; theyhad been spending half a year in the south of France, and were here fora day or two before returning to their home at Bath. When he hadrecovered his equanimity, Warburton became aware that the young ladywas fair to look upon. Her age seemed about two-and-twenty; not verytall, she bore herself with perhaps a touch of conscious dignity andimpressiveness; perfect health, a warm complexion, magnificent hair, eyes that shone with gaiety and good-nature, made of Rosamund Elvan aliving picture such as Will Warburton had not often seen; he was shy inher presence, and by no means did himself justice that afternoon. Hisdowncast eyes presently noticed that she wore shoes of a peculiarkind--white canvas with soles of plaited cord; in the course ofconversation he learnt that these were a memento of the Basque country, about which Miss Elvan talked with a very pretty enthusiasm. Will wentaway, after all, in a dissatisfied mood. Girls were to him merely asource of disquiet. "If she be not fair for me--" was his ordinarythought; and he had never yet succeeded in persuading himself that anygirl, fair or not, was at all likely to conceive the idea of devotingherself to his happiness. In this matter, an excessive modesty subduedhim. It had something to do with his holding so much apart from generalsociety. 

On the evening of the next day, there was a thunderous knock atWarburton's flat, and in rushed Franks. 

"You were at Ashtead yesterday, " he cried. 

"I was. What of that?"

"And you didn't come to tell me about the Elvans!"

"About Miss Elvan, I suppose you mean?" said Will. 

"Well, yes, I do. I went there by chance this afternoon. The two menwere away somewhere, --I found Mrs. Pomfret and that girl alonetogether. Never had such a delightful time in my life! But I say, Warburton, we must understand each other. Are you--do you--I mean, didshe strike you particularly?"

Will threw back his head and laughed. 

"You mean that?" shouted the other, joyously. "You really don'tcare--it's nothing to you?"

"Why, is it anything to _you_?"

"Anything? Rosamund Elvan is the most beautiful girl I ever saw, andthe sweetest, and the brightest, and the altogether flooringest! And, by heaven and earth, I'm resolved to marry her!"

CHAPTER 5

As he sat musing, _The Art World_ still in his hand, Warburton couldhear his friend's voice ring out that audacious vow. He could remember, too, the odd little pang with which he heard it, a half spasm ofaltogether absurd jealousy. Of course the feeling did not last. Therewas no recurrence of it when he heard that Franks had again seen MissElvan before she left Ashtead; nor when he learnt that the artist hadbeen spending a day or two at Bath. Less than a month after their firstmeeting, Franks won Rosamund's consent. He was frantic with exultation. Arriving with the news at ten o'clock one night, he shouted andmaddened about Warburton's room until finally turned out at two in themorning. His circumstances being what they were, he could not hope formarriage yet awhile; he must work and wait. Never mind; see what workhe would produce! Yet it appeared to his friend that all through thenext twelvemonth he merely wasted time, such work as he did finishbeing of very slight value. He talked and talked, now of Rosamund, nowof what he was _going_ to do, until Warburton, losing patience, wouldcut him short with "Oh, go to Bath!"--an old cant phrase revived forits special appropriateness in this connection. Franks went to Bath faroftener than he could afford, money for his journey being generallyborrowed from his long-enduring friend. 

Rosamund herself had nothing, and but the smallest expectations shouldher father die. Two years before this, it had occurred to her that sheshould like to study art, and might possibly find in it a means ofself-support. She was allowed to attend classes at South Kensington, but little came of this except a close friendship with a girl of herown age, by name Bertha Cross, who was following the art course withmore serious purpose. When she had been betrothed for about a year, Rosamund chanced to spend a week in London at her friend's house, andthis led to acquaintance between Franks and the Crosses. For a time, Warburton saw and heard less of the artist, who made confidantes ofMrs. Cross and her daughter, and spent many an evening with themtalking, talking, talking about Rosamund; but this intimacy did notendure very long, Mrs. Cross being a person of marked peculiarities, which in the end overtried Norbert's temper. Only on the fourth storyflat by Chelsea Bridge could the lover find that sort of sympathy whichhe really needed, solacing yet tonic. But for Warburton he would haveworked even less. To Will it seemed an odd result of fortunate lovethat the artist, though in every other respect a better man thanbefore, should have become, to all appearances, less zealous, lessefficient, in his art. Had Rosamund Elvan the right influence on herlover; in spite of Norbert's lyric eulogy, had she served merely toconfuse his aims, perhaps to bring him down to a lower level of thought?

There was his picture, "Sanctuary. " Before he knew Rosamund, Frankswould have scoffed at such a subject, would have howled at suchtreatment of it. There was notable distance between this and whatNorbert was painting in that summer sunrise four years ago, with hisportable easel in the gutter. And Miss Elvan admired "Sanctuary"--atleast, Franks said she did. True, she also admired the picture of thepawnshop and the public-house; Will had himself heard her speak of itwith high praise, and with impatient wonder that no purchaser could befound for it. Most likely she approved of everything Norbert did, andhad no more serious criterion. Unless, indeed, her private test ofartistic value were the financial result. 

Warburton could not altogether believe that. Annoyance with the artistnow and then inclined him to slighting thought of Rosamund; yet, on thewhole, his view of her was not depreciatory. The disadvantage to hismind was her remarkable comeliness. He could not but fear that so muchbeauty must be inconsistent with the sterling qualities which make agood wife. 

Will's eye fell on Sherwood's note, and he went to bed wondering whatthe project might be which was to make their fortune. 

CHAPTER 6

He had breakfasted, and was smoking his pipe as he wrote a letter, whenMrs. Hopper announced the visit, by appointment, of her brother-in-law, Allchin. There entered a short, sturdy, red-headed young fellow, in aSunday suit of respectable antiquity; his features were rude, hisaspect dogged; but a certain intelligence showed in his countenance, and a not unamiable smile responded to the bluff heartiness ofWarburton's greeting. By original calling, Allchin was a grocer'sassistant, but a troublesome temper had more than once set him adrift, the outcast of grocerdom, to earn a living as best he could by hisvigorous thews, and it was in one of these intervals that, having needof a porter at the works, Warburton had engaged him, on Mrs. Hopper'spetition. After a month or so of irreproachable service, Allchin foughtwith a foreman, and took his discharge. The same week, Mrs. Allchinpresented him with their first child; the family fell into want; Mrs. Hopper (squeezed between door and jamb) drew her master's attention tothe lamentable case, and help was of course forthcoming. Then, by goodluck, Allchin was enabled to resume his vocation; he got a place at agrocer's in Fulham Road, and in a few weeks presented himself beforehis benefactor, bringing half-a-crown as a first instalment toward thedischarge of his debt; for only on this condition had he accepted themoney. Half a year elapsed without troublesome incident; the man maderegular repayment in small sums; then came the disaster which Mrs. Hopper had yesterday announced. 

"Well, Allchin, " cried Warburton, "what's the latest?"

Before speaking, the other pressed his lips tightly together and puffedout his cheeks, as if it cost him an effort to bring words to thesurface. His reply came forth with explosive abruptness. 

"Lost my place at Boxon's, sir. "

"And how's that?"

"It happened last Saturday, sir. I don't want to make out as I wasn'tat all to blame. I know as well as anybody that I've got a will of myown. But we're open late, as perhaps you know, sir, on Saturday night, and Mr. Boxon--well, it's only the truth--he's never quite himselfafter ten o'clock. I'd worked from eight in the morning to somethingpast midnight--of course I don't think nothing of that, 'cause it'sreg'lar in the trade. But--well, in come a customer, sir, a woman asdidn't rightly know what she wanted; and she went out without buying, and Mr. Boxon he see it, and he come up to me and calls me the foulestname he could turn his tongue to. And so--well, sir, there wasunpleasantness, as they say--"

He hesitated, Warburton eyeing him with a twinkle of subdued amusement. 

"A quarrel, in fact, eh?"

"It did about come to that, sir!"

"You lost your temper, of course. "

"That's about the truth, sir. "

"And Boxon turned you out?"

Allchin looked hurt. 

"Well, sir, I've no doubt he'd have liked to, but I was a bitbeforehand with him. When I see him last, he was settin' on thepavement, sir, rubbin' his 'ead. "

In spite of his inclination to laugh, Will kept a grave countenance. 

"I'm afraid that kind of thing won't do, Allchin. You'll be in serioustrouble one of these days. "

"That's what my wife says, sir. I know well enough as it's hard on her, just after we've lost the baby--as perhaps Mrs. Hopper'll have toldyou, sir. "

"I was very sorry to hear it, Allchin. "

"Thank you, sir. You've always something kind to say. And I'm thatvexed, because I was getting on well with paying my debts. But Mr. Boxon, sir, he's many a time made me that mad that I've gone out intothe back yard and kicked the wall till my toes were sore, just to easemy feelings, like. To tell the truth, sir, I don't think he's everrightly sober, and I've heard others say the same. And his business isfallin' off, something shockin'. Customers don't like to be insulted;that's only natural. He's always going down to Kempton Park, or Epsom, or some such place. They do say as he lost 'undreds of pounds atKempton Park last week. It's my opinion the shop can't go on muchlonger. Well, sir, I thought I just ought to come and tell you thetruth of things, and I won't disturb you no longer. I shall do my bestto find another place. "

Warburton's impulse was to offer temporary work in Little Ailie Street, but he remembered that the business was not in a position to increaseexpenses, and that the refinery might any day be closed. 

"All right, " he answered cheerily, "let me know how you get on. "

When Allchin's heavy footsteps had echoed away down the stairs, Mrs. Hopper answered her master's call. 

"I suppose they have a little money to go on with?" Warburton inquired. "I mean, enough for a week or so. "

"Yes, I think they have that, sir. But I see how it'll be. My poorsister'll end in the work'us. Allchin'll never keep a place. Not that Ican blame him, sir, for givin' it to that Boxon, 'cause every one sayshe's a brute. "

"Well, just let me know if they begin to be in want. But of courseAllchin can always get work as a porter. He must learn to keep hisfists down, if he doesn't want to be perpetually out of employment. "

"That's what I tell him, sir. And my poor sister, sir, she's neverstopped talkin' to him, day or night you may say, ever since ithappened--"

"Merciful Heavens!" groaned Warburton to himself. 

CHAPTER 7

At half-past nine he reached Little Ailie Street. 

"Mr. Sherwood not here yet, I suppose?" asked Will. 

"Oh yes, he is, sir, " replied the manager; "been here for half an hour. "

Warburton went on to the senior partner's room. There sat GodfreySherwood bent over a book which, to judge from the smile upon his face, could have nothing to do with the sugar-refining question. 

"How do, Will?" he exclaimed, with even more than his usualcheerfulness. "Did you ever read 'The Adventures of a Younger Son'? Oh, you must. Listen here. He's describing how he thrashed an assistantmaster at school; thrashed him, he says, till 'the sweat dropped fromhis brows like rain-drops from the eaves of a pig-sty!' Ho-ho-ho! Whatdo you think of that for a comparison? Isn't it strong? By Jove! abracing book! Trelawny, you know; the friend of Byron. As breezy a bookas I know. It does one good. "

Godfrey Sherwood was, as regards his visage, what is called a plainyoung man, but his smile told of infinite good-nature, and his voice, notwithstanding its frequent note of energy or zeal, had a naturalsoftness of intonation which suggested other qualities than thepractical and vigorous. 

"Enjoyed your holiday?" he went on, rising, stretching himself, andoffering a box of cigarettes. "You look well. Done any summits? When weget our affairs in order, I must be off somewhere myself. Northward, Ithink. I want a little bracing cold. I should like to see Iceland. Youknow the Icelandic sagas? Magnificent! There's the saga of Grettir theStrong--by Jove! But come, this isn't business. I have news for you, real, substantial, hopeful news. "

They seated themselves in roundbacked chairs, and Will lighted acigarette. 

"You know my thoughts were running on jam; jam is our salvation; ofthat I have long been convinced. I looked about, made a few inquiries, and by good luck, not long after you went off for your holiday, metjust the man I wanted. You've heard of Applegarth's jams?"

Will said he had seen them advertised. 

"Well, I came across Applegarth himself. I was talking toLinklater--and jams came up. 'You ought to see my friend Applegarth, 'said he; and he arranged for us to meet. Applegarth happened to be intown, but he lives down in Somerset, and his factory is at Bristol. Weall dined together at the Junior Carlton, and Applegarth and I got onso well that he asked me down to his place. Oxford man, clever, a finemusician, and an astronomer; has built himself a littleobservatory--magnificent telescope. By Jove! you should hear him handlethe violin. Astonishing fellow! Not much of a talker; rather dry in hismanner; but no end of energy, bubbling over with vital force. He beganas a barrister, but couldn't get on, and saw his capital melting. 'Hangit!' said he, 'I must make some use of what money I have'; and hethought of jam. Brilliant idea! He began in a very modest way, down atBristol, only aiming at local trade. But his jams were good; the demandgrew; he built a factory; profits became considerable. And now, hewants to withdraw from active business, keeping an interest. Wants tofind some one who would run and extend the concern--put in a faircapital, and leave him to draw his income quietly. You see?"

"Seems a good opportunity, " said Warburton. 

"Good? It's simply superb. He took me over the works--a reallybeautiful sight, everything so admirably arranged. Then we had moreprivate talk. Of course I spoke of you, said I could do nothing till wehad consulted together. I didn't seem too eager--not good policy. Butwe've had some correspondence, and you shall see the letters. "

He handed them to his partner. Warburton saw that there was a questionof a good many thousand pounds. 

"Of course, " he remarked, "I could only stand for a very small part inthis. "

"Well, we must talk about that. To tell you the truth, Will, " Sherwoodcontinued, crossing his legs and clasping his hands behind his head, "Idon't see my way to find the whole capital, and yet I don't want tobring in a stranger. Applegarth could sell to a company any moment, butthat isn't his idea; he wants to keep the concern in as few hands aspossible. He has a first-rate manager; the mere jam-making wouldn'tworry us at all; and the office work is largely a matter of routine. Will you take time to think about it?"

The figures which Warburton had before him were decidedly stimulating;they made a very pleasant contrast to the balance-sheets with which hehad recently had to deal. He knew roughly what sum was at his disposalfor investment; the winding-up of the business here could be completedat any moment, and involved no risk of surprises. But a thought hadoccurred to him which kept him silently reflecting for some minutes. 

"I suppose, " he said presently, "this affair has about as little riskas anything one could put money in?"

"I should say, " Godfrey answered, with his man-of-business air, "thatthe element of risk is non-existent. What can be more solid than jam?There's competition to be sure; but Applegarth is already a good namethroughout England, and in the West they swear by it. At Bristol, Exeter, Dorchester--all over there--Applegarth holds the field. Veryseriously speaking, I see in this proposal nothing but sure andincreasing gain. "

"You know as well as I do, " Will resumed, "how I stand. I have noresources of my own beyond what you are aware of. But I've beenthinking--"

He broke off, stared at the window, drummed on the arm of his chair, Sherwood waiting with a patient smile. 

"It's my mother and sister I have in mind, " Will resumed. "Thatproperty of theirs; it brings them about a hundred and fifty pounds ayear in cash, and three times that in worry. At any moment they mightsell. A man at St. Neots offers four thousand pounds; I suspect moremight be got if Turnbull, their lawyer, took the matter in hand. Suppose I advise them to sell and put the money in Applegarth?"

"By Jove!" cried Sherwood. "How could they do better? Splendid idea!"

"Yes--if all goes well. Bear in mind, on the other hand, that if theylost this money, they would have nothing to live upon, or as good asnothing. They draw some fifty pounds a year from another source, andthey have their own house--that's all. Ought I to take thisresponsibility?"

"I don't hesitate to guarantee, " said Sherwood, with glowing gravity, "that in two years' time their four thousand pounds shall produce threetimes what it does now. Only think, my dear fellow! Jam--think what itmeans!"

For ten minutes Godfrey rhapsodised on the theme. Warburton was movedby his eloquence. 

"I shall run down to St. Neots, " said Will at length. 

"Do. And then we'll both of us go down to Bristol. I'm sure you'll likeApplegarth. By the bye, you never went in for astronomy, did you? Ifelt ashamed of my ignorance. Why, it's one of the most interestingsubjects a man can study. I shall take it up. One might have a littleobservatory of one's own. Do you know Bristol at all? A beastly place, the town, but perfectly delightful country quite near at hand. Applegarth lives in an ideal spot--you'll see. "

There was a knock at the door and the manager entered. Other businessclaimed their attention. 

CHAPTER 8

Warburton often returned from Whitechapel to Chelsea on foot, enjoyingthe long walk after his day in the office. This evening, a heavilyclouded sky and sobbing wind told that rain was not far off;nevertheless, wishing to think hard, which he could never do so well aswhen walking at a brisk pace, he set off in the familiar direction--astraight cut across South London. 

In Lower Kennington Lane he stopped, as his habit was, at a littlestationer's shop, over which was the name Potts. During his last yearin the West Indies, he had befriended an English lad whose health wassuffering from the climate, and eventually had paid his passage to theUnited States, whither the young adventurer wished to go in pursuit ofhis fortune. Not long after he received a letter of thanks from thelad's father, and, on coming to London, he sought out Mr. Potts, whosegratitude and its quaint expression had pleased him. The acquaintancecontinued; whenever Warburton passed the shop he stepped in and madepurchases--generally of things he did not in the least want. Potts hadall the characteristics which were wont to interest Will, and touch hissympathies; he was poor, weak of body, humble-spirited, and of anhonest, simple mind. Nothing more natural and cordial than Will'sbearing as he entered and held out his hand to the shopkeeper. How wasbusiness? Any news lately from Jack? Jack, it seemed, was doing prettywell at Pittsburgh; would Mr. Warburton care to read a long letter thathad arrived from him a week ago? To his satisfaction, Will found thatthe letter had enclosed a small sum of money, for a present on thefather's birthday. Having, as usual, laden himself with newspapers, periodicals and notepaper, he went his way. 

At grimy Vauxhall he crossed the river, and pursued his course alongGrosvenor Road. Rain had begun to fall, and the driving of the windobliged him to walk with the umbrella before his face. Happening toglance ahead, when not far from home, he saw, at a distance of twentyyards, a man whom he took for Norbert Franks. The artist was comingtoward him, but suddenly he turned round about, and walked rapidlyaway, disappearing in a moment down a side street. Franks it certainlywas; impossible to mistake his figure, his gait; and Warburton feltsure that the abrupt change of direction was caused by his friend'sdesire to avoid him. At the end of the byway he looked, and there wasthe familiar figure, marching with quick step into the rainy distance. Odd! but perhaps it simply meant that Franks had not seen him. 

He reached home, wrote some letters, made preparations for leaving townby an early train next morning, and dined with his customary appetite. Whilst smoking his after-dinner pipe, he thought again of that queerlittle incident in Grosvenor Road, and resolved of a sudden to go andsee Franks. It still rained, so he took advantage of a passing hansom, and drove in a few minutes to the artist's lodging on the south side ofBattersea Park. The door was opened to him by the landlady, who smiledrecognition. 

"No, sir, Mr. Franks isn't at home, and hasn't been since afterbreakfast this morning. And I don't understand it; because he told melast night that he'd be working all day, and I was to get meals for himas usual. And at ten o'clock the model came--that rough man he'sputting into the new picture, you know, sir; and I had to send himaway, when he'd waited more than an hour. "

Warburton was puzzled. 

"I'll take my turn at waiting, " he said. "Will you please light the gasfor me in the studio?"

The studio was merely, in lodging-house language, the first floorfront; a two-windowed room, with the advantage of north light. On thewalls hung a few framed paintings, several unframed and unfinished, water-colour sketches, studies in crayon, photographs, and so on. Inthe midst stood the easel, supporting a large canvas, the artist's workon which showed already in a state of hopeful advancement. "TheSlummer" was his provisional name for this picture; he had not yet hitupon that more decorous title which might suit the Academy catalogue. Aglance discovered the subject. In a typical London slum, between smalland vile houses, which lowered upon the narrow way, stood a tall, graceful, prettily-clad young woman, obviously a visitant from otherspheres; her one hand carried a book, and the other was held by aragged, cripple child, who gazed up at her with a look of innocentadoration. Hard by stood a miserable creature with an infant at herbreast, she too adoring the representative of health, wealth, andcharity. Behind, a costermonger, out of work, sprawled on thecurbstone, viewing the invader; he, with resentful eye, his lipsuggestive of words unreportable. Where the face of the central figureshould have shone, the canvas still remained blank. 

"I'm afraid he's worried about _her_, " said the landlady, when she hadlit the gas, and stood with Warburton surveying the picture. "He can'tfind a model good-looking enough. I say to Mr. Franks why not make itthe portrait of his own young lady? I'm sure _she's_ good-lookingenough for anything and--"

Whilst speaking, the woman had turned to look at a picture on the wall. Words died upon her lips; consternation appeared in her face; she stoodwith finger extended. Warburton, glancing where he was accustomed tosee the portrait of Rosamund Elvan, also felt a shock. For, instead ofthe face which should have smiled upon him, he saw an ugly hole in thepicture, the canvas having been violently cut, or rent with a blow. 

"Hallo! What the deuce has he been doing?"

"Well, I never!" exclaimed the landlady. "It must be himself that'sdone it! What does _that_ mean now, I wonder?"

Warburton was very uneasy. He no longer doubted that Franks hadpurposely avoided him this afternoon. 

"I daresay, " he added, with a pretence of carelessness, "the portraithad begun to vex him. He's often spoken of it discontentedly, andtalked of painting another. It wasn't very good. "

Accepting, or seeming to accept this explanation, the landladywithdrew, and Will paced thoughtfully about the floor. He was back inSwitzerland, in the valley which rises to the glacier of Trient. Beforehim rambled Ralph Pomfret and his wife; at his side was Rosamund Elvan, who listened with a flattering air of interest to all he said, butherself spoke seldom, and seemed, for the most part, preoccupied withsome anxiety. He spoke of Norbert Franks; Miss Elvan repliedmechanically, and at once made a remark about the landscape. At thetime, he had thought little of this; now it revived in his memory, anddisturbed him. 

An hour passed. His patience was nearly at an end. He waited anotherten minutes, then left the room, called to the landlady that he wasgoing, and let himself out. 

Scarcely had he walked half a dozen yards, when he stood face to facewith Franks. 

"Ah! Here you are! I waited as long as I could--"

"I'll walk with you, " said the artist, turning on his heels. 

He had shaken hands but limply. His look avoided Warburton's. Hisspeech was flat, wearied. 

"What's wrong, Franks?"

"As you've been in the studio, I daresay you know. "

"I saw something that surprised me. "

"_Did_ it surprise you?" asked Norbert, in a half-sullen undertone. 

"What do you mean by that?" said Will with subdued resentment. 

The rain had ceased; a high wind buffeted them as they went along thealmost deserted street. The necessity of clutching at his hat mighthave explained Norbert's silence for a moment; but he strode on withoutspeaking. 

"Of course, if you don't care to talk about it, " said Will, stoppingshort. 

"I've been walking about all day, " Franks replied; "and I've got hellinside me; I'd rather not have met you to-night, that's the truth. ButI can't let you go without asking a plain question. _Did_ it surpriseyou to see that portrait smashed?"

"Very much. What do you hint at?"

"I had a letter this morning from Rosamund, saying she couldn't marryme, and that all must be over between us. Does _that_ surprise you?"

"Yes, it does. Such a possibility had never entered my mind. "

Franks checked his step, just where the wind roared at an unprotectedcorner. 

"I've no choice but to believe you, " he said, irritably. "And no doubtI'm making a fool of myself. That's why I shot out of your way thisafternoon--I wanted to wait till I got calmer. Let's say good-night. "

"You're tired out, " said Warburton. "Don't go any farther this way, butlet me walk back with you--I won't go in. I can't leave you in thisstate of mind. Of course I begin to see what you mean, and a wilderidea never got into any man's head. Whatever the explanation of whathas happened, _I_ have nothing to do with it. "

"You say so, and I believe you. "

"Which means, that you don't. I shan't cut up rough; you're notyourself, and I can make all allowances. Think over what I've said, andcome and have another talk. Not to-morrow; I have to go down to St. Neots. But the day after, in the evening. "

"Very well. Good-night. "

This time they did not shake hands. Franks turned abruptly, with a waveof the arm, and walked off unsteadily, like a man in liquor. Observingthis, Warburton said to himself that not improbably the artist had beentrying to drown his misery, which might account for his strangedelusion. Yet this explanation did not put Will's mind at ease. Gloomily he made his way homeward through the roaring night. 

CHAPTER 9

Ten o'clock next morning saw him alighting from the train at St. Neots. A conveyance for which he had telegraphed awaited him at the station;its driver, a young man of his own age (they had known each other fromboyhood), grinned his broadest as he ran toward Will on the platform, and relieved him of his bag. 

"Well, Sam, how goes it? Everybody flourishing?--Drive first to Mr. Turnbull's office. "

Mr. Turnbull was a grey-headed man of threescore, much troubled withlumbago, which made him stoop as he walked. He had a visage ofextraordinary solemnity, and seemed to regard every one, no matter howprosperous or cheerful, with anxious commiseration. At the sight ofWill, he endeavoured to smile, and his handshake, though the flabbiestpossible, was meant for a cordial response to the young man'sheartiness. 

"I'm on my way to The Haws, Mr. Turnbull, and wanted to ask if youcould come up and see us this evening?"

"Oh, with pleasure, " answered the lawyer, his tone that of one invitedto a funeral. "You may count on me. "

"We're winding up at Sherwood's. I don't mean in bankruptcy; but thatwouldn't be far off if we kept going. "

"Ah! I can well understand that, " said Mr. Turnbull, with a gleam ofsatisfaction. Though a thoroughly kind man, it always brightened him tohear of misfortune, especially when he had himself foretold it; and hehad always taken the darkest view of Will's prospects in Little AilieStreet. 

"I have a project I should like to talk over with you--"

"Ah?" said the lawyer anxiously. 

"As it concerns my mother and Jane--"

"Ah?" said Mr. Turnbull, with profound despondency. 

"Then we shall expect you. --Will it rain, do you think?"

"I fear so. The glass is very low indeed. It wouldn't surprise me if wehad rain through the whole month of August. "

"Good Heavens! I hope not, " replied Will laughing. 

He drove out of the town again, in a different direction, for about amile. On rising ground, overlooking the green valley of the Ouse, stooda small, plain, solidly-built house, sheltered on the cold side by arow of fine hawthorns, nearly as high as the top of its chimneys. Infront, bordered along the road by hollies as impenetrable as a stonewall, lay a bright little flower garden. The Haws, originally built forthe bailiff of an estate, long since broken up, was nearly a centuryold. Here Will's father was born, and here, after many wanderings, hehad spent the greater part of his married life. 

"Sam, " said Will, as they drew up at the gate, "I don't think I shallpay for this drive. You're much richer than I am. "

"Very good, sir, " was the chuckling reply, for Sam knew he always hadto expect a joke of this kind from young Mr. Warburton. "As you please, sir. "

"You couldn't lend me half-a-crown, Sam?"

"I daresay I could, sir, if you really wanted it. "

"Do then. "

Will pocketed the half-crown, jumped off the trap, and took his bag. 

"After all, Sam, perhaps I'd better pay. Your wife might grumble. Hereyou are. "

He handed two shillings and sixpence in small change, which Sam tookand examined with a grin of puzzlement. 

"Well, what's the matter? Don't you say thank you, nowadays?"

"Yes, sir--thank you, sir--it's all right, Mr. Will. "

"I should think it is indeed. Be here to-morrow morning, to catch the6. 30 up train, Sam. "

As Will entered the garden, there came forward a girl of something andtwenty, rather short, square shouldered, firmly planted on her feet, but withal brisk of movement; her face was remarkable for nothing but agrave good-humour. She wore a broad-brimmed straw hat, and hergardening gloves showed how she was occupied. Something of shynessappeared in the mutual greeting of brother and sister. 

"Of course, you got my letter this morning?" said Will. 

"Yes. "

"Mr. Turnbull is coming up to-night. "

"I'm glad of that, " said Jane thoughtfully, rubbing her gloves togetherto shake off moist earth. 

"Of course he'll prophesy disaster, and plunge you both into the depthsof discouragement. But I don't mind that. I feel so confident myselfthat I want some one to speak on the other side. He'll have to makeinquiries, of course. --Where's mother?"

The question was answered by Mrs. Warburton herself, who at that momentcame forth from the house; a tall, graceful woman, prematurelywhite-headed, and enfeebled by ill-health. Between her and Jane therewas little resemblance of feature; Will, on the other hand, hadinherited her oval face, arched brows and sensitive mouth. Emotion hadtouched her cheek with the faintest glow, but ordinarily it was pale asher hand. Nothing, however, of the invalid declared itself in her toneor language; the voice, soft and musical, might have been that of ayoung woman, and its vivacity was only less than that which marked thespeech of her son. 

"Come and look at the orange lilies, " were her first words, after thegreeting. "They've never been so fine. "

"But notice Pompey first, " said Jane. "He'll be offended in a minute. "

A St. Bernard, who had already made such advances as his dignitypermitted, stood close by Will, with eyes fixed upon him in grave andsurprised reproach. The dog's name indicated a historical preference ofJane in her childhood; she had always championed Pompey against Caesar, following therein her brother's guidance. 

"Hallo, old Magnus!" cried the visitor, cordially repairing hisomission. "Come along with us and see the lilies. "

It was only when all the sights of the little garden had been visited, Mrs. Warburton forgetting her weakness as she drew Will hither andthither, that the business for which they had met came underdiscussion. Discussion, indeed, it could hardly be called, for themother and sister were quite content to listen whilst Will talked, andaccept his view of things. Small as their income was, they neverthought of themselves as poor; with one maid-servant and the occasionalhelp of a gardener, they had all the comfort they wished for, and wereable to bestow of their superfluity in vegetables and flowers upon lessfortunate acquaintances. Until a year or two ago, Mrs. Warburton hadled a life of ceaseless activity, indoors and out; such was the habitof her daughter, who enjoyed vigorous health, and cared little forsedentary pursuits and amusements. Their property, land and cottageshard by, had of late given them a good deal of trouble, and theproposal to sell had more than once been considered, but Mr. Turnbull, most cautious of counsellors, urged delay. Now, at length, thehoped-for opportunity of a good investment seemed to have presenteditself; Will's sanguine report of what he had learnt from Sherwood wasgladly accepted. 

"It'll be a good thing for you as well, " said Jane. "Yes, it comes justin time. Sherwood knew what he was doing; now and then I've thought hewas risking too much, but he's a clear-headed fellow. The way he haskept things going so long in Ailie Street is really remarkable. "

"I daresay you had your share in that, Will, " said Mrs. Warburton. 

"A very small one; my work has never been more than routine. I don'tpretend to be a man of business. If it had depended upon me, theconcern would have fallen to pieces years ago, like so many others. House after house has gone down; our turn must have come very soon. Asit is, we shall clear out with credit, and start afresh gloriously. Bythe bye, don't get any but Applegarth's jams in future. "

"That depends, " said Jane laughing, "if we like them. "

In their simple and wholesome way of living, the Warburtons of coursedined at midday, and Will, who rarely ate without appetite, surpassedhimself as trencherman; nowhere had food such a savour for him as underthis roof. The homemade bread and home-grown vegetables he was nevertired of praising; such fragrant and toothsome loaves, he loudlyprotested, were to be eaten nowhere else in England. He began to talkof his holiday abroad, when all at once his countenance fell, his lipsclosed; in the pleasure of being "at home, " he had forgotten all aboutNorbert Franks, and very unwelcome were the thoughts which attachedthemselves to this recollection of his days at Trient. 

"What's the matter?" asked Jane, noticing his change of look. 

"Oh, nothing--a stupid affair. I wrote to you about the Pomfrets andtheir niece. I'm afraid that girl is an idiot. She used the opportunityof her absence, I find, to break with Franks. No excuse whatever;simply sent him about his business. "

"Oh!" exclaimed both the ladies, who had been interested in theartist's love story, as narrated to them, rather badly, by Will onformer occasions. 

"Of course, I don't know much about it. But it looks bad. Perhaps it'sthe best thing that could have happened to Franks, for it may mean thathe hasn't made money fast enough to please her. "

"But you gave us quite another idea of Miss Elvan, " said his mother. 

"Yes, I daresay I did. Who knows? I don't pretend to understand suchthings. "

A little before sunset came Mr. Turnbull, who took supper at The Haws, and was fetched away by his coachman at ten o'clock. With this oldfriend, who in Will's eyes looked no older now than when he first knewhim in early childhood, they talked freely of the Applegarth business, and Mr. Turnbull promised to make inquiries at once. Of course, he tooka despondent view of jam. Jam, he inclined to think, was beingoverdone; after all, the country could consume only a certain quantityof even the most wholesome preserves, and a glut of jam alreadythreatened the market. Applegarth? By the bye, did he not rememberproceedings in bankruptcy connected with that unusual name? He mustlook into the matter. And, talking about bankruptcy--oh! how bad hislumbago was to-night!--poor Thomas Hart, of Three Ash Farm, was goingto be sold up. Dear, dear! On every side, look where one would, nothingbut decline and calamity. What was England coming to? Day by day he hadexpected to see the failure of Sherwood Brothers; how had they escapedthe common doom of sugar refiners? Free trade, free trade; all veryfine in theory, but look at its results on corn and sugar. For his ownpart he favoured a policy of moderate protection. 

All this was not more than Will had foreseen. It would be annoying ifMr. Turnbull ultimately took an adverse view of his proposal; in thatcase, though his mother was quite free to manage her property as shechose, Will felt that he should hot venture to urge his scheme againstthe lawyer's advice, and money must be sought elsewhere. A few dayswould decide the matter. As he went upstairs to bed, he dismissedworries from his mind. 

The old quiet, the old comfort of home. Not a sound but that ofpattering rain in the still night. As always, the room smelt oflavender, blended with that indescribable fragrance which comes ofextreme cleanliness in an old country house. But for changed wall paperand carpet, everything was as Will remembered it ever since he couldremember anything at all; the same simple furniture, the same whitecurtains, the same pictures, the same little hanging shelf, with booksgiven to him in childhood. He thought of the elder brother who had diedat school, and lay in the little churchyard far away. His only darkmemory, that of the poor boy's death after a very short illness, beforethat other blow which made him fatherless. 

The earlier retrospect was one of happiness unbroken; for all childishsorrows lost themselves in the very present sense of peace and loveenveloping those far-away years. His parents' life, as he saw it then, as in reflection he saw it now, remained an ideal; he did not care tohope for himself, or to imagine, any other form of domesticcontentment. As a child, he would have held nothing less conceivablethan a moment's discord between father and mother, and manhood'smeditation did but confirm him in the same view. 

The mutual loyalty of kindred hearts and minds--that was the best lifehad to give. And Will's thoughts turned once more to Norbert Franks;he, poor fellow, doubtless now raging against the faithlessness whichhad blackened all his sky. In this moment of softened feeling, of lucidcalm, Warburton saw Rosamund's behaviour in a new light. Perhaps shewas not blameworthy at all, but rather deserving of all praise; for, ifshe had come to know, beyond doubt, that she did not love NorbertFranks as she had thought, then to break the engagement was her simpleduty, and the courage with which she had taken this step must be set toher credit. Naturally, it would be some time before Franks himself tookthat view. A third person, whose vanity was not concerned, mightmoralise thus--

Will checked himself on an unpleasant thought. Was _his_ vanity, intruth, unconcerned in this story? Why, then, had he been conscious of asub-emotion, quite unavowable, which contradicted his indignantsympathy during that talk last night in the street? If the lover'sjealousy were as ridiculous as he pretended, why did he feel what nowhe could confess to himself was an unworthy titillation, when Franksseemed to accuse him of some part in the girl's disloyalty? Vanity, that, sure enough; vanity of a very weak and futile kind. He wouldstamp the last traces of it out of his being. Happily it was butvanity, and no deeper feeling. Of this he was assured by the reposefulsigh with which he turned his head upon the pillow, drowsing tooblivion. 

One unbroken sleep brought him to sunrise; a golden glimmer upon theblind in his return to consciousness told him that the rain was over, and tempted him to look forth. What he saw was decisive; with such asky as that gleaming over the summer world, who could lie in bed? Willalways dressed as if in a fury; seconds sufficed him for details of thetoilet, which, had he spent minutes over them, would have fretted hisnerves intolerably. His bath was one wild welter--not even the ceilingbeing safe from splashes; he clad himself in a brief series of plunges;his shaving might have earned the applause of an assembly gathered tobehold feats of swift dexterity. Quietly he descended the stairs, andfound the house-door already open; this might only mean that theservant was already up, but he suspected that the early riser was Jane. So it proved; he walked toward the kitchen garden, and there stood hissister, the sun making her face rosy. 

"Come and help to pick scarlet runners, " was her greeting, as heapproached. "Aren't they magnificent?"

Her eyes sparkled with pleasure as she pointed to the heavy clusters ofdark-green pods, hanging amid leaves and scarlet bloom. 

"Splendid crop!" exclaimed Will, with answering enthusiasm. 

"Doesn't the scent do one good?" went on his sister. "When I come intothe garden on a morning like this, I have a feeling--oh, I can'tdescribe it to you--perhaps you wouldn't understand--"

"I know, " said Will, nodding. 

"It's as if nature were calling out to me, like a friend, to come andadmire and enjoy what she has done. I feel grateful for the things thatearth offers me. "

Not often did Jane speak like this; as a rule she was anything buteffusive or poetical. But a peculiar animation shone in her looks thismorning, and sounded in her voice. Very soon the reason was manifest;she began to speak of the Applegarth business, and declared her greatsatisfaction with it. 

"There'll be an end of mother's worry, " she said, "and I can't tell youhow glad I shall be. It seems to me that women oughtn't to have tothink about money, and mother hates the name of it; she always hasdone. Oh, what a blessing when it's all off our hands! We shouldn'tcare, even if the new arrangement brought us less. "

"And it is certain to bring you more, " remarked Will, "perhapsconsiderably more. "

"Well, I shan't object to that; there are lots of uses for money; butit doesn't matter. "

Jane's sincerity was evident. She dismissed the matter, and her basketbeing full of beans, seized a fork to dig potatoes. 

"Here, let me do that, " cried Will, interposing. 

"You? Well then, as a very great favour. "

"Of course I mean that. It's grand to turn up potatoes. What sort arethese?"

"Pink-eyed flukes, " replied Jane, watching him with keen interest. "Wehaven't touched them yet. "

"Mealy, eh?"

"Balls of flour!"

Their voices joined in a cry of exultation, as the fork threw out evena finer root than they had expected. When enough had been dug, theystrolled about, looking at other vegetables. Jane pointed to some Savoyseedlings, which she was going to plant out to-day. Then there soundeda joyous bark, and Pompey came bounding toward them. 

"That means the milk-boy is here, " said Jane. "Pompey always goes tomeet him in the morning. Come and drink a glass--warm. "

CHAPTER 10

Back at Chelsea, Will sent a note to Norbert Franks, a line or twowithout express reference to what had happened, asking him to come andhave a talk. Three days passed, and there was no reply. Will grewuneasy; for, though the artist's silence perhaps meant only sullenness, danger might lurk in such a man's thwarted passion. On the fourthevening, just as he had made up his mind to walk over to Queen's Road, the familiar knock sounded. Mrs. Hopper had left; Will went to thedoor, and greeted his visitor in the usual way. But Franks enteredwithout speaking. The lamplight showed a pitiful change in him; he wasyellow and fishy-eyed, unshaven, disorderly in dress indeed, so welldid he look the part of the despairing lover that Warburton suspected atouch of theatric consciousness. 

"If you hadn't come to-night, " said Will, "I should have looked you up. "

Franks lay limply in the armchair, staring blankly. 

"I ought to have come before, " he replied in low, toneless voice. "Thatnight when I met you, I made a fool of myself. For one thing, I wasdrunk, and I've been drunk ever since. "

"Ha! That accounts for your dirty collar, " remarked Will, in his noteof dry drollery. 

"Is it dirty?" said the other, passing a finger round his neck. "Whatdoes it matter? A little dirt more or less, in a world so full of it--"

Warburton could not contain himself; he laughed, and laughed again. Andhis mirth was contagious; Franks chuckled, unwillingly, dolefully. 

"You are not extravagant in sympathy, " said the artist, moving withfretful nervousness. 

"If I were, would it do you any good, old fellow? Look here, are we totalk of this affair or not? Just as you like. For my part, I'd rathertalk about 'The Slummer. ' I had a look at it the other day. Uncommonlygood, the blackguard on the curbstone, you've got him. "

"You think so?" Franks sat a little straighter, but still with vacanteye. "Yes, not bad, I think. But who knows whether I shall finish thething. "

"If you don't, " replied his friend, in a matter-of-fact tone, "you'lldo something better. But I should finish it, if I were you. If you hadthe courage to paint in the right sort of face--the girl, you know. "

"What sort of face, then?"

"Sharp-nosed, thin-lipped, rather anaemic, with a universe ofself-conceit in the eye. "

"They wouldn't hang it, and nobody would buy it. Besides, Warburton, you're wrong if you think the slummers are always that sort. Still, I'mnot sure I shan't do it, out of spite. There's another reason, too--Ihate beautiful women; I don't think I shall ever be able to paintanother. "

He sprang up, and paced, as of old, about the room. Will purposely keptsilence. 

"I've confessed, " Franks began again, with effort, "that I made a foolof myself the other night. But I wish you'd tell me something aboutyour time at Trient. Didn't you notice anything? Didn't anything makeyou suspect what she was going to do?"

"I never for a moment foresaw it, " replied Will, with unemphasisedsincerity. 

"Yet she must have made up her mind whilst you were there. Herastounding hypocrisy! I had a letter a few days before, the same asusual--"

"Quite the same?"

"Absolutely!--Well, there was no difference that struck me. Then all atonce she declares that for months she had felt her position false andpainful. What a monstrous thing! Why did she go on pretending, playinga farce? I could have sworn that no girl lived who was more thoroughlyhonest in word and deed and thought. It's awful to think how one can bedeceived. I understand now the novels about unfaithful wives, and allthat kind of thing. I always said to myself--'Pooh, as if a fellowwouldn't know if his wife were deceiving him'! By Jove this has made meafraid of the thought of marriage. I shall never again trust a woman. "

Warburton sat in meditation, only half smiling. 

"Of course, she's ashamed to face me. For fear I should run after her, she wrote that they were just leaving Trient for another place, notmentioned. If I wrote, I was to address to Bath, and the letter wouldbe forwarded. I wrote--of course a fool's letter; I only wish I'd neversent it. Sometimes I think I'll never try to see her again; sometimes Ithink I'll make her see me, and tell her the truth about herself. Theonly thing is--I'm half afraid--I've gone through torture enough; Idon't want to begin again. Yet if I saw her--"

He took another turn across the room, then checked himself beforeWarburton. 

"Tell me honestly what you think about it. I want advice. What's youropinion of her?"

"I have no opinion at all. I don't pretend to know her well enough. "

"Well, but, " persisted Franks, "your impression--your feeling. How doesthe thing strike you?"

"Why, disagreeably enough; that's a matter of course. "

"You don't excuse her?" asked Norbert, his eyes fixed on the other. 

"I can imagine excuses--"

"What? What excuse can there be for deliberate hypocrisy, treachery?"

"If it _was_ deliberate, " replied Warburton, "there's nothing to besaid. In your position--since you ask advice--I should try to thinkthat it wasn't, but that the girl had simply changed her mind, and wenton and on, struggling with herself till she could stand it no longer. I've no taste for melodrama quiet comedy is much more in myline--comedy ending with mutual tolerance and forgiveness. To be sure, if you feel you can't live without her, if you're determined to fightfor her--"

"Fight with whom?" cried Franks. 

"With _her_; then read Browning, and blaze away. It may be the best;who can tell? Only--on this point I am clear--no self-deception! Don'tgo in for heroics just because they seem fine. Settle with yourselfwhether she is indispensable to you or not. -- Indispensable? why, nowoman is that to any man; sooner or later, it's a matter ofindifference. And if you feel, talking plainly with yourself, that theworst is over already, that it doesn't after all matter as much as youthought; why, get back to your painting. If you can paint only uglywomen, so much the better, I've no doubt. "

Franks stood reflecting. Then he nodded. 

"All that is sensible enough. But, if I give her up, I shall marry someone else straight away. "

Then he abruptly said good-night, leaving Warburton not unhopeful abouthim, and much consoled by the disappearance of the shadow which hadthreatened their good understanding. 

CHAPTER 11

The Crosses, mother and daughter, lived at Walham Green. The house wasless pleasant than another which Mrs. Cross owned at Putney, but italso represented a lower rental, and poverty obliged them to take thisinto account. When the second house stood tenantless, as had now beenthe case for half a year, Mrs. Cross' habitually querulous comment onlife rose to a note of acrimony very afflictive to her daughter Bertha. The two bore as little resemblance to each other, physical or mental, as mother and child well could. Bertha Cross was a sensible, thoughtfulgirl, full of kindly feeling, and blest with a humorous turn thatenabled her to see the amusing rather than the carking side of herpinched life. These virtues she had from her father. Poor Cross, whosupplemented a small income from office routine by occasional comicjournalism, and even wrote a farce (which brought money to a theatricalmanager), made on his deathbed a characteristic joke. He had justsigned his will, and was left alone with his wife. "I'm sure I've, always wished to make your life happy, " piped the afflicted woman. "AndI yours, " he faintly answered; adding, with a sad, kind smile, as hepointed to the testamentary document, "Take the will for the deed. "

The two sons had emigrated to British Columbia, and Bertha would nothave been sorry to join her brothers there, for domestic labour on afarm, in peace and health, seemed to her considerably better than thequasi-genteel life she painfully supported. She had never dreamt ofbeing an artist, but, showing some facility with the pencil, was sentby her father to South Kensington, where she met and made friends withRosamund Elvan. Her necessity and her application being greater thanRosamund's, Bertha before long succeeded in earning a little money;without this help, life at home would scarcely have been possible forher. They might, to be sure, have taken a lodger, having spare rooms, but Mrs. Cross could only face that possibility if the person receivedinto the house were "respectable" enough to be called a paying guest, and no such person offered. So they lived, as no end of "respectable"families do, a life of penury and seclusion, sometimes going without ameal that they might have decent clothing to wear abroad, never able tobuy a book, to hear a concert, and only by painful sacrifice able toentertain a friend. When, on a certain occasion, Miss Elvan passed aweek at their house (Mrs. Cross approved of this friendship, and hopedit might be a means of discovering the paying guest), it meant for thema near approach to starvation during the month that ensued. 

Time would have weighed heavily on Mrs. Cross but for her onerecreation, which was perennial, ever fresh, constantly full ofsurprises and excitement. Poor as she was, she contrived to hire adomestic servant; to say that she "kept" one would come near to averbal impropriety, seeing that no servant ever remained in the housefor more than a few months, whilst it occasionally happened that thespace of half a year would see a succession of some half dozen"generals. " Underpaid and underfed, these persons (they varied in agefrom fourteen to forty) were of course incompetent, careless, rebellious, and Mrs. Cross found the sole genuine pleasure of her lifein the war she waged with them. Having no reasonable way of spendingher hours, she was thus supplied with occupation; being of acridtemper, she was thus supplied with a subject upon whom she couldfearlessly exercise it; being remarkably mean of disposition, she sawin the paring-down of her servant's rations to a working minimum, atonce profit and sport; lastly, being fond of the most trivial gossip, she had a never-failing topic of discussion with such ladies as couldendure her society. 

Bertha, having been accustomed to this domestic turbulence all her lifelong, for the most part paid no heed to it. She knew that if themanagement of the house were in her hands, instead of her mother's, things would go much more smoothly, but the mere suggestion of such achange (ventured once at a moment of acute crisis) had so amazed andexasperated Mrs. Cross, that Bertha never again looked in thatdirection. Yet from time to time a revolt of common sense forced her tospeak, and as the only possible way, if quarrel were to be avoided, shebegan her remonstrance on the humorous note. Then when her mother hadbeen wearying her for half an hour with complaints and lamentationsover the misdoings of one Emma, Bertha as the alternative to throwingup her hands and rushing out of the house, began laughing to herself, whereat Mrs. Cross indignantly begged to be informed what there was sovery amusing in a state of affairs which would assuredly bring her toher grave. 

"If only you could see the comical side of it, mother, " replied Bertha. "It really has one, you know. Emma, if only you would be patient withher, is a well-meaning creature, and she says the funniest things. Iasked her this morning if she didn't think she could find some way ofremembering to put the salt on the table. And she looked at me verysolemnly, and said, 'Indeed, I will, miss. I'll put it into my prayers, just after 'our daily bread. '"

Mrs. Cross saw nothing in this but profanity. She turned the attack onBertha, who, by her soft way of speaking, simply encouraged theservants, she declared, in negligence and insolence. 

"Look at it in this way, mother, " replied the girl, as soon as she wassuffered to speak. "To be badly served is bad enough, in itself; whymake it worse by ceaseless talking about it, so leaving ourselves not amoment of peace and quiet? I'm sure I'd rather put the salt on thetable myself at every meal, and think no more about it, than worry, worry, worry over the missing salt-cellars from one meal to the next. Don't you feel, dear mother, that it's shocking waste of life?"

"What nonsense you talk, child! Are we to live in dirt and disorder? AmI _never_ to correct a servant, or teach her her duties? But of courseeverything _I_ do is wrong. Of course _you_ could do everything so verymuch better. That's what children are nowadays. "

Whilst Mrs. Cross piped on, Bertha regarded her with eyes of humoroussadness. The girl often felt it a dreary thing not to be able torespect--nay, not to be able to feel much love for--her mother. At suchtimes, her thought turned to the other parent, with whom, had he andshe been left alone, she could have lived so happily, in so much mutualintelligence and affection. She sighed and moved away. 

The unlet house was a very serious matter, and when one day NorbertFranks came to talk about it, saying that he would want a house verysoon, and thought this of Mrs. Cross's might suit him, Bertha rejoicedno less than her mother. In consequence of the artist's announcement, she wrote to her friend Rosamund, saying how glad she was to hear thather marriage approached. The reply to this letter surprised her. Rosamund had been remiss in correspondence for the last few months; herfew and brief letters, though they were as affectionate as ever, makingno mention of what had formerly been an inexhaustible topic--thegenius, goodness, and brilliant hopes of Franks. Now she wrote as if inutter despondency, a letter so confused in style and vague inexpression, that Bertha could gather from it little or nothing except agrave doubt whether Franks' marriage was as near as he supposed. A weekor two passed, and Rosamund again wrote--from Switzerland; again theletter was an unintelligible maze of dreary words, and a mere moaningand sighing, which puzzled Bertha as much as it distressed her. Rosamund's epistolary style, when she wrote to this bosom friend, wasalways pitched in a key of lyrical emotion, which now and then wouldhave been trying to Bertha's sense of humour but for the sinceritymanifest in every word; hitherto, however, she had expressed herselfwith perfect lucidity, and this sudden change seemed ominous ofalarming things. Just when Bertha was anxiously wondering what couldhave happened, --of course inclined to attribute blame, if blame therewere, to the artist rather than to his betrothed--a stranger came toinquire about the house to let. It was necessary to ascertain at oncewhether Mr. Franks intended to become their tenant or not. Mrs. Crosswrote to him, and received the briefest possible reply, to the effectthat his plans were changed. 

"How vexatious!" exclaimed Mrs. Cross. "I had very much rather have letto people we know I suppose he's seen a house that suits him better. "

"I think there's another reason, " said Bertha, after gazing for aminute or two at the scribbled, careless note. "The marriage is putoff. "

"And you knew that, " cried her mother, "all the time, and never toldme! And I might have missed twenty chances of letting. Really, Bertha, I never did see anything like you. There's that house standing emptymonth after month, and we hardly know where to turn for money, and youknew that Mr. Franks wouldn't take it, and yet you say not a word! Howcan you behave in such an extraordinary way? I think you really findpleasure in worrying me. Any one would fancy you wished to see me in mygrave. To think that you knew all the time!"

CHAPTER 12

There passed a fortnight. Bertha heard nothing more of Miss Elvan, tilla letter arrived one morning in an envelope, showing on the back anaddress at Teddington. Rosamund wrote that she had just returned fromSwitzerland, and was staying for a few days with friends; would it bepossible for Bertha to come to Teddington the same afternoon, for anhour or two's talk? The writer had so much to say that could not beconveyed in a letter, and longed above all things to see Bertha, theonly being in whom, at a very grave juncture in her life, she couldabsolutely confide. "We shall be quite alone--Mr. And Mrs. Capron aregoing to town immediately after lunch. This is a lovely place, and weshall have it to ourselves all the afternoon. So don't be frightened--Iknow how you hate strangers--but come, come, come!"

Bertha took train early in the afternoon. By an avenue of elms shepassed into a large and beautiful garden, and so came to the imposingfront door. Led into the drawing-room, she had time to take breath, andto gaze at splendours such as she had never seen before; then withsoundless footfall, entered a slim, prettily-dressed girl who rantowards her, and caught her hands, and kissed her with gracefultenderness. 

"My dear, dear old Bertha! What a happiness to see you again! How goodof you to come! Isn't it a lovely place? And the nicest people. You'veheard me speak of Miss Anderton, of Bath. She is Mrs. Capron--marriedhalf a year ago. And they're just going to Egypt for a year, and--whatdo you think?--I'm going with them. "

Rosamund's voice sunk and faltered. She stood holding Bertha's hands, and gazing into her face with eyes which grew large as if in adistressful appeal. 

"To Egypt?"

"Yes. It was decided whilst I was in Switzerland. Mrs. Capron wants afriend to be with her; one who can help her in water-colours. Shethought, of course, that I couldn't go; wrote to me just wishing itwere possible. And I caught at the chance! Oh, caught at it!"

"That's what I don't understand, " said Bertha. 

"I want to explain it all. Come into this cosy corner. Nobody willdisturb us except when they bring tea. --Do you know that picture ofLeader's? Isn't it exquisite!--Are you tired, Bertha? You look so, alittle. I'm afraid you walked from the station, and it's such a hotday. But oh, the loveliness of the trees about here! Do you rememberour first walk together? You were shy, stiff; didn't feel quite surewhether you liked me or not. And I thought you--just a little critical. But before we got back again, I think we had begun to understand eachother. And I wonder whether you'll understand me now. It would bedreadful if I felt you disapproved of me. Of course if you do, I'd muchrather you said so. You will--won't you?"

She again fixed her eyes upon Bertha with the wide, appealing look. 

"Whether I say it or not, " replied the other, "you'll see what I think. I never could help that. "

"That's what I love in you! And that's what I've been thinking of, allthese weeks of misery--your perfect sincerity. I've asked myselfwhether it would be possible for you to find yourself in such aposition as mine; and how you would act, how you would speak. You're myideal of truth and rightness, Bertha; I've often enough told you that. "

Bertha moved uncomfortably, her eyes averted. 

"Suppose you just tell me what has happened, " she added quietly. 

"Yes, I will. I hope you haven't been thinking it was some fault of_his_?"

"I couldn't help thinking that. "

"Oh! Put that out of your mind at once. The fault is altogether mine. He has done nothing whatever--he is good and true, and all that a manshould be. It's I who am behaving badly; so badly that I feel hot withshame now that I come to tell you. I have broken it off. I've said Icouldn't marry him. "

Their eyes met for an instant. Bertha looked rather grave, but with herwonted kindliness of expression; Rosamund's brows were wrinkled indistress, and her lips trembled. 

"I've seen it coming since last Christmas, " she continued, in ahurried, tremulous undertone. "You know he came down to Bath; that wasour last meeting; and I felt that something was wrong. Ah, so hard toknow oneself! I wanted to talk to you about it; but then I said tomyself--what can Bertha do but tell me to know my own mind? And that'sjust what I couldn't come to, --to understand my own feelings. I waschanging, I knew that. I dreaded to look into my own thoughts, from dayto day. Above all, I dreaded to sit down and write to him. Oh, thehateful falsity of those letters--Yet what could I do, what could I do?I had no right to give such a blow, unless I felt that anything elsewas utterly, utterly impossible. "

"And at last you did feel it?"

"In Switzerland--yes. It came like a flash of lightning. I was walkingup that splendid valley--you remember my description--up toward theglacier. That morning I had had a letter, naming the very day for ourmarriage, and speaking of the house--your house at Putney--he meant totake. I had said to myself--'It must be; I can do nothing. I haven'tthe courage. ' Then, as I was walking, a sort of horror fell upon me, and made me tremble; and when it passed I saw that, so far from nothaving the courage to break, I should never dare to go through with it. And I went back to the hotel, and sat down and wrote, without anothermoment's thought or hesitation. "

"What else could you have done?" said Bertha, with a sigh of relief. "When it comes to horror and tremblings!"

There was a light in her eye which seemed the precursor of a smile; buther voice was not unsympathetic, and Rosamund knew that one of BerthaCross smiles was worth more in the way of friendship than another'stragic emotion. 

"Have patience with me, " she continued, "whilst I try to explain itall. The worst of my position is, that so many people will know what Ihave done, and so few of them, hardly any one, will understand why. Onecan't talk to people about such things. Even Winnie and father--I'msure they don't really understand--though I'm afraid they're bothrather glad. What a wretched thing it is to be misjudged. I feel sure, Bertha, that it's just this kind of thing that makes a woman sit downand write a novel--where she can speak freely in disguise, and doherself justice. Don't you think so?"

"I shouldn't wonder, " replied the listener, thoughtfully. "But does itreally matter? If you know you're only doing what you must do?"

"But that's only how it seems to me. Another, in my place, would verylikely see the must on the other side. Of course it's a terriblycomplicated thing--a situation like this. I haven't the slightest ideahow one ought to be guided. One could argue and reason all day longabout it--as I have done with myself for weeks past. "

"Try just to tell me the reason which seems to you the strongest, " saidBertha. 

"That's very simple. I thought I loved him, and I find I don't. "

"Exactly. But I hardly see how the change came about. "

"I will try to tell you, " replied Rosamund. "It was that picture, 'Sanctuary, ' that began it. When I first saw it, it gave me a shock. You know how I have always thought of him--an artist living for his ownidea of art, painting just as he liked, what pleased him, withoutcaring for the public taste. I got enthusiastic; and when I saw that heseemed to care for my opinion and my praise--of course all the restfollowed. He told me about his life as an art student--Paris, Rome, allthat; and it was my ideal of romance. He was very poor, sometimes sopoor that he hardly had enough to eat, and this made me proud of him, for I felt sure he could have got money if he would have condescendedto do inferior work. Of course, as I too was poor, we could not thinkof marrying before his position improved. At last he painted'Sanctuary. ' He told me nothing about it. I came and saw it on theeasel, nearly finished. And--this is the shocking thing--I pretended toadmire it. I was astonished, pained--yet I had the worldliness to smileand praise. There's the fault of my character. At that moment, truthand courage were wanted, and I had neither. The dreadful thing is tothink that he degraded himself on my account. If I had said at oncewhat I thought, he would have confessed--would have told me thatimpatience had made him untrue to himself. And from that day; oh, thisis the worst of all, Bertha--he has adapted himself to what he thinksmy lower mind and lower aims; he has consciously debased himself, outof thought for me. Horrible! Of course he believes in his heart that Iwas a hypocrite before. The astonishing thing is that this didn't causehim to turn cold to me. He must have felt that, but somehow he overcameit. All the worse! The very fact that he still cared for me shows howbad my influence has been. I feel that I have wrecked his life, Bertha--and yet I cannot give him my own, to make some poor sort ofamends. "

Bertha was listening with a face that changed from puzzled interest towondering confusion. 

"Good gracious!" she exclaimed when the speaker ceased. "Is it possibleto get into such entanglements of reasoning about what one thinks andfeels? It's beyond me. Oh they're bringing the tea. Perhaps a cup oftea will clear my wits. "

Rosamund at once began to speak of the landscape by Leader, which hungnear them, and continued to do so even after the servant had withdrawn. Her companion was silent, smiling now and then in an absent way. Theysipped tea. 

"The tea is doing me so much good, " Bertha said, "I begin to feel equalto the most complicated reflections. And so you really believe that Mr. Franks is on the way to perdition, and that you are the cause of it?"

Rosamund did not reply. She had half averted her look; her brows wereknit in an expression of trouble; she bit her lower lip. A momentpassed, and--

"Suppose we go into the garden, " she said, rising. "Don't you feel it alittle close here?"

They strolled about the paths. Her companion, seeming to have dismissedfrom mind their subject of conversation, began to talk of Egypt, andthe delight she promised herself there. 

Presently Bertha reverted to the unfinished story. 

"Oh, it doesn't interest you. "

"Doesn't it indeed! Please go on. You had just explained all about'Sanctuary'--which isn't really a bad picture at all. "

"Oh, Bertha!" cried the other in pained protest. "That's your goodnature. You never can speak severely of anybody's work. The picture isshameful, shameful! And its successor, I am too sure, will be worsestill, from what I have heard of it. Oh, I can't bear to think of whatit all means--Now that it's too late, I see what I ought to have done. In spite of everything and everybody I ought to have married him in thefirst year, when I had courage and hope enough to face any hardships. We spoke of it, but he was too generous. What a splendid thing to havestarved with him--to have worked for him whilst he was working for artand fame, to have gone through and that together, and have come outtriumphant! That was a life worth living. But to begin marriage atone's ease on the profits of pictures such as 'Sanctuary'--oh, theshame of it! Do you think I could face the friends who would come tosee me?"

"How many friends, " asked Bertha, "would be aware of your infamy? Icredit myself with a little imagination. But I should never havesuspected the black baseness which had poisoned your soul. "

Again Rosamund bit her lip, and kept a short silence. 

"It only shows, " she said with some abruptness, "that I shall do betternot to speak of it at all, and let people think what they like of me. If even _you_ can't understand. "

Bertha stood still, and spoke in a changed voice. 

"I understand very well--or think I do. I'm perfectly sure that youcould never have broken your engagement unless for the gravestreason--and for me it is quite enough to know that. Many a girl oughtto do this, who never has the courage. Try not to worry aboutexplanations, the thing is done, and there's an end of it. I'm veryglad indeed you're going quite away; it's the best thing possible. Whendo you start?" she added. 

"In three days. --Listen, Bertha, I have something very serious to askof you. It is possible--isn't it?--that he may come to see you someday. If he does, or if by chance you see him alone, and if he speaks ofme, I want you to make him think--you easily can--that what hashappened is all for his good. Remind him how often artists have beenspoilt by marriage, and hint--you surely could--that I am rather toofond of luxury, and that kind of thing. "

Bertha wore an odd smile. 

"Trust me, " she replied, "I will blacken you most effectually. "

"You promise? But, at the same time, you will urge him to be true tohimself, to endure poverty--"

"I don't know about that. Why shouldn't poor Mr. Franks have enough toeat it he can get it?"

"Well--but you promise to help him in the other way? You needn't sayvery bad things; just a smile, a hint--"

"I quite understand, " said Bertha, nodding. 

CHAPTER 13

Warburton had never seen Godfrey Sherwood so restless and excitable asduring these weeks when the business in Little Ailie Street was beingbrought to an end, and the details of the transfer to Bristol werebeing settled. Had it not been inconsistent with all the hopeful factsof the situation, as well as with the man's temper, one would havethought that Godfrey suffered from extreme nervousness; that he livedunder some oppressive anxiety, which it was his constant endeavour tocombat with resolute high spirits. It seemed an odd thing that a manwho had gone through the very real cares and perils of the last fewyears without a sign of perturbation, nay, with the cheeriestequanimity, should let himself be thrown into disorder by the merechange to a more promising state of things. Now and then Warburtonasked himself whether his partner could be concealing some troublesomefact with regard to Applegarth's concern; but he dismissed the idea astoo improbable; Sherwood was far too good a fellow, far tooconscientious a man of business, to involve his friend in obviousrisk--especially since it had been decided that Mrs. Warburton's andher money should go into the affair. The inquiries made by Mr. Turnbullhad results so satisfactory that even the resolute pessimist could notbut grudgingly admit his inability to discover storm-signals. Though asense of responsibility made a new element in his life, which would notlet him sleep quite so soundly as hitherto, Will persuaded himself thathe had but to get to work, and all would be right. 

The impression made upon him by Applegarth himself was very favourable. The fact that the jam manufacturer was a university man, an astronomer, and a musician, had touched Warburton's weak point, and he went down toBristol the first time with an undeniable prejudice at the back of hismind; but this did not survive a day or two's intercourse. Applegarthrecommended himself by an easy and humorous geniality of bearing whichWarburton would have been the last man to resist; he talked of hisaffairs with the utmost frankness. 

"The astonishing thing to me is, " he said, "that I've made thisbusiness pay. I went into it on abstract principle. I knew nothing ofbusiness. At school, I rather think, I learnt something about 'singleand double entry, ' but I had forgotten it all--just as I find myselfforgetting how to multiply and divide, now that I am accustomed to thehigher mathematics. However, I had to earn a little money, somehow, andI thought I'd try jam. And it went by itself, I really don't understandit, mere good luck, I suppose. I hear of fellows who have triedbusiness, and come shocking croppers. Perhaps they were classical mennothing so hopeless as your classic. I beg your pardon; before sayingthat, I ought to have found out whether either of you is a classic. "

The listeners both shook their heads, and laughed. 

"So much the better. An astronomer, it is plain, may manufacture jam; afellow brought up on Greek and Latin verses couldn't possibly. "

They were together at Bristol for a week, then Sherwood received atelegram, and told Warburton that he must return to London immediately. 

"Something that bothers you?" said Will, noting a peculiar tremor onhis friend's countenance. 

"No, no; a private affair; nothing to do with us. You stay on tillSaturday? I might be back in twenty-four hours. "

"Good. Yes; I want to have some more talk with Applegarth about thatadvertising proposal. I don't like to start with quite such a heavyoutlay. "

"Nor I either, " replied Godfrey, his eyes wandering. He paused, bit theend of his moustache, and added. "By the bye, the St. Neots money willbe paid on Saturday, you said?"

"I believe so. Or early next week. "

"That's right. I want to get done. Queer how these details fidget me. Nerves! I ought to have had a holiday this summer. You were wiser. "

The next day Warburton went out with Applegarth to his house some tenmiles south of Bristol, and dined there, and stayed over night. It hadnot yet been settled where he and Sherwood should have their permanentabode; there was a suggestion that they should share a house which wasto let not far from Applegarth's, but Will felt uneasy at the thoughtof a joint tenancy, doubting whether he could live in comfort with anyman. He was vexed at having to leave his flat in Chelsea, which sothoroughly suited his habits and his tastes. 

Warburton and his host talked much of Sherwood. 

"When I first met him, " said the jam-manufacturer, "he struck me as thequeerest man of business--except myself--that I had ever seen. Hetalked about Norse sagas, witchcraft, and so on, and when he beganabout business, I felt uneasy. Of course I know him better now. "

"There are not many steadier and shrewder men than Sherwood, " remarkedWill. 

"I feel sure of that, " replied the other. And he added, as if tofortify himself in the opinion: "Yes, I feel sure of it. "

"In spite of all his energy, never rash. "

"No, no; I can see that. Yet, " added Applegarth, again as if forself-confirmation, "he has energy of an uncommon kind. "

"That will soon show itself, " replied Warburton, smiling. "He'ssurveying the field like a general before battle. "

"Yes. No end of bright ideas. Some of them--perhaps--not immediatelypracticable. "

"Oh, Sherwood looks far ahead. "

Applegarth nodded, and for a minute or two each was occupied with hisown reflections. 

CHAPTER 14

Godfrey having telegraphed that he must remain in town, Warburton soonjoined him. His partner was more cheerful and sanguine than ever; hehad cleared off numberless odds and ends of business; there remainedlittle to be done before the day, a week hence, appointed for thesignature of the new deed, for which purpose Applegarth would come toLondon. Mr. Turnbull, acting with his wonted caution, had at lengthconcluded the sale of Mrs. Warburton's property, and on the day afterhis return, Will received from St. Neots a letter containing a chequefor four thousand pounds! All his own available capital was already inthe hands of Sherwood; a sum not much greater in amount than thatinvested by his mother and sister. Sherwood, for his part, put insixteen thousand, with regrets that it was all he had at command justnow; before long, he might see his way greatly to increase theircapital, but they had enough for moderate enterprise in the meanwhile. 

Not half an hour after the post which brought him the cheque, Warburtonwas surprised by a visit from his friend. 

"I thought you wouldn't have left home yet, " said Godfrey, with anervous laugh. "I had a letter from Applegarth last night, which Iwanted you to see at once. "

He handed it, and Will, glancing over the sheet, found only anunimportant discussion of a small detail. 

"Well, that's all right, " he said, "but I don't see that it need havebrought you from Wimbledon to Chelsea before nine o'clock in themorning. Aren't you getting a little overstrung, old man?"

Godfrey looked it. His face was noticeably thinner than a month ago, and his eyes had a troubled fixity such as comes of intensepreoccupation. 

"Daresay I am, " he admitted with a show of careless good-humour. "Can'tget much sleep lately. "

"But why? What the deuce is there to fuss about? Sit down and smoke acigar. I suppose you've had breakfast?"

"No--yes, I mean, yes, of course, long ago. "

Will did not believe the corrected statement. He gazed at his friendcuriously and with some anxiety. 

"It's an unaccountable thing that you should fret your gizzard outabout this new affair, which seems all so smooth, when you took theAilie Street worries without turning a hair. "

"Stupid--nerves out of order, " muttered Godfrey, as he crossed, uncrossed, recrossed his legs, and bit at a cigar, as if he meant tobreakfast on it. "I must get away for a week or two as soon as we'vesigned. "

"Yes, but look here. " Warburton stood before him, hands on hips, regarding him gravely, and speaking with decision. "I don't quiteunderstand you. You're not like yourself. Is there anything you'rekeeping from me?"

"Nothing--nothing whatever, I assure you, Warburton. "

But Will was only half satisfied. 

"You have no doubts of Applegarth?"

"Doubts!" cried the other. "Not a shadow of doubt of any sort, Ideclare and protest. No, no; it's entirely my own idiotic excitability. I can't account for it. Just don't notice it, there's a good fellow. "

"There was a pause. Will glanced again at Applegarth's note, whilstSherwood went, as usual, to stand before the bookcase, and run his eyealong the shelves. 

"Anything new in my way?" he asked. "I want a good long quiet read. --Palgrave's _Arabia_! Where did you pick up that? One of the mostglorious books I know. That and Layard's _Early Travels_ sent me toheaven for a month, once upon a time. You don't know Layard? I mustgive it to you. The essence of romance! As good in its way as the_Arabian Nights_. "

Thus he talked on for a quarter of an hour, and it seemed to relievehim. Returning to matters of the day, he asked, half abruptly:

"Have you the St. Neots cheque yet?"

"Came this morning. "

"Payable to Sherwood Brothers, I suppose?" said Godfrey. "Right. It'smost convenient so. "

Will handed him the cheque, and he gazed at it as if with peculiarsatisfaction. He sat smiling, cheque in one hand, cigar in the other, until Warburton asked what he was thinking over. 

"Nothing--nothing. Well, I suppose I'd better take it with me; I'm onmy way to the bank. "

As Will watched the little slip of paper disappear into his friend'spocket-book, he had an unaccountable feeling of disquiet. Nothing couldbe more unworthy than distrust of Godfrey Sherwood; nothing lessconsonant with all his experience of the man; and, had the money beenhis, he would have handed it over as confidently as when, in fact, dealing with his own capital the other day. But the sense ofresponsibility to others was a new thing to which he could not yetaccustom himself. It occurred to him for the first time that there wasno necessity for accumulating these funds in the hands of Sherwood; hemight just as well have retained his own money and this cheque untilthe day of the signing of the new deed. To be sure, he had only toreflect a moment to see the foolishness of his misgiving; yet, had hethought of it before--

He, too, was perhaps a little overstrung in the nerves. Not for thefirst time, he mentally threw a malediction at business, and all itssordid appurtenances. 

A change came over Sherwood. His smile grew more natural; his eye lostits fixity; he puffed at his cigar with enjoyment. 

"What news of Franks?" were his next words. 

"Nothing very good, " answered Will, frowning. "He seems to be stillplaying the fool. I've seen him only once in the last fortnight, andthen it was evident he'd been drinking. I couldn't help saying a plainword or two, and he turned sullen. I called at his place last night, but he wasn't there; his landlady tells me he's been out of townseveral times lately, and he's done no work. "

"Has the girl gone?"

"A week ago. I have a letter from Ralph Pomfret. The good old chapworries about this affair; so does Mrs. Pomfret. He doesn't say itplainly, but I suspect Franks has been behaving theatrically down atAshstead; it's possible he went there in the same state in which I sawhim last. Pomfret would have done well to punch his head, but I've nodoubt they've stroked and patted and poor-fellow'd him--the very worstthing for Franks. "

"Or for any man, " remarked Sherwood. 

"Worse for him than for most. I wish I had more of the gift ofbrutality; I see a way in which I might do him good; but it goesagainst the grain with me. "

"That I can believe, " said Godfrey, with his pleasantest look and nod. 

"I was afraid he might somehow scrape together money enough to pursueher to Egypt. Perhaps he's trying for that. The Pomfrets want me to godown to Ashstead and have a talk with them about him. Whether hemanaged to see the girl before she left England, I don't know. "

"After all, he _has_ been badly treated, " said Sherwood sympathetically. 

"Well, yes, he has. But a fellow must have common sense, most of allwith regard to women. I'm rather afraid Franks might think it a finething to go to the devil because he's been jilted. It isn't fashionablenowadays; there might seem to be a sort of originality about it. "

They talked for a few minutes of business matters, and Sherwood brisklywent his way. 

Four days passed. Warburton paid a visit to the Pomfrets, and had fromthem a confirmation of all he suspected regarding Norbert Franks. Theartist's behaviour at Ashstead had been very theatrical indeed; hetalked much of suicide, preferably by the way of drink, and, whendissuaded from this, with a burst of tears--veritable tears--beggedRalph Pomfret to lend him money enough to go to Cairo; on which point, also, he met with kindliest opposition. Thereupon, he had raged forhalf an hour against some treacherous friend, unnamed. Who this couldbe, the Pomfrets had no idea. Warburton, though he affected equalignorance, could not doubt but that it was himself, and he grewinwardly angry. Franks had been to Bath, and had obtained a privateinterview with Winifred Elvan, in which (Winifred wrote to her aunt) hehad demeaned himself very humbly and pathetically, first of allimploring the sister's help with Rosamund, and, when she declared shecould do nothing, entreating to be told whether or not he was ousted bya rival. Rather impatient with the artist's follies than troubled abouthis sufferings, Will came home again. He wrote a brief, not unfriendlyletter to Franks, urging him to return to his better mind--thehalf-disdainful, half-philosophical resignation which he seemed to haveattained a month ago. The answer to this was a couple of lines;"Thanks. Your advice, no doubt, is well meant, but I had rather nothave it just now. Don't let us meet for the present. " Will shrugged hisshoulders, and tried to forget all about the affair. 

He did not see Sherwood, but had a note from him written in highspirits. Applegarth would be in town two days hence, and all three wereto dine at his hotel. Having no occupation, Warburton spent most of histime in walking about London; but these rambles did not give him thewonted pleasure, and though at night he was very tired, he did notsleep well. An inexplicable nervousness interfered with all his habitsof mind and body He was on the point of running down to St. Neots, toget through the last day of intolerable idleness, when the morning postagain brought a letter from Sherwood. 

"Confound the fellow!" he muttered, as he tore open the envelope. "Whatelse can he have to say? No infernal postponement, I hope--"

He read the first line and drew himself up like a man pierced with pain. 

"My dear Warburton"--thus wrote his partner, in a hand less legiblethan of wont--"I have such bad news for you that I hardly know how totell it. If I dared, I would come to you at once, but I simply have notthe courage to face you until you know the worst, and have had time toget accustomed to it. It is seven o'clock; an hour ago I learnt thatall our money is lost--all yours, all that from St. Neots, allmine--every penny I have. I have been guilty of unpardonable folly--howexplain my behaviour? The truth is, after the settlement in LittleAilie Street; I found myself much worse off than I had expected. I wentinto the money market, and made a successful deal. Counting on beingable to repeat this, I guaranteed the sixteen thousand for Bristol; butthe second time I lost. So it has gone on; all these last weeks I havebeen speculating, winning and losing. Last Tuesday, when I came to seeyou, I had about twelve thousand, and hoped somehow to make up thedeficiency. As the devil would have it, that same morning I met a Cityacquaintance, who spoke of a great _coup_ to be made by any one who hadsome fifteen thousand at command. It meant an immediate profit of 25per cent. Like a fool, I was persuaded--as you will see when I go intodetails, the thing looked horribly tempting. I put it all--every pennythat lay at our bank in the name of Sherwood Bros. And now I learn thatthe house I trusted has smashed. It's in the papers thisevening--Biggles, Thorpe and Biggles--you'll see it. I dare not ask youto forgive me. Of course I shall at once take steps to raise the moneyowing to you, and hope to be able to do that soon, but it's all overwith the Bristol affair. I shall come to see you at twelve to-morrow. 

"Yours, "G. F. SHERWOOD. "

CHAPTER 15

"After all, there's something in presentiment. "

This was the first thought that took shape in Will's whirling mind. Thesecond was, that he might rationally have foreseen disaster. All thepoints of strangeness which had struck him in Sherwood's behaviour cameback now with such glaring significance that he accused himself ofinconceivable limpness in having allowed things to go their way--aboveall in trusting Godfrey with the St. Neots cheque. On this moment ofpainful lucidity followed blind rage. Why, what a grovelling imbecilewas this fellow! To plunge into wild speculation, on the word of someCity shark, with money not his own! But could one credit the story? Wasit not more likely that Sherwood had got involved in some cunningthievery which he durst not avow? Perhaps he was a mere liar andhypocrite. That story of the ten thousand pounds he had lent tosomebody--how improbable it sounded; why might he not have invented it, to strengthen confidence at a critical moment? The incredible basenessof the man! He, who knew well all that depended upon the safeinvestment of the St. Neots money--to risk it in this furiouslyreckless way. In all the records of City scoundrelism, was there ablacker case?

Raging thus, Warburton became aware that Mrs. Hopper spoke to him. Shehad just laid breakfast, and, as usual when she wished to begin aconversation, had drawn back to the door, where she paused. 

"That Boxon, the grocer, has had a bad accident, sir. "

"Boxon?--grocer?"

"In the Fulham Road, sir; him as Allchin was with. "

"Ah!"

Heedless of her master's gloomy abstraction, Mrs. Hopper continued. Sherelated that Boxon had been at certain races where he had lost moneyand got drunk; driving away in a trap, he had run into something, andbeen thrown out, with serious injuries, which might prove fatal. 

"So much the worse for him, " muttered Warburton. "I've no pity to sparefor fools and blackguards. "

"I should think not, indeed sir. I just mentioned it, sir, becauseAllchin was telling us about it last night. He and his wife looked into see my sister, Liza, and they both said they never see such a changein anybody. And they said how grateful we ought to be to you, sir, andthat I'm sure we are, for Liza'd never have been able to go awaywithout your kindness. "

Listening as if this talk sounded from a vague distance, Warburton wassuddenly reminded of what had befallen himself; for as yet he hadthought only of his mother and sister. He was ruined. Some two or threehundred pounds, his private bank account, represented all he had in theworld, and all prospect of making money had been taken away from him. Henceforth, small must be his charities. If he gained his own living, he must count himself lucky; nothing more difficult than for a man ofhis age and position, unexpectedly cut adrift, to find work andpayment. By good fortune, his lease of this flat came to an end atMichaelmas, and already he had given notice that he did not mean torenew. Mrs. Hopper knew that he was on the point of leaving London, andmot a little lamented it, for to her the loss would be serious indeed. Warburton's habitual generosity led her to hope for some signalbenefaction ere his departure; perhaps on that account she wasspecially emphatic in gratitude for her sister's restoration to health. 

"We was wondering, sir, " she added, now having wedged herself betweendoor and jamb, "whether you'd be so kind as to let my sister Liza seeyou just for a minute or two, to thank you herself as I'm sure sheought? She could come any time as wouldn't be ill-convenient to you. "

"I'm extremely busy, Mrs. Hopper, " Will replied. "Please tell yoursister I'm delighted to hear she's done so well at Southend, and I hopeto see her some day; but not just now. By the bye, I'm not going outthis morning, so don't wait, when you've finished. "

By force of habit he ate and drank. Sherwood's letter lay open beforehim; he read it through again and again. But he could not fix histhoughts upon it. He found himself occupied with the story of Boxon, wondering whether Boxon would live or die. Boxon, the grocer--why, whatan ass a man must be, a man with a good grocery business, to come togrief over drink and betting! Shopkeeping--what a sound and safe lifeit was; independent, as far as any money-earning life can be so. Theremust be a pleasure in counting the contents of one's till every night. Boxon! Of course, a mere brute. There came into Will's memory thepicture of Boxon landed on the pavement one night, by Allchin's fist ortoe--and of a sudden he laughed. When he had half-smoked his pipe, comparative calmness fell upon him. Sherwood spoke of at once raisingthe money he owed, and, if he succeeded in doing so, much of themischief would be undone. The four thousand pounds might be safelyinvested somewhere, and life at The Haws would go on as usual. But wasit certain that Sherwood could "raise" such sums, being himself, as hedeclared, penniless? This disclosure showed him in an unpleasantly newlight, as anything but the cautious man of business, the loyal friend, he had seemed to be. Who could put faith in a money-market gambler?Why, there was no difference to speak of between him and Boxon. And ifhis promise proved futile--what was to be done?

For a couple of hours, Will stared at this question. When the clock onhis mantelpiece struck eleven, he happened to notice it, and wassurprised to find how quickly time had passed. By the bye, he had neverthought of looking at his newspaper, though Sherwood referred him tothat source of information on the subject of Biggles, Thorpe andBiggles. Yes, here it was. A firm of brokers; unfortunate speculations;failure of another house--all the old story. As likely as not, thefinancial trick of a cluster of thieves. Will threw the paper aside. Hehad always scorned that cunning of the Stock Exchange, now he thoughtof it with fiery hatred. 

Another hour passed in feverish waiting; then, just at mid-day, a knocksounded at the outer door. Anything but a loud knock; anything but theconfident summons of a friend. Will went to open. There stood GodfreySherwood, shrunk together like a man suffering from cold; he scarcelyraised his eyes. 

Will's purpose, on finding Sherwood at his door, was to admit himwithout a word, or any form of greeting; but the sight of that changedface and pitiful attitude overcame him; he offered a hand, and felt itwarmly pressed. 

They were together in the room; neither had spoken. Will pointed to achair, but did not himself sit down. 

"I suppose it's all true, Warburton, " began the other in a low voice, "but I can't believe it yet. I seem to be walking in a nightmare; andwhen you gave me your hand at the door, I thought for a second that I'djust woke up. "

"Sit down, " said Will, "and let's have it out. Give me the details. "

"That's exactly what I wish to do. Of course I haven't been to bed, andI've spent the night in writing out a statement of all my dealings forthe past fifteen months. Here it is--and here are my pass-books. "

Will took the paper, a half-sheet of foolscap, one side almost coveredwith figures. At a glance he saw that the statement was perfectlyintelligible. The perusal of a few lines caused him to look up inastonishment. 

"You mean to say that between last September and the end of the yearyou lost twenty-five thousand pounds?"

"I did. "

"And you mean to say that you still went on with your gambling?"

"Things were getting bad in Ailie Street, you know. "

"And you did your best to make them desperate. " Sherwood's head seemedtrying to bury itself between his shoulders; his feet hid themselvesunder the chair, he held his hat in a way suggestive of the man whocomes to beg. 

"The devil of the City got hold of me, " he replied, with a miserableattempt to look Warburton in the face. 

"Yes, " said Will, "that's clear. Then, a month ago, you reallypossessed only nine thousand pounds?"

"That was all I had left, out of nearly forty thousand. "

"What astonishes me is, that you won from time to time. "

"I did!" exclaimed Godfrey, with sudden animation. "Look at the fifthof February--that was a great day! It's that kind of thing that temptsa man on. Afterwards I lost steadily but I might have won any day. AndI had to make a good deal, if we were to come to terms with Applegarth. I nearly did it. I was as cautious as a man could be--content withsmall things. If only I hadn't been pressed for time! It was only thewant of time that made me use your money. Of course, it was criminal. Don't think I wish to excuse myself for one moment. Absolutelycriminal. I knew what was at stake. But I thought the thing was sure. It promised at the least twenty-five per cent. We should have startedbrilliantly at Bristol--several thousands for advertisement, beyond ourestimate. I don't think the Biggles people were dishonest--"

"You don't _think_ so!" interrupted Will, contemptuously. "If there'sany doubt we know on which side it weighs. Just tell me the facts. Whatwas the security?"

Sherwood replied with a brief, clear, and obviously honest account ofthe speculation into which he had been drawn. To the listener it seemedastounding that any responsible man should be lured by such gambler'schance; he could hardly find patience to point out the manifest risksso desperately incurred. And Sherwood admitted the full extent of hisfolly; he could only repeat that he had acted on an irresistibleimpulse, to be explained, though not defended, by the embarrassment inwhich he found himself. 

"Thank Heaven, this is over!" he exclaimed at last, passing hishandkerchief over a moist forehead. "I don't know how I got throughlast night. More than once, I thought it would be easier to kill myselfthan to come and face you. But there was the certainty that I couldmake good your loss. I may be able to do so very soon. I've writtento--"

He checked himself on the point of uttering a name; then with eyesdown, reflected for a moment. 

"No; I haven't the right to tell you, though I should like to, to giveyou confidence. It's the story of the ten thousand pounds, youremember? When I lent that money, I promised never to let any one know. Even if I can't realise your capital at once, I can pay you goodinterest until the money's forthcoming. That would be the same thing toyou?"

Warburton gave him a keen look, and said gravely--

"Let's understand each other, Sherwood. Have you any income at all?"

"None whatever now, except the interest on the ten thousand; andthat--well, I'm sorry to say it hasn't been paid very regularly. But infuture it must be--it _shall_ be. Between two and three thousand areowing to me for arrears. "

"It's a queer story. "

"I know it is, " admitted Godfrey. "But I hope you don't doubt my word?"

"No, I don't--What's to be done about Applegarth?"

"I must see him, " replied Sherwood with a groan. "Of course you have nopart in the miserable business. I must write at once, and then go andface him. "

"Of course I shall go with you. "

"You will? That's kind of you. Luckily he's a civilised man, not one ofthe City brutes one might have had to deal with. "

"We must hope he'll live up to his reputation, " said Warburton, withthe first smile, and that no cheery one, which had risen to his lipsduring this interview. 

From that point the talk became easier. All the aspects of theirposition were considered, without stress of feeling, for Will hadrecovered his self-control; and Sherwood, soothed by the sense ofhaving discharged an appalling task, tended once more to sanguinethoughts. To be sure, neither of them could see any immediate way outof the gulf in which they found themselves; all hope of resumingbusiness was at an end; the only practical question was, how to earn aliving; but both were young men, and neither had ever known privation;it was difficult for them to believe all at once that they were reallyface to face with that grim necessity which they had thought of asconquering others, but never them. Certain unpleasant steps, however, had at once to be taken. Sherwood must give up his house at Wimbledon;Warburton must look about for a cheap lodging into which to remove atMichaelmas. Worse still, and more urgent, was the duty of making knownto Mrs. Warburton what had happened. 

"I suppose I must go down at once, " said Will gloomily. 

"I see no hurry, " urged the other. "As a matter of fact, your motherand sister will lose nothing. You undertook to pay them a minimum ofthree per cent. On their money, and that you can do; I guarantee youthat, in any case. "

Will mused. If indeed it were possible to avoid the disclosure--? Butthat would involve much lying, a thing, even in a good cause, little tohis taste. Still, when he thought of his mother's weak health, and howshe might be affected by the news of this catastrophe, he beganseriously to ponder the practicability of well-meaning deception. That, of course, must depend upon their difficulties with Applegarthremaining strictly private; and even so, could Mr. Turnbull's scent fordisaster be successfully reckoned with?

"Don't do anything hastily, Warburton, I beg of you, " continued theother. "Things are never so bad as they look at first sight. Wait tillI have seen--you know who. I might even be able to--but it's better notto promise. Wait a day or two, at all events. "

And this Warburton resolved to do; for, if the worst came to the worst, he had some three hundred pounds of his own still in the bank, and socould assure, for two years at all events, the income of which hismother and Jane had absolute need. For himself, he should find some wayof earning bread and cheese; he could no longer stand on his dignity, and talk of independence, that was plain. 

When at length his calamitous partner had gone, he made an indifferentlunch on the cold meat he found in Mrs. Hopper's precincts, and thendecided that he had better take a walk; to sit still and brood was theworst possible way of facing such a crisis. There was no friend withwhom he could discuss the situation; none whose companionship wouldjust now do him any particular good. Better to walk twenty miles, andtire himself out, and see how things looked after a good night's sleep, So he put on his soft hat, and took his walking-stick, and slammed thedoor behind him. Some one was coming up the stairs; sunk in his ownthoughts he paid no heed, even when the other man stood in front ofhim. Then a familiar voice claimed his attention. 

"Do you want to cut me, Warburton?"

CHAPTER 16

Warburton stopped, and looked into the speaker's face, as if he hardlyrecognised him. 

"You're going out, " added Franks, turning round. "I won't keep you. "

And he seemed about to descend the stairs quickly. But Will at lengthfound voice. 

"Come in. I was thinking of something, and didn't see you. "

They entered, and passed as usual into the sitting-room, but not withthe wonted exchange of friendly words. The interval since their lastmeeting seemed to have alienated them more than the events whichpreceded it. Warburton was trying to smile, but each glance he took atthe other's face made his lips less inclined to relax from a certainseverity rarely seen in them; and Franks succeeded but ill in hisattempt to lounge familiarly, with careless casting of the eye this wayand that. It was he who broke silence. 

"I've found a new drink--gin and laudanum. First rate for the nerves. "

"Ah!" replied Warburton gravely. "My latest tipple is oil of vitriolwith a dash of strychnine. Splendid pick-me-up. "

Franks laughed loudly, but unmirthfully. 

"No, but I'm quite serious, " he continued. "It's the only thing thatkeeps me going. If I hadn't found the use of laudanum in small doses, Ishould have tried a very large one before now. "

His language had a note of bravado, and his attitude betrayed theself-conscious actor, but there was that in his countenance which couldonly have come of real misery. The thin cheeks, heavy-lidded andbloodshot eyes, ill-coloured lips, made a picture anything butagreeable to look upon; and quite in keeping with it was the shabbinessof his garb. After an intent and stern gaze at him, Will asked bluntly:

"When did you last have a bath?"

"Bath? Good God--how do I know?"

And again Franks laughed in the key of stage recklessness. 

"I should advise a Turkish, " said Will, "followed by rhubarb of thesame country. You'd feel vastly better next day. "

"The remedies, " answered Franks, smiling disdainfully, "of one who hasnever been through moral suffering. "

"Yet efficacious, even morally, I can assure you. And, by the bye, Iwant to know when you're going to finish 'The Slummer. '"

"Finish it? Why, never! I could as soon turn to and build a bridge overthe Thames. "

"What do you mean? I suppose you have to earn your living?"

"I see no necessity for it. What do I care, whether I live or not?"

"Well, then, I am obliged to ask whether you feel it incumbent uponyou--to pay your debts?"

The last words came out with a jerk, after a little pause which provedwhat it cost Warburton to speak them. To save his countenance, heassumed an unnatural grimness of feature, staring Franks resolutely inthe face. And the result was the artist's utter subjugation; heshuffled, dropped his head, made confused efforts to reply. 

"Of course I shall do so--somehow, " he muttered at length. 

"Have you any other way--honest way--except by working?"

"Very well, then, I'll find work. Real work. Not that cursed daubing, which it turns my stomach to think of. "

Warburton paused a moment, then said kindly:

"That's the talk of a very sore and dazed man. Before long, you'll beyourself again, and you'll go back to your painting with an appetiteAnd the sooner you try the better. I don't particularly like dunningpeople for money, as I think you know, but, when you can pay that debtof yours, I shall be glad. I've had a bit of bad luck since last we saweach other. "

Franks gazed in heavy-eyed wonder, uncertain whether to take this as ajoke or not. 

"Bad luck? What sort of bad luck?"

"Why, neither on the turf nor at Monte Carlo. But a speculation hasgone wrong, and I'm adrift. I shall have to leave this flat. How I'mgoing to keep myself alive, I don't know yet. The Bristol affair is ofcourse off. I'm as good as penniless, and a hundred pounds or so willcome very conveniently, whenever you can manage it. "

"Are you serious, Warburton?"

"Perfectly. "

"You've really lost everything? You've got to leave this flat becauseyou can't afford it?"

"That, my boy, is the state of the case. "

"By Jove! No wonder you didn't see me as I came upstairs. What thedeuce! You in Queer Street! I never dreamt of such a thing as apossibility. I've always thought of you as a flourishingcapitalist--sound as the Mansion House. Why didn't you begin by tellingme this? I'm about as miserable as a fellow can be, but I should neverhave bothered you with my miseries. --Warburton in want of money? Why, the idea is grotesque; I can't get hold of it. I came to you as men goto a bank. Of course, I meant to pay it all, some day, but you were sogenerous and so rich, I never thought there would be any hurry. I'mastounded--I'm floored!"

With infinite satisfaction, Warburton saw the better man rising againin his friend, noted the change of countenance, of bearing, of tone. 

"You see, " he said, with a nod and a smile, "that you've no choice butto finish 'The Slummer!'"

Franks looked about him uneasily, fretfully. 

"Either that--or something else, " he muttered. 

"No--_that_! It'll bring you two or three hundred pounds without muchdelay. "

"I daresay it would. But if you knew how I loathe and curse the verysight of the thing--Why I haven't burnt it I don't know. "

"Probably, " said Will, "because in summer weather you take your gin andlaudanum cold. "

This time the artist's laugh was more genuine. 

"The hideous time I have been going through!" he continued. "It's nouse trying to give you an idea of it. Of course you'd say it was alldamned foolery. Well, I shan't go through it again, that's onesatisfaction. I've done with women. One reason why I loathe the thoughtof going on with that picture is because I still have the girl's headto put in. But I'll do it. I'll go back and get to work at once. If Ican't find a model, I'll fake the head--get it out of some woman'spaper where the fashions are illustrated; that'll do very well. I'll goand see how the beastly thing looks. It's turned against the wall, andI wonder I haven't put my boot through it. "

CHAPTER 17

Warburton waited for a quarter of an hour after the artist had gone, then set out for his walk. The result of this unexpected conversationwith Franks was excellent; the foolish fellow seemed to have recoveredhis common sense. But Will felt ashamed of himself. Of course he hadacted solely with a view to the other's good, seeing no hope but thisof rescuing Franks from the slough in which he wallowed; nevertheless, he was stung with shame. For the first time in his life he had askedrepayment of money lent to a friend. And he had done the thingblunderingly, without tact. For the purpose in view, it would have beenenough to speak of his own calamity; just the same effect would havebeen produced on Franks. He saw this now, and writhed under the senseof his grossness. The only excuse he could urge for himself was thatFranks' behaviour provoked and merited rough handling. Still, he mighthave had perspicacity enough to understand that the artist was not sosunk in squalor as he pretended. 

"Just like me, " he growled to himself, with a nervous twitching of theface. "I've no presence of mind. I see the right thing when it's toolate, and when I've made myself appear a bounder. How many thousandtimes have I blundered in this way! A man like me ought to livealone--as I've a very fair chance of doing in future. "

His walk did him no good, and on his return he passed a black evening. With Mrs. Hopper, who came as usual to get dinner for him, he heldlittle conversation; in a few days he would have to tell her what hadbefallen him, or invent some lie to account for the change in hisarrangements, and this again tortured Will's nerves. In one sense ofthe word, no man was less pretentious; but his liberality of thoughtand behaviour consisted with a personal pride which was very much atthe mercy of circumstance. Even as he could not endure subjection, sodid he shrink from the thought of losing dignity in the eyes of hissocial inferiors. Mere poverty and lack of ease did not frighten him atall; he had hardly given a thought as yet to that aspect of misfortune. What most of all distressed his imagination (putting aside thought ofhis mother and sister) was the sudden fall from a position of genialauthority, of beneficent command, with all the respect and gratitudeand consideration attaching thereto. He could do without personalcomforts, if need were, but it pained him horribly to think of being nolonger a patron and a master. With a good deal more philosophy than theaverage man, and vastly more benevolence, he could not attain to thehumility which would have seen in this change of fortune a meresurrender of privileges perhaps quite unjustifiable. Social grades werean inseparable part of his view of life; he recognised the existence ofhis superiors--though resolved to have as little to do with them aspossible, and took it as a matter of course that multitudes of menshould stand below his level. To imagine himself an object of pity forMrs. Hopper and Allchin and the rest of them wrought upon his bile, disordered his digestion. 

He who had regarded so impatiently the trials of Norbert Franks now hadto go through an evil time, with worse results upon his temper, hishealth, and whole being, than he would have thought conceivable. For awhole fortnight he lived in a state of suspense and forced idleness, which helped him to understand the artist's recourse to gin andlaudanum. The weather was magnificent, but for him no sun rose in thesky. If he walked about London, he saw only ugliness and wretchedness, his eyes seeming to have lost the power of perceiving other things. Every two or three days he heard from Sherwood, who wrote that he wasdoing his utmost, and continued to hold out hope that he would soonhave money: but these letters were not reassuring. The disagreeableinterview with Applegarth had passed off better than might have beenexpected. Though greatly astonished, and obviously in some doubt as tothe facts of the matter, Applegarth behaved as a gentleman, resignedall claims upon the defaulters, and brought the affair to a decentclose as quickly as possible. But Warburton came away with a face soyellow that he seemed on the point of an attack of jaundice. For him tobe the object of another man's generous forbearance was something newand intolerable. Before parting with Sherwood, he spoke to himbitterly, all but savagely. A few hours later, of course, repentancecame upon him, and he wrote to ask pardon. An evil time. 

At length Sherwood came to Chelsea, having written to ask for ameeting. Will's forebodings were but too well justified. The disastrousman came only to say that all his efforts had failed. His debtor forten thousand pounds was himself in such straits that he could only liveby desperate expedients, and probably would not be able to pay a pennyof interest this year. 

"Happily, " said Sherwood, "his father's health is breaking. One isobliged to talk in this brutal way, you know. At the father's death itwill be all right; I shall then have my legal remedy, if there's needof it. To take any step of that sort now would be ruinous; my friendwould be cut off with a shilling, if the affair came to his father'sears. "

"So this is how we stand, " said Warburton, grimly. "It's all over. "

Sherwood laid on the table a number of bank-notes, saying simply:

"There's two hundred and sixty pounds--the result of the sale of myfurniture and things. Will you use that and trust me a little longer?"

Warburton writhed in his chair. 

"What have you to live upon?" he asked with eyes downcast. 

"Oh, I shall get on all right. I've one or two ideas. "

"But this is all the money you have?"

"I've kept about fifty pounds, " answered the other, "out of which I canpay my debts--they're small--and the rent of my house for this quarter. "

Warburton pushed back the notes. 

"I can't take it--you know I can't. "

"You must. "

"How the devil are you going to live?" cried Will, in exasperation. 

"I shall find a way, " replied Sherwood with an echo of his oldconfident tone. "I need a little time to look about me, that's all, There's a relative of mine, an old fellow who lives comfortably inNorth Wales, and who invites me down every two or three years. The bestthing will be for me to go and spend a short time with him, and get mynerves into order--I'm shaky, there's no disguising it. I haven'texhausted all the possibilities of raising money; there's hope still inone or two directions; if I get a little quietness and rest I shall beable to think things out more clearly Don't you think this justifiable?"

As to the money he remained inflexible. Very reluctantly Warburtonconsented to keep this sum, giving a receipt in form. 

"You haven't said anything to Mrs. Warburton yet?" asked Sherwoodnervously. 

"Not yet, " muttered Will. 

"I wish you could postpone it a little longer. Could you--do youthink--without too much strain of conscience? Doesn't it seem apity--when any day may enable me to put things right?"

Will muttered again that he would think of it; that assuredly hepreferred not to disclose the matter if it could decently be keptsecret. And on this Sherwood took his leave, going away with a brighterface than he had brought to the interview; whilst Will remainedbrooding gloomily, his eyes fixed on the bank-notes, in an unconsciousstare. 

Little of a man of business as he was, Warburton knew very well thatthings at the office were passing in a flagrantly irregular way: heknew that any one else in his position would have put this seriousaffair into legal hands, if only out of justice to Sherwood himself. More than once he had thought of communicating with Mr. Turnbull, butshame withheld him. It seemed improbable, too, that the solicitor wouldconnive at keeping his friends at The Haws ignorant of what hadbefallen them, and with every day that passed Will felt more disposedto hide that catastrophe, if by any means that were possible. Alreadyhe had half committed himself to this deception, having written to hismother (without mention of any other detail) that he might, after all, continue to live in London, where Applegarth's were about to establisha warehouse. The question was how; if he put aside all the money he hadfor payment of pretended dividend to his mother and sister, how, inthat case, was he himself to live? At the thought of going aboutapplying for clerk's work, or anything of that kind, cold water floweddown his back; rather than that, he would follow Allchin's example, andturn porter--an independent position compared with bent-backed slaveryon an office-stool. Some means of earning money he must find withoutdelay. To live on what he had, one day longer than could be helped, would be sheer dishonesty. Sherwood might succeed in bringing him a fewhundreds--of the ten thousand Will thought not at all, so fantastic didthe whole story sound--but that would be merely another smallinstalment of the sum due to the unsuspecting victims at St. Neots. Strictly speaking, he owned not a penny; his very meals to-day were atthe expense of his mother and Jane. This thought goaded him. His sleepbecame a mere nightmare; his waking, a dry-throated misery. 

In spite of loathing and dread, he began to read the thick-serriedcolumns of newspaper advertisement, Wanted! Wanted! Wanted! Wants bythe thousand; but many more those of the would-be employed than thoseof the would-be employers, and under the second heading not one in ahundred that offered him the slightest hint or hope. Wanted! Wanted. Toglance over these columns is like listening to the clamour of ahunger-driven multitude; the ears sing, the head turns giddy. After aquarter of an hour of such search, Will flung the paper aside, andstamped like a madman about his room. A horror of life seized him; heunderstood, with fearful sympathy, the impulse of those who, ratherthan be any longer hustled in this howling mob dash themselves todestruction. 

He thought over the list of his friends. Friends--what man has morethan two or three? At this moment he knew of no one who wished him wellwho could be of the slightest service. His acquaintances were of coursemore numerous. There lay on his table two invitations justreceived--the kind of invitation received by every man who does notlive the life of a hermit. But what human significance had they? Not aname rose in his mind which symbolised helpfulness. True, that might beto some extent his own fault; the people of whom he saw most were suchas needed, not such as could offer, aid. He thought of Ralph Pomfret. There, certainly, a kindly will would not be lacking, but how could heworry with his foolish affairs a man on whom he had no shadow of claim?No: he stood alone. It was a lesson in social science such as readingcould never have afforded him. His insight into the order of a man'sworld had all at once been marvellously quickened, the scope of hisreflections incredibly extended. Some vague consciousness of this nowand then arrested him in his long purposeless walks; he began to beaware of seeing common things with new eyes. But the perception wasakin to fear; he started and looked nervously about, as if suddenlyaware of some peril. 

One afternoon he was on his way home from a westward trudge, ploddingalong the remoter part of Fulham Road, when words spoken by a womanwhom he passed caught his ears. 

"See 'ere! The shutters is up. Boxon must be dead. "

Boxon? How did he come to know that name? He slackened his pace, reflecting. Why, Boxon was the name of the betting and drinking grocer, with whom Allchin used to be. He stopped, and saw a group of three orfour women staring at the closed shop. Didn't Mrs. Hopper say thatBoxon had been nearly killed in a carriage accident? Doubtless he wasdead. 

He walked on, but before he had gone a dozen yards, stopped abruptly, turned, crossed to the other side of the road, and went back till hestood opposite the closed shop. The name of the tradesman in great giltletters proved that there was no mistake. He examined the building;there were two storys above the shop; the first seemed to be used forstorage; white blinds at the windows of the second showed it to beinhabited. For some five minutes Will stood gazing and reflecting;then, with head bent as before, he pursued his way. 

When he reached home, Mrs. Hopper regarded him compassionately; thegood woman was much disturbed by the strangeness of his demeanourlately, and feared he was going to be ill. 

"You look dre'ful tired, sir, " she said. "I'll make you a cup of tea atonce. It'll do you good. "

"Yes, get me some tea, " answered Warburton, absently. Then, as she wasleaving the room, he asked, "Is it true that the grocer Boxon is dead?"

"I was going to speak of it this morning, sir, " replied Mrs. Hopper, "but you seemed so busy. Yes, sir, he's died--died the day beforeyesterday, they say, and it'd be surprising to hear as anybody's sorry. "

"Who'll take his business?" asked Warburton. 

"We was talking about that last night, sir, me and my sister Liza, andthe Allchins. It's fallen off a great deal lately, what else could youexpect? since Boxon got into his bad ways. But anybody as had a littlemoney might do well there. Allchin was saying he wished he had a few'undreds. "

"A few hundred would be enough?" interrupted the listener, withoutnoticing the look of peculiar eagerness on Mrs. Hopper's face. 

"Allchin thinks the goodwill can be had for about a 'undred, sir; andthe rent, it's only eighty pounds--"

"Shop and house?"

"Yes, sir; so Allchin says. It isn't much of a 'ouse, of course. "

"What profits could be made, do you suppose, by an energetic man?"

"When Boxon began, sir, " replied Mrs. Hopper, with growing animation, "he used to make--so Allchin says--a good five or six 'undred a year. There's a good deal of profit in the grocery business, and Boxon'ssituation is good; there's no other grocer near him. But of course--asAllchin says--you want to lay out a good deal at starting--"

"Yes, yes, of course, you must have stock. " said Will carelessly. "Bring me some tea at once, Mrs. Hopper. "

It had suddenly occurred to him that Allchin might think of trying toborrow the capital wherewith to start this business, and that Mrs. Hopper might advise her brother-in-law to apply to him for the loan. 

But this was not at all the idea which had prompted Will's inquiries. 

CHAPTER 18

Another week went by. Warburton was still living in the same restlessway, but did not wear quite so gloomy a countenance; now and then helooked almost cheerful. That was the case when one morning he receiveda letter from Sherwood. Godfrey wrote that, no sooner had he arrived athis relative's in North Wales than he was seized with a violentliver-attack, which for some days prostrated him; he was nowrecovering, and better news still, had succeeded in borrowing a coupleof hundred pounds. Half of this sum he sent to Warburton; the otherhalf he begged to be allowed to retain, as he had what might prove avery fruitful idea for the use of the money--details presently. To thisletter Will immediately replied at some length. The cheque he paid intohis account, which thus reached a total of more than six hundred pounds. 

A few days later, after breakfast as usual, he let his servant clearthe table, then said with a peculiar smile. 

"I want to have a little talk with you, Mrs. Hopper. Please sit down. "

To seat herself in her master's presence went against all Mrs. Hopper'sideas of propriety. Seeing her hesitate, Will pointed steadily to achair, and the good woman, much flurried, placed herself on the edge ofit. 

"You have noticed, " Warburton resumed, "that I haven't been quitemyself lately. There was a good reason for it. I've had a misfortune inbusiness; all my plans are changed; I shall have to begin quite a newlife--a different life altogether from that I have led till now. "

Mrs. Hopper seemed to have a sudden pain in the side. She groaned underher breath, staring at the speaker pitifully. 

"There's no need to talk about it, you know, " Will went on with afriendly nod. "I tell you, because I'm thinking of going into abusiness in which your brother-in-law could help me, if he cares to. "

He paused. Mrs. Hopper kept her wide eyes on him. 

"Allchin'll be very glad to hear of that, sir. What am I saying? Ofcourse I don't mean he'll be glad you've had misfortune, sir, and I'mthat sorry to hear it, I can't tell you. But it does just happen ashe's out of work, through that nasty temper of his. Not, " she correctedherself hastily, "as I ought to call him nasty-tempered. With a goodemployer, I'm sure he'd never get into no trouble at all. "

"Does he still wish to get back into the grocery business?"

"He'd be only too glad, sir, But, of course, any place as _you_ offeredhim--"

"Well, it happens, " said Warburton, "that it is the grocery businessI'm thinking about. "

"You, sir?" gasped Mrs. Hopper. 

"I think I shall take Boxon's shop. "

"_You_, sir? Take a grocer's shop?--You mean, you'd put Allchin in tomanage it?"

"No, I don't, Mrs. Hopper, " replied Will, smiling mechanically. "I havemore than my own living to earn; other people are dependent upon me, soI must make as much money as possible. I can t afford to pay a manager. I shall go behind the counter myself, and Allchin, if he cares for theplace, shall be my assistant. "

The good woman could find no words to express her astonishment. 

"Suppose you have a word with Allchin, and send him to see me thisevening? I say again, there's no need to talk about the thing toanybody else. We'll just keep it quiet between us. "

"You can depend upon me, sir, " declared Mrs. Hopper. "But did you_hever_! It's come upon me so sudden like. And what'll Allchin say!Why, he'll think I'm having a game with him. "

To this point had Will Warburton brought himself, urged by conscienceand fear. Little by little, since the afternoon when he gazed atBoxon's closed shop, had this purpose grown in his mind, until he sawit as a possibility--a desirability--a fact. By shopkeeping, he mighthope to earn sufficient for supply of the guaranteed income to hismother and sister, and at the same time be no man's servant. Hisacquaintance with Allchin enabled him to disregard his lack of groceryexperience; with Allchin for an assistant, he would soon overcomeinitial difficulties. Only to Godfrey Sherwood had he communicated hisproject. "What difference is there, " he wrote, "between selling sugarfrom an office in Whitechapel, and selling it from behind a counter inFulham Road?" And Sherwood--who was still reposing in NorthWales--wrote a long, affectionate, admiring reply. "You are splendid!What energy! What courage! I could almost say that I don't regret mycriminal recklessness, seeing that it has given the occasion for such amagnificent display of character. " He added, "Of course it will be onlyfor a short time. Even if the plans I am now working out--detailsshortly--come to nothing (a very unlikely thing), I am sure to recovermy ten thousand pounds in a year or so. "--"Of course, " he wrote in apostscript, "I breathe no word of it to any mortal. "

This letter--so are we made--did Warburton good. It strengthened him incarrying through the deception of his relatives and of Mr. Turnbull, for he saw himself as _splendide mendax_. In Sherwood's plans andassurances he had no shadow of faith, but Sherwood's admiration wasworth having, and it threw a gilding upon the name of grocer. Should heimpart the secret to Norbert Franks? That question he could not decidejust yet. In any case, he should tell no one else; all otheracquaintances must be content--if they cared to inquire--with vaguereferences to an "agency, " or something of the sort. Neither his mothernor Jane ever came to London for them, his change of address to apoorer district would have no significance. In short, London, beingLondon, it seemed perfectly feasible to pass his life in a grocer'sshop without the fact becoming known to any one from whom he wished toconceal it. 

The rent of the shop and house was eighty-five pounds--an increase uponthat paid by Boxon. "Plant" was estimated at a hundred and twenty-five;the stock at one hundred and fifty, and the goodwill at a roundhundred. This made a total of four hundred and sixty pounds, leavingWarburton some couple of hundred for all the expenses of his start. Thelandlord had consented to do certain repairs, including a repainting ofthe shop, and this work had already begun. Not a day must be lost. Willknew that the first half-year would decide his fate as a tradesman. Didhe come out at the end of six months with sufficient profit to pay abare three per cent. On the St. Neots money, all would be safe andwell. If the balance went against him, why then the whole battle oflife was lost, and he might go hide his head in some corner even moreobscure. 

Of course he counted largely on the help of Allchin. Allchin, thoughpig-headed and pugnacious, had a fair knowledge of the business, towhich he had been bred, and of business matters in general alwaystalked shrewdly. Unable, whatever his own straits, to deal penuriouslywith my one, Will had thought out a liberal arrangement, whereby allthe dwelling part of the house should be given over, rent free, toAllchin and his wife, with permission to take one lodger; the assistantto be paid a small salary, and a percentage on shop takings when theyreached a certain sum per month. This proposal, then, he set before themuscular man on his presenting himself this afternoon. Allchin'sastonishment at the story he had heard from Mrs. Hopper was not lessthan that of the woman herself. With difficulty persuaded to sit down, he showed a countenance in which the gloom he thought decorousstruggled against jubilation on his own account: and Warburton had nottalked long before his listener's features irresistibly expanded in ahappy grin. 

"How would something of this kind suit you?" asked Will. 

"Me, sir?" Allchin slapped his leg. "You ask how it suits _me_?"

His feelings were too much for him. He grew very red, and could say nomore. 

"Then suppose we settle it so. I've written out the terms of yourengagement. Read and sign. "

Allchin pretended to read the paper, but obviously paid no attention toit. He seemed to be struggling with some mental obstacle. 

"Something you want to alter?" asked Warburton. 

"Why, sir, you've altogether forgot as I'm in your debt. It stands toreason as you must take that money out before you begin to pay meanything. "

"Oh, we won't say anything more about that trifle. We're making a newbeginning. But look here, Allchin, I don't want you to quarrel with me, as you do with every one else--"

"With _you_, sir? Ho, ho!"

Allchin guffawed, and at once looked ashamed of himself. 

"I quarrel, " he added, "with people as are insulting, or as try to bestme. It goes against my nature, sir, to be insulted and to be bested. "

They talked about the details of the business, and presently Allchinasked what name was to be put up over the shop. 

"I've thought of that, " answered Will. "What do you say to--_Jollyman_?"

The assistant was delighted; he repeated the name a dozen times, snorting and choking with appreciation of the joke. Next morning, theymet again, and went together to look at the shop. Here Allchin madegreat play with his valuable qualities. He pointed out the errors andnegligencies of the late Boxon, declared it a scandal that a businesssuch as this should have been allowed to fall off, and was full ofingenious ideas for a brilliant opening. Among other forms ofinexpensive advertisement, he suggested that, for the first day, a bandshould be engaged to play in the front room over the shop, with thewindows open; and he undertook to find amateur bandsmen who wouldundertake the job on very moderate terms. 

Not many days elapsed before the old name had disappeared from thehouse front, giving place to that of Jollyman. Whilst this was beingpainted up, Allchin stood on the opposite side of the way, watchingdelightedly. 

"When I think as the name used to be Boxon, " he exclaimed to hisemployer, "why, I can't believe as any money was ever made here. Boxon!Why, it was enough to drive customers away! If you ever heard a worsename, sir, for a shopkeeper, I should be glad to be told of it. But_Jollyman_! Why, it'll bring people from Putney, from Battersea, fromwho knows how far. Jollyman's Teas, Jollyman's sugar--can't you _hear_'em saying it, already? It's a fortune in itself, that name. Why, sir, if a grocer called Boxon came at this moment, and offered to take meinto partnership on half profits, I wouldn't listen to him--there!"

Naturally, all this did not pass without many a pang in Warburton'ssensitive spots. He had set his face like brass, or tried to do so; butin the night season he could all but have shed tears of humiliation, ashe tossed on his comfortless pillow. The day was spent in visits towholesale grocery establishments, in study of trade journals, incalculating innumerable petty questions of profit and loss. When nauseathreatened him: when an all but horror of what lay before him assailedhis mind; he thought fixedly of The Haws, and made a picture to himselfof that peaceful little home devastated by his own fault. And to thinkthat all this sweat and misery arose from the need of gaining less thana couple of hundred pounds a year! Life at The Haws, a life ofrefinement and goodness and tranquillity such as can seldom be found, demanded only that--a sum which the wealthy vulgar throw away upon thefoolish amusement of an hour. Warburton had a tumultuous mind inreflecting on these things; but the disturbance was salutary, bearinghim through trials of nerve and patience and self-respect which hecould not otherwise have endured. 

Warburton had now to find cheap lodgings for himself, unfurnished roomsin some poor quarter not too far from the shop. 

At length, in a new little street of very red brick, not far fromFulham Palace Road at the Hammersmith end, he came upon a small housewhich exhibited in its parlour window a card inscribed: "Twounfurnished rooms to be let to single gentlemen only. " The precision ofthis notice made him hopeful, and a certain cleanliness of aspect inthe woman who opened to him was an added encouragement; but he foundnegotiations not altogether easy. The landlady, a middle-aged widow, seemed to regard him with some peculiar suspicion; before evenadmitting him to the house, she questioned him closely as to hisbusiness, his present place of abode, and so on, and Warburton was allbut turning away in impatience, when at last she drew aside, andcautiously invited him to enter. Further acquaintance with Mrs. Wickled him to understand that the cold, misgiving in her eye, the sourrigidity of her lips, and her generally repellant manner, werecharacteristics which meant nothing in particular--save as theyresulted from a more or less hard life amid London's crowd; at present, the woman annoyed him, and only the clean freshness of her vacant roomsinduced him to take the trouble of coming to terms with her. 

"There's one thing I must say to you quite plain, to begin with, "remarked Mrs. Wick, whose language, though not disrespectful, had acertain bluntness. "I can't admit female visitors--not on any excuse. "

Speaking thus, she set her face at its rigidest and sourest, and staredpast Warburton at the wall. He, unable to repress a smile, declared hisperfect readiness to accept this condition of tenancy. 

"Another thing, " pursued the landlady, "is that I don't like latehours. " And she eyed him as one might a person caught in flagrantcrapulence at one o'clock a. M. 

"Why, neither do I, " Will replied. "But for all that, I may be obligedto come home late now and then. "

"From the theatre, I suppose?"

"I very seldom go to the theatre. " (Mrs. Wick looked sanguine for aninstant, but at once relapsed into darker suspicion than ever. ) "But asto my hour of returning home, I must have entire liberty. "

The woman meditated, profound gloom on her brows. 

"You haven't told me, " she resumed, shooting a glance of keen distrust, "exactly what your business may be. "

"I am in the sugar line, " responded Will. 

"Sugar? You wouldn't mind giving me the name of your employers?"

The word so rasped on Warburton's sensitive temper that he seemed aboutto speak angrily. This the woman observed, and added at once:

"I don't doubt but that you're quite respectable, sir, but you canunderstand as I have to be careful who I take into my house. "

"I understand that, but I must ask you to be satisfied with a referenceto my present landlord. That, and a month's payment in advance, oughtto suffice. "

Evidently it did, for Mrs. Wick, after shooting one or two more of hersharpest looks, declared herself willing to enter into discussion ofdetails. He required attendance, did he? Well it all depended upon whatsort of attendance he expected; if he wanted cooking at latehours. --Warburton cut short these anticipatory objections, and madeknown that his wants were few and simple: plain breakfast at eighto'clock, cold supper on the table when he came home, a mid-day meal onSundays, and the keeping of his rooms in order; that was all. Aftermorose reflection, Mrs. Wick put her demand for rooms and service at apound a week, but to this Warburton demurred. It cost him agonies todebate such a matter; but, as he knew very well, the price wasexcessive for unfurnished lodgings, and need constrained him. Heoffered fifteen shillings, and said he would call for Mrs. Wick'sdecision on the morrow. The landlady allowed him to go to the foot ofthe stairs, then stopped him. 

"I wouldn't mind taking fifteen shillings, " she said, "if I knew it wasfor a permanency. "

"I can't bind myself more than by the month. "

"Would you be willing to leave a deposit?"

So the matter was settled, and Warburton arranged to enter intopossession that day week. 

Without delay the shop repairs were finished, inside and out; ordersfor stock were completed; in two days--as a great bill on the shuttersannounced--"Jollyman's Grocery Stores" would be open to the public. Allchin pleaded strongly for the engagement of the brass band; itwouldn't cost much, and the effect would be immense. Warburtonshrugged, hesitated, gave way, and the band was engaged. 

CHAPTER 19

Rosamund Elvan was what ladies call a good correspondent. She wroteoften, she wrote at length, and was satisfied with few or brief lettersin reply. Scarcely had she been a week at Cairo, when some half dozensheets of thin paper, covered with her small swift writing, weredispatched to Bertha Cross, and, thence onwards, about once a fortnightsuch a letter arrived at Walham Green. Sitting by a fire kept, foreconomical reasons, as low as possible, with her mother's voicesounding querulously somewhere in the house, and too often a clammy fogat the window, Bertha read of Egyptian delights and wonders, setglowingly before her in Rosamund's fluent style. She was glad of theletters, for they manifested a true affection, and were in every waymore interesting than any others that she received; but at times theymade the cheerless little house seem more cheerless still, and the pangof contrast between her life and Rosamund's called at such moments forall Bertha's sense of humour to make it endurable. 

Not that Miss Elvan represented herself as happy. In her very firstletter she besought Bertha not to suppose that her appreciation ofstrange and beautiful things meant forgetfulness of what must be alifelong sorrow. "I am often worse than depressed. I sleep very badly, and in the night I often shed wretched tears. Though I did only whatconscience compelled me to do, I suffer all the miseries of remorse. And how can I wish that it should be otherwise? It is better, surely, to be capable of such suffering, than to go one's way in light-heartedegoism. I'm not sure that I don't sometimes _encourage_ despondency. You can understand that? I know you can, dear Bertha, for many a time Ihave detected the deep feeling which lies beneath your joking way. "Passages such as this Bertha was careful to omit when reading from theletters to her mother. Mrs. Cross took very little interest in herdaughter's friend, and regarded the broken engagement with no lessdisapproval than surprise; but it would have gravely offended her ifBertha had kept this correspondence altogether to herself. 

"I suppose, " she remarked, on one such occasion, "we shall never againsee Mr. Franks. "

"He would find it rather awkward to call, no doubt, " replied Bertha. 

"I shall _never_ understand it!" Mrs. Cross exclaimed, in a vexed tone, after thinking awhile. "No doubt there's something you keep from me. "

"About Rosamund? Nothing whatever, I assure you, mother. "

"Then you yourself don't know all, that's _quite_ certain. "

Mrs. Cross had made the remark many times, and always with the samesatisfaction. Her daughter was content that the discussion shouldremain at this point; for the feeling that she had said something atonce unpleasant and unanswerable made Mrs. Cross almost good humouredfor at least an hour. 

Few were the distressful lady's sources of comfort, but one sure way ofsoothing her mind and temper, was to suggest some method of savingmoney, no matter how little. One day in the winter, Bertha passingalong the further part of Fulham Road, noticed a new-looking grocer's, the window full of price tickets, some of them very attractive to ahousekeeper's eye; on returning home she spoke of this, mentioningfigures which moved her mother to a sour effervescence of delight. Theshop was rather too far away for convenience, but that same eveningMrs. Cross went to inspect it, and came back quite flurried with whatshe had seen. 

"I shall most certainly deal at Jollyman's, " she exclaimed. "What apity we didn't know of him before! Such a gentlemanly man--indeed, _quite_ a gentleman. I never saw a shopkeeper who behaved so nicely. Sodifferent from Billings--a man I have always thoroughly disliked, andhis coffee has been getting worse and worse. Mr. Jollyman is quitewilling to send even the smallest orders. Isn't that nice of him--sucha distance! Billings was quite insolent to me the day before yesterday, when I asked him to send; yet it was nearly a two-shilling order. Nevergo into that shop again, Bertha. It's really quite a pleasure to buy ofMr. Jollyman; he knows how to behave; I really almost felt as if I wastalking to some one of our own class. Without his apron, he must be athorough gentleman. "

Bertha could not restrain a laugh. 

"How thoughtless of him to wear an apron at all!" she exclaimedmerrily. "Couldn't one suggest to him discreetly, that _but_ for theapron--"

"Don't be ridiculous, Bertha!" interrupted her mother. "You always makenonsense of what one says. Mr. Jollyman is a shopkeeper, and it's justbecause he doesn't forget that, after all, that his behaviour is sogood. Do you remember that horrid Stokes, in King's Road? There was aman who thought himself too good for his business, and in reality wasnothing but an underbred, impertinent creature. I can hear his 'Yes, Mrs. Cross--no, Mrs. Cross--thank you, Mrs. Cross'--and once, when Iprotested against an overcharge, he cried out, 'Oh, my _dear_ Mrs. Cross!' The insolence of that man! Now, Mr. Jollyman--"

It was not long before Bertha had an opportunity of seeing thisremarkable shopkeeper, and for once she was able to agree with hermother. Mr. Jollyman bore very little resemblance to the typicalgrocer, and each visit to his shop strengthened Bertha's suspicion thathe had not grown up in this way of life. It cost her some constraint tomake a very small purchase of him, paying a few coppers, and still morewhen she asked him if he had nothing cheaper than this or that; all themore so that Mr. Jollyman seemed to share her embarrassment, loweringhis voice as if involuntarily, and being careful not to meet her eye. One thing Bertha noticed was that, though the grocer invariableaddressed her mother as "madam, " in speaking to _her_ he never used thegrocerly "miss" and when, by chance, she heard him bestow thisobjectionable title upon a servant girl who was making purchases at thesame time, Bertha not only felt grateful for the distinction, but sawin it a fresh proof of Mr. Jollyman's good breeding. 

The winter passed, and with the spring came events in which Bertha wasinterested. Mr. Elvan, who for his health's sake spent the winter inthe south-west of France, fell so ill early in the year that Rosamundwas summoned from Egypt. With all speed she travelled to St. Jean deLuz. When she arrived, her father was no longer in danger; but thereseemed no hope of his being able to return to England for some months, so Rosamund remained with him and her sister, and was soon writing toher friend at Walham Green in a strain of revived enthusiasm for thecountry of the Basques. A postscript to one of these letters, writtenin the middle of May, ran as follows: "I hear that N. F. Has a picturein the Academy called 'A Ministering Angel, ' and that it promises to beone of the most popular of the year. Have you seen it?" To this, Rosamund's correspondent was able to reply that she had seen "N. F's"picture, and that it certainly was a good deal talked about; she addedno opinion as to the merits of the painting, and, in her next letter, Miss Elvan left the subject untouched. Bertha was glad of this. "AMinistering Angel" seemed to her by no means a very remarkableproduction, and she liked much better to say nothing about it than todepreciate the painter; for to do this would have been like seeking toconfirm Rosamund in her attitude towards Norbert Franks, which was notat all Bertha's wish. 

A few weeks later, Rosamund returned to the topic. "N. F's picture, "she wrote, "is evidently a great success--and you can imagine how Ifeel about it. I saw it, you remember, at an early stage, when hecalled it 'The Slummer, ' and you remember too, the effect it had uponme. Oh, Bertha, this is nothing less than a soul's tragedy! When Ithink what he used to be, what I hoped of him, what he hoped forhimself! Is it not dreadful that he should have fallen so low, and inso short a time! A popular success! Oh, the shame of it, the bittershame!"

At this point, the reader's smile threatened laughter. But, feelingsure that her friend, if guilty of affectation, was quite unconsciousof it, she composed her face to read gravely on. 

"A soul's tragedy, Bertha, and _I_ the cause of it One can see now, buttoo well, what is before him. All his hardships are over, and all hisstruggles. He will become a popular painter--one of those whose name isfamiliar to the crowd, like--" instances were cited. "I can say, withall earnestness, that I had rather have seen him starved to death. Poor, poor N. F. ! Something whispers to me that perhaps I was alwaysunder an illusion about him. _Could_ he so rapidly sink to this, if hewere indeed the man I thought him? Would he not rather have--oh, havedone _anything_?--Yet this may be only a temptation of my lower self, away of giving ease to my conscience. Despair may account for hisdegradation. And when I remember that a word, one word, from me, theright moment, would have checked him on the dangerous path! When I saw'Sanctuary, ' why had I not the courage to tell him what I thought? No, I became the accomplice of his suicide, and I, alone, am the cause ofthis wretched disaster. --Before long he will be rich. Can you imagineN. F. _rich_? I shudder at the thought. "

The paper rustled in Bertha's hand; her shoulders shook; she could nolonger restrain the merry laugh. When she sat down to answer Rosamund, a roguish smile played about her lips. 

"I grieve with you"--thus she began--"over the shocking prospect of N. F. 's becoming _rich_. Alas! I fear the thing is past praying for; I canall but see the poor young man in a shiny silk hat and an overcoattrimmed with the most expensive fur. His Academy picture is everywhereproduced; a large photogravure will soon be published; all day long acrowd stands before it at Burlington House, and his name--shall we everagain dare to speak it?--is on the lips of casual people in train and'bus and tram. How shall I write on such a painful subject? You seethat my hand is unsteady. Don't blame yourself too much. The mancapable of becoming rich _will_ become so, whatever the nobleinfluences which endeavour to restrain him. I suspect--I feel all butconvinced--that N. F. Could not help himself; the misfortune is thathis fatal turn for moneymaking did not show itself earlier, and so warnyou away. I don't know whether I dare send you a paragraph I have cutfrom yesterday's _Echo_. Yet I will--it will serve to show you that--asyou used to write from Egypt--all this is Kismet. "

The newspaper cutting showed an item of news interesting alike to thefashionable and the artistic world. Mr. Norbert Franks, the youngpainter whose Academy picture had been so much discussed, was about topaint the portrait of Lady Rockett, recently espoused wife of SirSamuel Rockett, the Australian millionaire. As every one knew, LadyRockett had made a brilliant figure in the now closing Season, and herimage had been in all the society journals. Mr. Franks might becongratulated on this excellent opportunity for the display of hisadmirable talent as an exponent of female beauty. -- "Exponent" was theword. 

CHAPTER 20

In these summer days, whilst Norbert Franks was achieving popularity, success in humbler guise came to the humorous and much-enduring artistat Walham Green. For a year or two, Bertha Cross had spent what timeshe could spare upon the illustration of a quaint old story-book, abook which had amused her own childhood, and still held its place inher affection. The work was now finished; she showed it to a publisherof her acquaintance, who at once offered to purchase it on what seemedto Bertha excellent terms. Of her own abilities she thought verymodestly in deed, and had always been surprised when any one consentedto pay--oftener in shillings than in pounds--for work which had costher an infinity of conscientious trouble; now, however, she suspectedthat she had done something not altogether bad, and she spoke of it ina letter to Rosamund Elvan, still in the country of the Basques. 

"As you know, " Rosamund replied, "I have never doubted that you wouldmake a success one day, for you are wonderfully clever, and only need alittle more self-confidence in making yourself known. I wish I couldfeel anything like so sure of earning money. For I shall have to, thatis now certain. Poor father, who gets weaker and weaker, talked to usthe other day about what we could expect after his death; and it willbe only just a little sum for each of us, nothing like enough to investand live upon. I am working at my water-colours, and I have been tryingpastel--there's no end of good material here. When the end comes--andit can't be long--I must go to London, and see whether my things haveany market value. I don't like the prospect of life in a garret onbread and water--by myself, that is. You know how joyfully, gladly, proudly, I would have accepted it, under _other_ circumstances. If Ihad real talent myself--but I feel more than doubtful about that. Ipray that I may not fall too low. Can I trust you to overwhelm me withscorn, if I seem in danger of doing vulgar work?"

Bertha yielded to the temptations of a later summer rich in warmth andhue, and made little excursions by herself into the country, leavinghome before her mother was up in the morning, and coming back aftersunset. Her sketching materials and a packet of sandwiches were but alight burden; she was a good walker; and the shilling or two spent onthe railway, which formerly she could not have spared, no longerfrightened her. 

In this way, one morning of September, she went by early train as faras Epsom, walked through the streets, and came into that high-bankedlane which leads up to the downs. Blackberries shone thick upon thebrambles, and above, even to the very tops of the hedge-row trees, climbed the hoary clematis. Glad in this leafy solitude, Bertha rambledslowly on. She made no unpleasing figure against the rural background, for she was straight and slim, graceful in her movements, and had aface from which no one would have turned indifferently, so bright wasit with youthful enjoyment and with older thought. 

Whilst thus she lingered, a footstep approached, that of a man who waswalking in the same direction. When close to her, this pedestrianstopped, and his voice startled Bertha with unexpected greeting. Thespeaker was Norbert Franks. 

"How glad I am to see you!" he exclaimed, in a tone and with a lookwhich vouched for his sincerity. "I ought to have been to Walham Greenlong ago. Again and again I meant to come. But this is jolly; I likechance meetings. Are you often down here in Surrey?"

With amusement Bertha remarked the evidence of prosperity in Franks'dress and bearing; he had changed notably since the days when he usedto come to their little house to talk of Rosamund, and was glad of anindifferent cup of tea. He seemed to be in very fair health, hiscountenance giving no hint of sentimental sorrows. 

Franks noticed a bunch of tinted leafage which she was carrying, andspoke of its beauty. 

"Going to make use of them, no doubt. What are you working at just now?"

Bertha told of her recent success with the illustrated story-book, andFranks declared himself delighted. Clearly, he was in the mood to bedelighted with everything. Between his remarks, which were uttered inthe sprightliest tone, he hummed phrases of melody. 

"Your Academy picture was a great success, " said Bertha, discreetlywatching him as she spoke. 

"Yes, I suppose it was, " he answered, with a light-hearted laugh. "Didyou see it?--And what did you think of it?--No, seriously; I shouldlike your real opinion. I know you _have_ opinions. "

"You meant it to be successful, " was Bertha's reply. 

"Well, yes, I did. At the same time I think some of the critics--thehigh and mighty ones, you know--were altogether wrong about it. Perhaps, on the whole, you take their view?"

"Oh no, I don't, " answered his companion, cheerfully. "I thought thepicture very clever, and very true. "

"I'm delighted! I've always maintained that it was perfectly true. Afriend of mine--why, you remember me speaking of Warburton--Warburtonwanted me to make the Slummer ugly. But why? It's just the prettiestgirls--of that kind--who go slumming nowadays. Still, you are quiteright. I did mean it to be 'successful. ' I _had_ to make a success, that's the fact of the matter. You know what bad times I was having. Igot sick of it, that's the truth. Then, I owed money, and money thathad to be paid back, one way or another. Now I'm out of debt, and seemy way to live and work in decent comfort. And I maintain that I'vedone nothing to be ashamed of. "

Bertha smiled approvingly. 

"I've just finished a portrait--a millionaire's wife, Lady Rockett, "went on Franks. "Of course it was my Slummer that got me the job. Womenhave been raving about that girl's head; and it isn't bad, though I sayit. I had to take a studio at a couple of days' notice--couldn't askLady Rockett to come and sit at that place of mine in Battersea; ashabby hole. She isn't really anything out of the way, as a prettywoman; but I've made her--well, you'll see it at some exhibition thiswinter, if you care to. Pleased? Isn't she pleased! And her husband, the podgy old millionaire baronet, used to come every day and stare indelight. To tell you the truth, I think it's rather a remarkable bit ofpainting. I didn't quite know I could turn out anything so _chic_. Ishouldn't be surprised if I make a specialty of women's portraits. Howmany men can flatter, and still keep a good likeness? That's what I'vedone. But wait till you see the thing. "

Bertha was bubbling over with amusement; for, whilst the artist talked, she thought of Rosamund's farewell entreaty, that she would do herbest, if occasion offered, to strengthen Norbert Franks under hisaffliction, even by depreciatory comment on the faithless girl; therecame into her mind, too, those many passages of Rosamund's letterswhere Franks was spoken of in terms of profoundest compassion mingledwith dark remorse. Perhaps her smile, which quivered on the verge oflaughter, betrayed the nature of her thought. Of a sudden, Franksceased to talk; his countenance changed, overcast with melancholy; andwhen, after some moments' silence, Bertha again spoke of the landscape, he gave only a dull assent to her words. 

"And it all comes too late, " fell from him, presently. "Too late. "

"Your success?"

"What's the good of it to me?" He smote his leg with the rattan he wasswinging. "A couple of years ago, money would have meant everything. Now--what do I care about it!"

Bertha's surprise obliged her to keep an unnaturally solemn visage. 

"Don't you think it'll grow upon you, " she said, "if you give it time?"

"Grow upon me? Why, I'm only afraid it may. That's just the danger. Topursue success--vulgar success--when all the better part has gone outof life--"

He ended on a sigh and again whacked his leg with the stick. 

"But" urged his companion, as though gravely, "isn't it easy _not_ topursue success? I mean if it really makes you uncomfortable. There areso many kinds of work in art which would protect you against the perilsof riches. "

Franks was watching her as she spoke. 

"Miss Cross" he said, "I suspect you are satirical. I remember you usedto have a turn that way. Well, well, never mind; I don't expect you tounderstand me. "

They had passed out of Ashtead Park and were now ascending by the lanewhich leads up to Epsom Common. 

"I suppose we are both going the same way, " said Franks, who hadrecovered all his cheerfulness. "There's a train at something afterfive, if we can catch it. Splendid idea of yours to have a whole day'swalking. I don't walk enough. Are you likely to be going again beforelong?"

Bertha replied that she never made plans beforehand. Her mood and theweather decided an excursion. 

"Of course. That's the only way. Well, if you'll let me, I must come toWalham Green, one of these days. How's Mrs. Cross? I ought to haveasked before, but I never do the right thing. --Have you any particularday for being at home?--All right. If you had had, I should have askedyou to let me come on some other. I don't care much, you know, forgeneral society; and ten to one, when I do come I shall be rathergloomy. Old memories, you know. --Really very jolly, this meeting withyou. I should have done the walk to Epsom just as a constitutional, without enjoying it a bit. As it is--"

CHAPTER 21

It was a week or two after the day in Surrey, that Bertha Cross, needing a small wooden box in which to pack a present for her brothersin British Columbia, bethought herself of Mr. Jollyman. The amiablegrocer could probably supply her want, and she went off to the shop. There the assistant and an errand boy were unloading goods just arrivedby cart, and behind the counter, reading a newspaper--for it was earlyin the morning stood Mr. Jollyman himself. Seeing the young lady enter, he smiled and bowed; not at all with tradesmanlike emphasis, butrather, it seemed to Bertha, like a man tired and absent-minded, performing a civility in the well-bred way. The newspaper thrown aside, he stood with head bent and eyes cast down, listening to her request. 

"I think I have something that will do very well, " he replied. "Excuseme for a moment. "

From regions behind the shop, he produced a serviceable box just of theright dimensions. 

"It will do? Then you shall have it in about half an hour. "

"I'm ashamed to trouble you, " said Bertha "I could carry it--"

"On no account. The boy will be free in a few minutes. "

"And I owe you--?" asked Bertha, purse in hand. 

"The box has no value, " replied Mr. Jollyman, with that smile, suggestive of latent humour, which always caused her to smileresponsively. "And at the same time, " he continued, a peculiar twinklein his eyes, "I will ask you to accept one of these packets ofchocolate. I am giving one to-day to every customer--to celebrate theanniversary of my opening shop. "

"Thank you very much, " said Bertha. And, on an impulse, she added: "Iwill put it with what I am sending in the box--a present for twobrothers of mine who are a long way off in Canada. "

His hands upon the counter, his body bent forward, Mr. Jollyman lookedher for a moment in the face. A crease appeared on his forehead, as hesaid slowly and dreamily:

"Canada? Do they like their life out there?"

"They seem to enjoy it, on the whole. But it evidently isn't an easylife. "

"Not many kinds of life are. " rejoined the grocer. "But the openair--the liberty--"

"Oh yes, that must be the good side of it, " assented Bertha. 

"On a morning like this--"

Mr. Jollyman's eyes wandered to a gleam of sunny sky visible throughthe shop window. The girl's glance passed quickly over his features, and she was on the point of saying something; but discretioninterposed. Instead of the too personal remark, she repeated herthanks, bent her head with perhaps a little more than the wontedgraciousness, and left the shop. The grocer stood looking toward thedoorway. His countenance had fallen. Something of bitterness showed inthe hardness of his lips. 

CHAPTER 22

Just a year since the day when Allchin's band played at the first floorwindows above Jollyman's new grocery stores. 

From the very beginning, business promised well. He and his assistanthad plenty of work; there was little time for meditation; when notserving customers, he was busy with practical details of grocerdom, often such as he had not foreseen, matters which called for all hisenergy and ingenuity. A gratifying aspect of the life was that, day byday, he handled his returns in solid cash. Jollyman's gave no credit;all goods had to be paid for on purchase or delivery; and to turn outthe till when the shop had closed--to make piles of silver andmountains of copper, with a few pieces of gold beside them--put acheering end to the day's labour. Warburton found himself clinkinghandfuls of coin, pleased with the sound. Only at the end of the firstthree months, the close of the year, did he perceive that much lessthan he had hoped of the cash taken could be reckoned as clear profit. He had much to learn in the cunning of retail trade, and it was a kindof study that went sorely against the grain with him. Happily, atChristmas time came Norbert Franks (whom Will had decided _not_ to takeinto his confidence) and paid his debt of a hundred and twenty pounds. This set things right for the moment. Will was able to pay athree-and-a-half per cent. Dividend to his mother and sister, and tofare ahead hopefully. 

He would rather not have gone down to The Haws that Christmastide, butfeared that his failure to do so might seem strange. The needfulprevarication cost him so many pangs that he came very near toconfessing the truth; he probably would have done so, had not hismother been ailing, and, it seemed to him, little able to bear theshock of such a disclosure. So the honest deception went on. Will wassupposed to be managing a London branch of the Applegarth business. Great expenditure on advertising had to account for the smallness ofthe dividend at first. No one less likely than the ladies at The Hawsto make trouble in such a matter. They had what sufficed to them, andwere content with it. Thinking over this in shame-faced solitude, Warburton felt a glow of proud thankfulness that his mother and sisterwere so unlike the vulgar average of mankind--that rapacious multitude, whom nothing animates but a chance of gain, with whom nothing weighsbut a commercial argument. A new tenderness stirred within him, andresolutely he stamped under foot the impulses of self-esteem, ofself-indulgence, which made his life hard to bear. 

It was with a hard satisfaction that he returned to the shop, and foundall going on in the usual way, Allchin grinning a hearty welcome as heweighed out sugar. Will's sister talked of the scents of her garden, how they refreshed and inspirited her to him, the odour of theshop--new-roasted coffee predominated to-day--had its invigoratingeffect; it meant money, and money meant life, the peaceful, fruitfullife of those dear to him. He scarcely gave himself time to eat dinner, laid for him, as usual, by Mrs. Allchin, in the sitting-room behind theshop; so eager was he to get on his apron, and return to profitablelabour. 

At first, he had endured a good deal of physical fatigue. Standing forso many hours a day wearied him much more than walking would have done, and with bodily exhaustion came at times a lowness of spirits such ashe had never felt. His resource against this misery was conversationwith Allchin. In Allchin he had a henchman whose sturdy optimism andgross common sense were of the utmost value. The brawny assistant, having speedily found a lodger according to the agreement, saw himselfin clover, and determined that, if _he_ could help it, his fortunesshould never again suffer eclipse. He and his wife felt a reasonablegratitude to the founder of their prosperity--whom, by the bye, theyinvariably spoke of as "Mr. Jollyman"--and did their best to smooth forhim the unfamiliar path he was treading. 

The success with which Warburton kept his secret, merely proved howsolitary most men are amid the crowds of London, and how easy it is fora Londoner to disappear from among his acquaintances whilst continuingto live openly amid the city's roar. No one of those who cared enoughabout him to learn that he had fallen on ill-luck harboured theslightest suspicion of what he was doing; he simply dropped out ofsight, except for the two or three who, in a real sense of the word, could be called his friends. The Pomfrets, whom he went to see at verylong intervals, supposed him to have some sort of office employment, and saw nothing in his demeanour to make them anxious about him. As forNorbert Franks, why, he was very busy, and came not oftener than once amonth to his friend's obscure lodgings; he asked no intrusivequestions, and, like the Pomfrets, could only suppose that Warburtonhad found a clerkship somewhere. They were not quite on the old terms, for each had gone through a crisis of life, and was not altogether thesame as before; but their mutual liking subsisted. Obliged to retrenchhis hospitality, Warburton never seemed altogether at his ease whenFranks was in his room; nor could he overcome what seemed to him theshame of having asked payment of a debt from a needy friend, notwithstanding the fact, loudly declared by Franks himself, thatnothing could have been more beneficial to the debtor's moral health. So Will listened rather than talked, and was sometimes too obviously inno mood for any sort of converse. 

Sherwood he had not seen since the disastrous optimist's flight intoWales; nor had there come any remittance from him since the cheque fora hundred pounds. Two or three times, however, Godfrey hadwritten--thoroughly characteristic letters--warm, sanguine, self-reproachful. From Wales he had crossed over to Ireland, where hewas working at a scheme for making a fortune out of Irish eggs andpoultry. In what the "work" consisted, was not clear, for he had nomoney, beyond a small loan from his relative which enabled him to live;but he sent a sheet of foolscap covered with computations whereby hisproject was proved to be thoroughly practical and vastly lucrative. 

Meanwhile, he had made one new acquaintance, which was at first merelya source of amusement to him, but little by little became somethingmore. In the winter days, when his business was new, there one day cameinto the shop a rather sour-lipped and querulous-voiced lady, who aftermuch discussion of prices, made a modest purchase and asked that thegoods might be sent for her. On hearing her name--Mrs. Cross--thegrocer smiled, for he remembered that the Crosses of whom he knew fromNorbert Franks, lived at Walham Green, and the artist's description ofMrs. Cross tallied very well with the aspect and manner of thiscustomer. Once or twice the lady returned; then, on a day of very badweather, there came in her place a much younger and decidedly morepleasing person, whom Will took to be Mrs. Cross's daughter. Facialresemblance there was none discoverable; in bearing, in look, in tone, the two were different as women could be; but at the younger lady'ssecond visit, his surmise was confirmed, for she begged him to change afive-pound note, and, as the custom is in London shops, endorsed itwith her name--"Bertha Cross. " Franks had never spoken much of MissCross; "rather a nice sort of girl, " was as far as his appreciationwent. And with this judgment Will at once agreed; before long, he wouldhave inclined to be more express in his good opinion. Before summercame, he found himself looking forward to the girl's appearance in theshop, with a sense of disappointment when--as generally happened--Mrs. Cross came in person. The charm of the young face lay for him in itsever-present suggestion of a roguishly winsome smile, which made itdifficult not to watch too intently the play of her eyes and lips. Then, her way of speaking, which was altogether her own. It infusedwith a humorous possibility the driest, most matter-of-fact remarks, and Will had to guard himself against the temptation to reply in acorresponding note. 

"I suppose you see no more of those people--what's their name--theCrosses?" he let fall, as if casually, one evening when Franks had cometo see him. 

"Lost sight of them altogether, " was the reply. "Why do you ask?"

"I happened to think of them, " said Will; and turned to another subject. 

CHAPTER 23

Was he to be a grocer for the rest of his life?--This question, whichat first scarcely occurred to him, absorbed as he was in the problem ofmoney-earning for immediate needs, at length began to press and worry. Of course he had meant nothing of the kind; his imagination had seen inthe shop a temporary expedient; he had not troubled to pursue theultimate probabilities of the life that lay before him, but contentedhimself with the vague assurance of his hopeful temper. Yet where wasthe way out? To save money, to accumulate sufficient capital for hisrelease, was an impossibility, at all events within any reasonabletime. And for what windfall could he look? Sherwood's ten thousandpounds hovered in his memory, but no more substantial than anyfairy-tale. No man living, it seemed to him, had less chance of beingsignally favoured by fortune. He had donned his apron and aproned hemust remain. 

Suppose, then, he so far succeeded in his business as to make a littlemore than the household at St. Neots required; suppose it becamepracticable to--well, say, to think of marriage, of course on the mostmodest basis; could he quite see himself offering to the girl he chosethe hand and heart of a grocer? He laughed. It was well to laugh;merriment is the great digestive, and an unspeakable boon to the mancapable of it in all but every situation; but what if _she_ alsolaughed, and not in the sympathetic way? Worse still, what if she could_not_ laugh, but looked wretchedly embarrassed, confused, shamed? Thatwould be a crisis it needed some philosophy to contemplate. 

For the present, common sense made it rigorously plain to him that theless he thought of these things, the better. He had not a penny tospare. Only by exercising an economy which in the old days would haveappalled him, could he send his mother and sister an annual sum justsufficient to their needs. He who scorned and loathed all kinds ofparsimony had learnt to cut down his expenditure at every possiblepoint. He still smoked his pipe; he bought newspapers; he grantedhimself an excursion, of the cheapest, on fine Sundays; but thesesurely were necessities of life. In food and clothing and the commonexpenses of a civilised man, he pinched remorselessly; there was nochoice. His lodgings cost him very little; but Mrs. Wick, whoseprofound suspiciousness was allied with unperfect honesty, now and thenmade paltry overcharges in her bill, and he was angry with himself forhis want of courage to resist them. It meant only a shilling or two, but retail trade had taught him the importance of shillings. He had toremind himself that, if he was poor, his landlady was poorer still, andthat in cheating him she did but follow the traditions of her class. Todebate an excess of sixpence for paraffin, of ninepence for bacon, would have made him flush and grind his teeth for hours afterwards; buthe noticed the effect upon himself of the new habit ofniggardliness--how it disposed him to acerbity of temper. No matter howpure the motive, a man cannot devote his days to squeezing outpecuniary profits without some moral detriment. Formerly this woman, Mrs. Wick, with her gimlet eyes, and her leech lips, with her spyingsand eavesdroppings, with her sour civility, her stinted discharge ofobligations, her pilferings and mendacities, would have rather amusedthan annoyed him. "Poor creature, isn't it a miserable as well as asordid life. Let her have her pickings, however illegitimate, and muchgood may they do her. " Now he too often found himself regarding herwith something like animosity, whereby, to be sure, he brought himselfto the woman's level. Was it not a struggle between him and her for ashare of life's poorest comforts? When he looked at it in that light, his cheeks were hot. 

A tradesman must harden himself. Why, in the early months, it cost hima wrench somewhere to take coppers at the counter from very poor folkwho perhaps made up the odd halfpenny in farthings, and looked at thecoins reluctantly as they laid them down. More than once, he said, "Ohnever mind the ha'penny, " and was met with a look--not of gratitude butof blank amazement. Allchin happened to be a witness of one suchincident, and, in the first moment of privacy, ventured a respectfulyet a most energetic, protest. "It's the kindness of your 'eart, sir, and if anybody knows how much of that you have, I'm sure it's me, and Iought to be the last to find fault with it. But that'll never do behindthe counter, sir, never! Why, just think. The profit on what that womanbought was just three farthings. " He detailed the computation. "Andthere you've been and given her a whole ha'penny, so that you've onlyone blessed farthing over on the whole transaction! That ain'tbusiness, sir; that's charity; and Jollyman's ain't a charitableinstitution. You really must not, sir. It's unjust to yourself. " AndWill, with an uneasy shrug, admitted his folly. But he was ashamed tothe core. Only in the second half-year did he really accustom himselfto disregard a customer's poverty. He had thought the thing out, facedall its most sordid aspects. Yes, he was fighting with these people fordaily bread; he and his could live only if his three farthings ofprofit were plucked out of that toil worn hand of charwoman orsempstress. Accept the necessity, and think no more of it. He was a manbehind the counter; he saw face to face the people who supported him. With this exception had not things been just the same when he sat inthe counting-house at the sugar refinery? It was an unpleasant truth, which appearances had formerly veiled from him. 

With the beginning of his second winter came a new anxiety, a newsource of bitter and degrading reflections. At not more than fiveminutes' walk away, another grocer started business; happily no greatcapitalist, but to all appearances a man of enterprise who knew what hewas about. Morning and evening, Warburton passed the new shop and felthis very soul turn sour in the thought that he must do what in him layto prevent that man from gaining custom; if he could make his businessa failure, destroy all his hopes, so much the better. With Allchin, heheld long and eager conferences. The robust assistant was of coursetroubled by no scruples; he warmed to the combat, chuckled over eachgood idea for the enemy's defeat; every nerve must be strained for thegreat Christmas engagement; as much money as possible must be spent inmaking a brave show. And it was only by pausing every now and then toremember _why_ he stood here, in what cause he was so debasing themanner of his life, that Warburton could find strength to go throughsuch a trial of body and of spirit. When, the Christmas fight wellover, with manifest triumph on his side he went down for a couple ofdays to St. Neots, once more he had his reward. But the struggle wastelling upon his health; it showed in his face, in his bearing. Motherand sister spoke uneasily of a change they noticed; surely he wasworking too hard; what did he mean by taking no summer holiday? Willlaughed. 

"Business, business! A good deal to do at first, you know. Things'll besmoother next year. "

And the comfort, the quiet, the simple contentment of that little houseby the Ouse, sent him back to Fulham Road, once more resigned, courageous. 

Naturally, he sometimes contrasted his own sordid existence with theunforeseen success which had made such changes in the life of NorbertFranks. It was more than three months since he and Franks had met, when, one day early in January, he received a note from the artist. "What has become of you? I haven't had a chance of getting yourway--work and social foolery. Could you come and lunch with me here, onSunday, alone, like the old days? I have a portrait to show you. " So onSunday, Warburton went to his friend's new studio, which was in theHolland Park region. Formerly it was always he who played the host, andhe did not like this change of positions; but Franks, however sensibleof his good luck, and inclined at times to take himself ratherseriously, had no touch of the snob in his temper; when with him, Willgenerally lost sight of unpleasant things in good-natured amusement. To-day, however, grocerdom lay heavily on his soul. On the returnjourney from St. Neots he had caught a cold, and a week of sore throatbehind the counter--a week too, of quarrel with a wholesale house whichhad been cheating him--left his nerves in a bad state. For reply to theartist's cordial greeting he could only growl inarticulately. 

"Out of sorts?" asked the other, as they entered the large well-warmedstudio "You look rather bad. "

"Leave me alone, " muttered Warburton. 

"All right. Sit down here and thaw yourself. "

But Will's eye had fallen on a great canvas, showing the portrait of abrilliant lady who reclined at ease and caressed the head of a greatdeer-hound. He went and stood before it. 

"Who's that?"

"Lady Caroline--I told you about her--don't you think it's rather good?"

"Yes. And for that very reason I'm afraid it's bad. "

The artist laughed. 

"That's good satire on the critics. When anything strikes them asgood--by a new man, that is--they're ashamed to say so, just becausethey never dare trust their own judgment. --But it _is_ good, Warburton;uncommonly good. If there's a weak point, it's doggy; I can't come theLandseer. Still, you can see it's meant for a doggy, eh?"

"I guessed it, " replied Will, warming his hands. 

"Lady Caroline is superb, " went on Franks, standing before the canvas, head aside and hands in his pocket. "This is my specialty, oldboy--lovely woman made yet lovelier, without loss of likeness. She'llbe the fury of the next Academy. --See that something in the eyes, Warburton? Don't know how to call it. My enemies call it claptrap. Butthey can't do the trick, my boy, they can't do it. They'd give the endof their noses if they could. "

He laughed gaily, boyishly. How well he was looking! Warburton, havingglanced at him, smiled with a surly kindness. 

"All your doing, you know, " pursued Franks, who had caught the look andthe smile. "You've made me. But for you I should have gone to thedevil. I was saying so yesterday to the Crosses. "

"The Crosses?"

Will had sharply turned his head, with a curious surprise. 

"Don't you remember the Crosses?" said Franks, smiling with a certainembarrassment, "Rosamund's friends at Walham Green. I met them bychance not long ago, and they wanted me to go and see them. The oldlady's a bore, but she can be agreeable when she likes; the girl'srather clever--does pictures for children's books, you know. She seemsto be getting on better lately. But they are wretchedly poor. I wassaying to them--oh, but that reminds me of something else. You haven'tseen the Pomfrets lately?"

"No. "

"Then you don't know that Mr. Elvan's dead?"

"No. "

"He died a month ago, over there in the South of France. Rosamund hasgone back to Egypt, to stay with that friend of hers at Cairo. Mrs. Pomfret hints to me that the girls will have to find a way of earningtheir living; Elvan has left practically nothing. I wonder whether--"

He smiled and broke off. 

"Whether what?" asked the listener. 

"Oh, nothing. What's the time?"

"Whether _what_?" repeated Warburton, savagely. 

"Well--whether Rosamund doesn't a little regret?"

"Do _you_?" asked Will, without looking round. 

"I? Not for a moment, my dear boy! She did me the greatest possiblekindness--only _you_ even did me a greater. At this moment I shouldhave been cursing and smoking cheap tobacco in Battersea--unless I hadgot sick of it all and done the _hic jacet_ business, a strongprobability. Never did a girl behave more sensibly. Some day I hope totell her so; of course when she has married somebody else. Then I'llpaint her portrait, and make her the envy of a season--by Jove, I will!Splendid subject, she'd be. . . . When I think of that beastlyso-called portrait that I put my foot through, the day I was in hell!Queer how one develops all at a jump. Two years ago I could no morepaint a woman's portrait than I could build a cathedral. I caught thetrick in the Slummer, but didn't see all it meant till Blackstaffeasked me to paint Lady Rockett. --Rosamund ought to have given me thesack when she saw that daub, meant for her. Good little girl; she heldas long as she could. Oh, I'll paint her divinely, one of these days. "

The soft humming of a gong summoned them to another room, where lunchwas ready. Never had Warburton showed such lack of genial humour at hisfriend's table. He ate mechanically, and spoke hardly at all. Little bylittle, Franks felt the depressing effect of this companionship. Whenthey returned to the studio, to smoke by the fireside, only a casualword broke the cheerless silence. 

"I oughtn't to have come to-day, " said Will, at length, halfapologetically. "I feel like a bear with a sore head. I think I'mgoing. "

"Shall I come and see you some evening?" asked the other in hisfriendliest tone. 

"No--I mean not just yet. --I'll write and ask you. "

And Will went out into the frosty gloom. 

CHAPTER 24

By way of Allchin, who knew all the gossip of the neighbourhood, Warburton learnt that his new competitor in trade was a man with fivechildren and a wife given to drink; he had been in business in anotherpart of London, and was suspected to have removed with the hope thatnew surroundings might help his wife to overcome her disastrousfailing. A very respectable man, people said; kind husband, goodfather, honest dealer. But Allchin reported, with a twinkle of the eye, that all his capital had gone in the new start, and it was alreadyclear that his business did not thrive. 

"We shall starve him out!" cried the assistant, snapping his thumb andfinger. 

"And what'll become of him then?" asked Will. 

"Oh, that's for him to think about, " replied Allchin. "Wouldn't hestarve us, if he could, sir?"

And Warburton, brooding on this matter, stood appalled at the ferocityof the struggle amid which he lived, in which he had his part. Gone wasall his old enjoyment of the streets of London. In looking back uponhis mood of that earlier day, he saw himself as an incredibly ignorantand careless man; marvelled at the lightness of heart which had enabledhim to find amusement in rambling over this vast slaughter-strewn fieldof battle. Picturesque, forsooth! Where was its picturesqueness forthat struggling, soon-to-be-defeated tradesman, with his tipsy wife, and band of children who looked to him for bread? "And I myself amcrushing the man--as surely as if I had my hand on his gullet and myknee on his chest! Crush him I must; otherwise, what becomes of thatlittle home down at St. Neots--dear to me as his children are to him. There's no room for both of us; he has come too near; he must pay thepenalty of his miscalculation. Is there not the workhouse for suchpeople?" And Will went about repeating to himself. "There's theworkhouse--don't I pay poor-rates?--the workhouse is an admirableinstitution. "

He lay awake many an hour of these winter nights, seeing in vision hisown life and the life of man. He remembered the office in Little AilieStreet; saw himself and Godfrey Sherwood sitting together, talking, laughing, making a jest of their effort to support a doomed house. Godfrey used to repeat legends, sagas, stories of travel, as thoughexistence had not a care, or the possibility of one; and he, in turn, talked about some bit of London he had been exploring, showed an oldmap he had picked up, an old volume of London topography. The while, world-wide forces, the hunger-struggle of nations, were shaking theroof above their heads. Theoretically they knew it. But they couldescape in time; they had a cosy little corner preserved for themselves, safe from these pestilent worries. Fate has a grudge against thefoolishly secure. If he laughed now, it was in self-mockery. 

The night of London, always rife with mysterious sounds, spokedreadfully to his straining ear. He heard voices near and far, cries ofpain or of misery, shouts savage or bestial; over and through all, thatlow, far-off rumble or roar, which never for a moment ceases, thegroan, as it seemed, of suffering multitudes. There tripped before hisdreaming eyes a procession from the world of wealth and pleasure, andthe amazement with which he viewed it changed of a sudden to fierywrath; he tossed upon the bed, uttered his rage in a loud exclamation, felt his heart pierced with misery which brought him all but to tears. Close upon astonishment and indignation followed dread. Given healthand strength, he might perhaps continue to hold his own in thismerciless conflict; perhaps, only; but what if some accident, such asbefalls this man or that in every moment of time, threw him among theweaklings? He saw his mother, in her age and ill-health, reduced to thepittance of the poorest; his sister going forth to earn her living;himself, a helpless burden upon both. --Nay, was there not rat-poison tobe purchased?

How--he cried within himself--how, in the name of sense and mercy, ismankind content to live on in such a world as this? By what devil arethey hunted, that, not only do they neglect the means of solacesuggested to every humane and rational mind, but, the vast majority ofthem spend all their strength and ingenuity in embittering the commonlot? Overwhelmed by the hateful unreason of it all, he felt as thoughhis brain reeled on the verge of madness. 

Every day, and all the day long, the shop, the counter. Had he chosen, he might have taken a half-holiday, now and then; on certain daysAllchin was quite able, and abundantly willing, to manage alone; butwhat was the use? To go to a distance was merely to see with moredistinctness the squalor of his position. Never for a moment was hetempted to abandon this work; he saw no hope whatever of earning moneyin any other way, and money he must needs earn, as long as he lived. But the life weighed upon him with a burden such as he had neverimagined. Never had he understood before what was meant by thesickening weariness of routine; his fretfulness as a youth in the WestIndies seemed to him now inconceivable. His own master? Why, he was theslave of every kitchen wench who came into the shop to spend a penny;he trembled at the thought of failing to please her, and so losing hercustom. The grocery odours, once pleasant to him, had grown nauseating. And the ever repeated tasks, the weighing, parcel making, stringcutting; the parrot phrases a thousand times repeated; the idiot bowingand smiling--how these things gnawed at his nerves, till he quiveredlike a beaten horse. He tried to console himself by thinking thatthings were now at the worst; that he was subduing himself, and wouldsoon reach a happy, dull indifference; but in truth it was with fearthat he looked forward--fear of unknown possibilities in himself; fearthat he might sink yet more wretchedly in his own esteem. 

For the worst part of his suffering was self-scorn. When he embarkedupon this strange enterprise, he knew, or thought he knew, all thetrials to which he would be exposed, and not slight would have been hisindignation had any one ventured to hint that his character might proveunequal to the test. Sherwood's letter had pleased him so much, precisely because it praised his resolve as courageous, manly. Onmanliness of spirit, Will had always piqued himself; it was his pridethat he carried a heart equal to any lot imposed upon him by duty. Yetlittle more than a twelvemonth of shopkeeping had so undermined hispluck, enfeebled his temper, that he could not regard himself in theglass without shame. He tried to explain it by failure of health. Assuredly his physical state had for months been declining and the badcold from which he had recently suffered seemed to complete his moraldownfall. In this piercing and gloom-wrapped month of February, cowardthoughts continually beset him. In his cold lodgings, in the coldstreets, in the draughts of the shop, he felt soul and body shrinktogether, till he became as the meanest of starveling hucksters. 

Then something happened, which rescued him for awhile from thishaunting self. One night, just at closing time--a night of wild windand driven rain--Mrs. Hopper came rushing into the shop, her face atale of woe. Warburton learnt that her sister "Liza, " the ailing girlwhom he had befriended in his comfortable days, had been seized withlung hemorrhage, and lay in a lamentable state; the help of Mrs. Allchin was called for, and any other that might be forthcoming. Twoyears ago Will would have responded to such an appeal as this withlavish generosity; now, though the impulse of compassion blinded himfor a moment to his changed circumstances, he soon remembered that hischarity must be that of a poor man, of a debtor. He paid for a cab, that the two women might speed to their sister through the stormy nightas quickly as possible, and he promised to think of what could be donefor the invalid--with the result that he lost a night's sleep incalculating what sum he might spare. On the morrow came the news he hadexpected; the doctor suggested Brompton Hospital, if admission could beobtained; home treatment at this time of the year, and in the patient'scircumstances, was not likely to be of any good. Warburton took thematter in hand, went about making inquiries, found that there mustnecessarily be delay. Right or wrong, he put his hand in his pocket, and Mrs. Hopper was enabled to nurse her sister in a way otherwiseimpossible. He visited the sick-room, and for half an hour managed totalk as of old, in the note of gallant sympathy and encouragement. Letthere be no stint of fire, of food, of anything the doctor mightadvise. Meanwhile, he would ask about other hospitals--do everything inhis power. As indeed he did, with the result that in a fortnight'stime, the sufferer was admitted to an institution to which, for thenonce, Warburton had become a subscriber. 

He saw her doctor. "Not much chance, I'm afraid. Of course, if she wereable to change climate--that kind of thing. But, under thecircumstances--"

And through a whole Sunday morning Will paced about his littlesitting-room, not caring to go forth, nor caring to read, caring fornothing at all in a world so full of needless misery. "Of course, ifshe were able to change climate--" Yes, the accident of possessingmoney; a life to depend upon that! In another station--though, aslikely as not, with no moral superiority to justify the privilege--thesick woman would be guarded, soothed, fortified by every expedient ofscience, every resource of humanity. Chance to be poor, and not onlymust you die when you need not, but must die with the minimum ofcomfort, the extreme of bodily and mental distress. This commonplacestruck so forcibly upon Will's imagination, that it was as a newdiscovery to him. He stood amazed, bewildered--as men of any thinkingpower are wont to do when experience makes real to them the truisms oflife. A few coins, or pieces of printed paper to signify all that! Anexplosion of angry laughter broke the mood. 

Pacing, pacing, back and fro in the little room, for hour after hour, till his head whirled, and his legs ached. Out of doors there wasfitfully glinting sunshine upon the wet roofs; a pale blue now and thenrevealed amid the grey rack. Two years ago he would have walked twentymiles on a day like this, with eyes for nothing but the beauty and joyof earth. Was he not--he suddenly asked himself--a wiser man now thanthen? Did he not see into the truth of things; whereas, formerly, hehad seen only the deceptive surface? There should be some solace inthis reflection, if he took it well to heart. 

Then his mind wandered away to Norbert Franks, who at this moment wassomewhere enjoying himself. This afternoon he might be calling upon theCrosses. Why should that thought be disagreeable? It was, as heperceived, not for the first time. If he pictured the artist chattingside by side with Bertha Cross, something turned cold within him. Bythe bye, it was rather a long time since he had seen Miss Cross; hermother had been doing the shopping lately. She might come, perhaps, oneday this week; the chance gave him something to look forward to. 

How often had he called himself a fool for paying heed to BerthaCross's visits?

CHAPTER 25

Again came springtime, and, as he stood behind the counter, Warburtonthought of all that was going on in the world he had forsaken. Amusements for which he had never much cared haunted his fancy; feelinghimself shut out from the life of grace and intellect, he suffered asense of dishonour, as though his position resulted from some personalbaseness, some crime. He numbered the acquaintances he had dropped, andpictured them as mentioning his name--if ever they did so--with colddisapproval. Godfrey Sherwood had ceased to write; it was six monthssince his last letter, in which he hinted a fear that the Irishenterprise would have to be abandoned for lack of capital. Even Franks, good fellow as he was, seemed to grow lukewarm in friendship. Thepainter had an appointment for a Sunday in May at Will's lodgings, tosmoke and talk, but on the evening before he sent a telegram excusinghimself. Vexed, humiliated, Warburton wasted the Sunday morning, andonly after his midday meal yielded to the temptation of a brilliantsky, which called him forth. Walking westward, with little heed todistance or direction, he presently found himself at Kew; on the bridgehe lingered awhile, idly gazing at boats, and; as he thus leaned overthe parapet, the sound of a voice behind him fell startlingly upon hisear. He turned, just in time to catch a glimpse of the features whichthat voice had brought before his mind's eye, Bertha Cross was passing, with her mother. Probably they had not seen him. And even if they had, if they had recognised him--did he flatter himself that the Crosseswould give any sign in public of knowing their grocer?

With his eyes on the graceful figure of Bertha, he slowly followed. Theladies were crossing Kew Green; doubtless they would enter the Gardensto spend the afternoon there. Would it not be pleasant to join them, towalk by Bertha's side, to talk freely with her, forgetting the counter, which always restrained their conversation? Bertha was nicely dressed, though one saw that her clothes cost nothing. In the old days, if hehad noticed her at all she would have seemed to him rather a prettygirl of the lower middle class, perhaps a little less insignificantthan her like; now she shone for him against a background of"customers, " the one in whom he saw a human being of his own kind, andwho, within the imposed limits, had given proof of admitting hishumanity. He saw her turn to look at her mother, and smile; a smile ofinfinite kindness and good-humour. Involuntarily his own lipsresponded; he walked on smiling--smiling. 

They passed through the gates; he, at a distance of a dozen yards, still followed. There was no risk of detection; indeed he was doing noharm; even a grocer might observe, from afar off, a girl walking withher mother. But, after strolling for a quarter of an hour, they pausedbeside a bench, and there seated themselves. Mrs. Cross seemed to becomplaining of something; Bertha seemed to soothe her. When he was nearenough to be aware of this Will saw that he was too near. He turnedabruptly on his heels, and--stood face to face with Norbert Franks. 

"Hallo!" exclaimed the painter, with an air of embarrassment. "Ithought that was your back!"

"Your engagement was here?" asked Will bluntly, referring to theother's telegram of excuse. 

"Yes. I was obliged to--"

He broke off, his eyes fixed on the figures of Bertha and her mother. 

"You were obliged--?"

"You see the ladies there, " said Franks in a lower voice, "there, onthe seat? It's Mrs. Cross and her daughter--you remember the Crosses? Icalled to see them yesterday, and only Mrs. Cross was at home, and--thefact is, I as good as promised to meet them here, if it was fine. "

"Very well, " replied Warburton carelessly, "I won't keep you. "

"Go, but--"

Franks was in great confusion. He looked this way and that, as ifseeking for an escape. As Will began to move away, he kept at his side. 

"Look here, Warburton, let me introduce you to them. They're very nicepeople; I'm sure you'd like them; do let me--"

"Thank you, no. I don't want any new acquaintances. "

"Why? Come along old man, " urged the other. "You're getting too grumpy;you live too much alone. Just to please me--"

"No!" answered Will, resolutely, walking on. 

"Very well--just as you like. But, I say, should I find you at homethis evening? Say, nine o'clock. I particularly want to have a talk. "

"Good. I'll be there, " replied Will, and so, with knitted brows strodeaway. 

Very punctually did the visitor arrive that evening. He entered theroom with that same look of embarrassment which he had worn during thebrief colloquy at Kew; he shook hands awkwardly, and, as he seatedhimself, talked about the fall of temperature since sunset, which madea fire agreeable. Warburton, ashamed of the sullenness he could notovercome, rolled this way and that in his chair, holding the poker andmaking lunges with it at a piece of coal which would not break. 

"That was a lucky chance, " began Franks at length, "our meeting thisafternoon. "

"Lucky? Why?"

"Because it has given me the courage to speak to you about something. Queerest chance I ever knew that you should be there close by theCrosses. "

"Did they ask who I was?" inquired Warburton after a violent lunge withthe poker, which sent pieces of coal flying into the room. 

"They didn't happen to see me whilst I was talking with you. But, inany case, " added Franks, "they wouldn't have asked. They're well-bredpeople, you know--really ladies. I suspect you've had a different ideaof them. Wasn't that why you wouldn't let me introduce you?"

"Not at all, " answered Will, with a forced laugh. "I've no doubt oftheir ladyhood. "

"The fact of the matter is, " continued the other, crossing anduncrossing, and re-crossing his legs in nervous restlessness, "thatI've been seeing them now and then since I told you I was going to callthere. You guess why? It isn't Mrs. Cross, depend upon it. "

"Mrs. Cross's tea, perhaps?" said Will, with a hard grin. 

"Not exactly. It's the worst tea I ever tasted. I must advise her tochange her grocer. "

Warburton exploded in a roar of laughter, and cried, as Franks staredwonderingly at him:

"You'll never make a better joke in your life than that. "

"Shows what I can do when I try, " answered the artist. "However, thetea is shockingly bad. "

"What can you expect for one and sevenpence halfpenny per pound?" criedWill. 

"How do _you_ know what she pays?"

Warburton's answer was another peal of merriment. 

"Well, I shouldn't wonder, " Franks went on. "The fact is, you know, they're very poor. It's a miserable sort of a life for a girl likeBertha Cross. She's clever, in her way; did you ever see any of herwork? Children's book-illustrating? It's more than passable, I assureyou. But of course she's wretchedly paid. Apart from that, a reallynice girl. "

"So this is what you had to tell me?" said Warburton, in a subduedvoice, when the speaker hesitated. 

"I wanted to talk about it, old man, that's the truth. "

Franks accompanied these words with a shy smiling look of such friendlyappeal that Will felt his hard and surly humour begin to soften, andsomething of the old geniality stirring under the dull weight that hadso long oppressed him. 

"I suppose it's settled, " he asked, staring at the fire. 

"Settled? How?"

"When it comes to meetings at Kew Gardens--"

"Oh don't misunderstand, " exclaimed Franks nervously, "I told you thatit was with the mother I made the appointment--not with Bertha herself. I'm quite sure Bertha never heard a word of it. "

"Well, it comes to the same thing. "

"Not at all! I half wish it did. "

"Half?" asked Warburton, with a quick glance. 

"Can't you see that I haven't really made up my mind, " said Franks, fidgeting in his chair. "I'm not sure of myself--and I'm still lesssure of her. It's all in the air. I've been there perhaps half a dozentimes--but only like any other acquaintance. And, you know, she isn'tthe kind of girl to meet one half way. I'm sorry you don't know her. You'd be able to understand better. --Then, you see, there's something alittle awkward in her position and mine. She's the intimate friendof--of the other one, you know; at least, I suppose she still is; ofcourse we haven't said anything about that. It makes misunderstandingsvery possible. Suppose she thought I made friends with her in the hopeof getting round to the other again? You see how difficult it is tojudge her behaviour--to come to any conclusion. "

"Yes, I see, " Warburton let fall, musingly. 

"And, even if I were sure of understanding _her_--there's myself. Lookat the position, now. I suppose I may call myself a successful man;well on the way to success, at all events. Unless fortune plays me adirty trick, I ought soon to be making my three or four thousand ayear; and there's the possibility of double that. Think what thatmeans, in the way of opportunity. Once or twice, when I was going tosee the Crosses, I've pulled myself up and asked what the deuce I wasdoing--but I went all the same. The truth is, there's something aboutBertha--I wish you knew her, Warburton; I really wish you did. She'sthe kind of girl any man might marry. Nothing brilliant abouther--but--well, I can't describe it. As different as could be from--theother. In fact, it isn't easy to see how they became such closefriends. Of course, she knows all about me--what I'm doing, and so on. In the case of an ordinary girl in her position, it would beirresistible; but I'm not at all sure that _she_ looks at it in thatway. She behaves to one--well, in the most natural way possible. Nowand then I rather think she makes fun of me. "

Warburton allowed a low chuckle to escape him. 

"Why do you laugh?--I don't mean that she does it disagreeably. It'sher way to look at things on the humorous side--and I rather like that. Don't you think it a good sign in a girl?"

"That depends, " muttered Will. 

"Well, that's how things are. I wanted to tell you. There's nobody elseI should think of talking to about it. "

Silence hung between them for a minute or two. 

"You'll have to make up your mind pretty soon, I suppose, " saidWarburton at length, in a not unpleasant voice. 

"That's the worst of it. I don't want to be in a hurry--it's just whatI don't want. "

"Doesn't it occur to you, " asked Will, as if a sudden idea had struckhim, "that perhaps she's no more in a hurry than you are?"

"It's possible. I shouldn't wonder. But if I seem to be playing thefool--?"

"That depends on yourself. --But, " Will added, with a twinkle in hiseye, "there's just one piece of advice I should like to offer you. "

"Let me have it, " replied the other eagerly. "Very good of you, oldman, not to be bored. "

"Don't, " said Warburton, in an impressive undertone, "don't persuadeMrs. Cross to change her grocer. "

CHAPTER 26

This conversation brought Warburton a short relief. Laughter, eventhough it come from the throat rather than the midriff, tends to dispelmorbid humours, and when he woke next morning, after unusually soundsleep, Will had a pleasure in the sunlight such as he had not known fora long time. He thought of Norbert Franks, and chuckled; of BerthaCross, and smiled. For a day or two the toil of the shop was lessirksome. Then came sordid troubles which again overcast the sky. Actingagainst his trusty henchman's advice, Will had made a considerablepurchase of goods from a bankrupt stock; and what seemed to be a greatbargain was beginning to prove a serious loss. Customers grumbled aboutthe quality of articles supplied to them out of this unlucky venture, and among the dissatisfied was Mrs. Cross, who came and talked fortwenty minutes about some tapioca that had been sent to her, obligingMr. Jollyman to make repeated apologies and promises that such a thingshould never occur again. When the querulous-voiced lady at lengthwithdrew, Will was boiling over with rage. 

"Idiot!" he exclaimed, regardless of the fact that Allchin overheardhim. 

"You see, sir, " remarked the assistant. "It's just as I said; but Icouldn't persuade you. "

Will held his lips tight and stared before him. 

"There'll be a net loss of ten pounds on that transaction, " pursuedAllchin. "It's a principle of honest business, never buy a bankruptstock. But you wouldn't listen to me, sir--"

"That'll do, Allchin, that'll do!" broke in the master, quivering withthe restraint he imposed upon himself. "Can't you see I'm not in a moodfor that sort of thing?"

This same day, there was a leakage of gas on the premises, due to badworkmanship in some new fittings which had cost Will more than heliked. Then the shop awning gave way, and fell upon the head of apasser-by, who came into the shop swearing at large and demandingcompensation for his damaged hat. Sundry other things went wrong in thecourse of the week, and by closing-time on Saturday night Warburton'snerves were in a state of tension which threatened catastrophe. He wentto bed at one o'clock; at six in the morning, not having closed hiseves for a moment, he tumbled out again, dressed with fury, and rushedout of the house. 

It was a morning of sunny showers; one moment the stones were coveredwith shining moisture, and the next were steaming themselves dry underunclouded rays. Heedless whither he went, so he did but move quicklyenough, Will crossed the river, and struck southward, till he foundhimself by Clapham Junction. The sun had now triumphed; the day wouldbe brilliant. Feeling already better for his exercise, he stood awhilereflecting, and decided at length to go by rail into the country. Hemight perhaps call on the Pomfrets at Ashtead; that would depend uponhis mood. At all events he would journey in that direction. 

It was some three months since he had seen the Pomfrets. He had astanding invitation to the pleasant little house, where he was alwaysreceived with simple, cordial hospitality. About eleven o'clock, aftera ramble about Ashtead Common, he pushed open the garden wicket, andknocked at the door under the leafy porch. So quiet was the house, thathe half feared he would find nobody at home; but the servant at onceled him in, and announced him at the door of her master's sanctum. 

"Warburton?" cried a high, hearty voice, before he had entered. "Goodfellow. Every day this week I've been wanting to ask you to come; but Iwas afraid; it's so long since we saw you, I fancied you must have beenbored the last time you were here. "

A small, thin, dry-featured man, with bald occiput and grizzled beard, Ralph Pomfret sat deep in an easy chair, his legs resting on another. Humour and kindliness twinkled in his grey eye. The room, which wasfull of books, had a fair view of meadows, and hill. Garden perfumesfloated in at the open window. 

"Kind fellow, to come like this, " he went on. "You see that the oldenemy has a grip on me. He pinches, he pinches. He'll get at my vitalsone of these days, no doubt. And I've not even the satisfaction ofhaving got my gout in an honourable way. If it had come to me from afine old three-bottle ancestor! But I, who never had a grandfather, andhardly tasted wine till I was thirty years old--why, I feel ashamed tocall myself gouty. Sit down, my wife's at church. Strange thing thatpeople still go to church--but they do, you know. Force of habit, forceof habit. Rosamund's with her. "

"Miss Elvan?" asked Warburton, with surprise. 

"Ah, yes I forgot you didn't know she was here. Came back with thosefriends of hers from Egypt a week ago. She has no home in England now;don't know where she will decide to live. "

"Have you seen Norbert lately?" continued Mr. Pomfret, all in onebreath. "He's too busy to come out to Ashtead, perhaps too prosperous. But no, I won't say that; I won't really think it. A good lad, Norbert--better, I suspect, than his work. There's a strange thing now;a painter without enthusiasm for art. He used to have a little; morethan a little; but it's all gone. Or so it seems to me. "

"He's very honest about it, " said Warburton. "Makes no pretences--callshis painting a trick, and really feels surprised, I'm sure, that he'sso successful. "

"Poor Norbert! A good lad, a good lad. I wonder--do you think if Iwrote a line, mentioning, by the way, that Rosamund's here, do youthink he'd come?"

The speaker accompanied his words with an intimate glance. Will avertedhis eyes, and gazed for a moment at the sunny landscape. 

"How long will Miss Elvan stay?" he asked. 

"Oh, as long as she likes. We are very glad to have her. "

Their looks met for an instant. 

"A pity, a pity!" said Ralph, shaking his head and smiling. "Don't_you_ think so?"

"Why, yes. I've always thought so. "

Will knew that this was not strictly the truth. But in this moment herefused to see anything but the dimly suggested possibility that Franksmight meet again with Rosamund Elvan, and again succumb to her charm. 

"Heaven forbid!" resumed Ralph, "that one should interfere where livesare at stake! Nothing of that, nothing of that. You are as littledisposed for it as I am. But simply to acquaint him with the fact--?"

"I see no harm. If I met him--?"

"Ah! To be sure. It would be natural to say--"

"I owe him a visit, " remarked Will. 

They talked of other things. All at once Warburton had become awarethat he was hungry; he had not broken his fast to-day. Happily, theclock on the mantelpiece pointed towards noon. And at this moment theresounded voices within the house, followed by a tap at the study doorwhich opened, admitting Mrs. Pomfret. The lady advanced with hospitablegreeting; homely of look and speech, she had caught her husband'ssmile, and something of his manner--testimony to the happiness of along wedded life. Behind her came the figure of youth and grace whichWarburton's eyes expected; very little changed since he last saw it, inthe Valley of Trient, Warburton was conscious of an impression that theyoung lady saw him again with pleasure. In a minute or two, Mrs. Pomfret and her niece had left the room, but Warburton still saw thosepure, pale features, the emotional eyes and lips, the slight droop ofthe head to one side. Far indeed--so he said within himself--from hisideal; but, he easily understood, strong in seductiveness for such aman as Franks, whom the old passion had evidently left lukewarm in histhought of other women. 

The bell gave a welcome summons to lunch--or dinner, as it was calledin this household of simple traditions. Helped by his friend's arm, Ralph managed to hobble to table; he ate little, and talked throughoutthe meal in his wonted vein of cheerful reflection. Will enjoyedeverything that was set before him; the good, wholesome food, which didcredit to Mrs. Pomfret's housekeeping, had a rare savour after monthsof dining in the little parlour behind his shop, varied only by Mrs. Wick's cooking on Sundays. One thing, however, interfered with hisease; seated opposite to Rosamund Elvan, he called to mind the factthat his toilet this morning had been of the most summary description;he was unshaven, and his clothing was precisely what he had worn allyesterday at the counter. The girl's eyes passed observantly over himnow and then; she was critical of appearances, no doubt. That hisaspect and demeanour might be in keeping, he bore himself somewhatbluffly, threw out brief, blunt phrases, and met Miss Elvan's glancewith a confident smile. No resentment of this behaviour appeared in herlook or speech; as the meal went on, she talked more freely, andsomething of frank curiosity began to reveal itself in her countenanceas she listened to him. 

Ralph Pomfret having hobbled back to his study chair, to doze, if mightbe, for an hour or two, the others presently strolled out into thegarden, where rustic chairs awaited them on the shadowy side. 

"You have your pipe, I hope?" said the hostess, as Warburton stretchedhimself out with a sigh of content. 

"I have. "

"And matches?"

"Yes--No! The box is empty. "

"I'll send you some. I have one or two things to see to indoors. "

So Will and Rosamund sat alone, gazing idly at the summer sky, hearingthe twitter of a bird, the hum of insects, whilst the scents of flowerand leaf lulled them to a restful intimacy. Without a word of ceremony, Will used the matches that were brought him, and puffed a cloud intothe warm air. They were talking of the beauties of this neighbourhood, of the delightful position of the house. 

"You often come out to see my uncle, I suppose, " said Rosamund. 

"Not often, I'm seldom free, and not always in the humour. "

"Not in the humour for _this_?"

"It sounds strange, doesn't it?" said Will, meeting her eyes. "When I'mhere, I want to be here always; winter or summer, there's nothing moreenjoyable--in the way of enjoyment that does only good. Do you regretEgypt?"

"No, indeed. I shall never care to go there again. "

"Or the Pyrenees?"

"Have you seen them yet?" asked Rosamund. 

Will shook his head. 

"I remember your saying, " she remarked, "you would go for your nextholiday to the Basque country. "

"Did I? Yes--when you had been talking much about it. But since thenI've had no holiday. "

"No holiday--all this time?"

Rosamund's brows betrayed her sympathy. 

"How long is it since we were together in Switzerland?" asked Will, dreamily, between puffs. "This is the second summer, isn't it? Oneloses count of time, there in London. I was saying to Franks the otherday--"

He stopped, but not abruptly; the words seemed to murmur away as histhoughts wandered. Rosamund's eyes were for a moment cast down. But fora moment only; then she fixed them upon him in a steady, untroubledgaze. 

"You were saying to Mr. Franks--?"

The quiet sincerity of her voice drew Warburton's look. She was sittingstraight in the cane chair, her hands upon her lap, with an air ofpleasant interest. 

"I was saying--oh, I forget--it's gone. "

"Do you often see him?" Rosamund inquired in the same calmly interestedtone. 

"Now and then. He's a busy man, with a great many friends--like mostmen who succeed. "

"But you don't mean, I hope, that he cares less for his friends of theold time, before he succeeded?"

"Not at all, " exclaimed Will, rolling upon his chair, and gazing at thedistance. "He's the same as ever. It's my fault that we don't meetoftener. I was always a good deal of a solitary, you know, and mytemper hasn't been improved by ill-luck. "

"Ill-luck?"

Again there was sympathy in Rosamund's knitted brow; her voice toucheda note of melodious surprise and pain. 

"That's neither here nor there. We were talking of Franks. If anything, he's improved, I should say. I can't imagine any one bearing successbetter--just the same bright, good-natured, sincere fellow. Of course, he enjoys his good fortune--he's been through hard times. "

"Which would have been harder still, but for a friend of his, " saidRosamund, with eyes thoughtfully drooped. 

Warburton watched her as she spoke. Her look and her voice carried himback to the Valley of Trient; he heard the foaming torrent; saw thedark fir-woods, felt a cool breath from the glacier. Thus had Rosamundbeen wont to talk; then, as now, touching his elementary emotions, butmoving his reflective self to a smile. 

"Have you seen Miss Cross since you came back?" he asked, as ifcasually. 

"Oh, yes. If I stay in England, I hope to live somewhere near her. Perhaps I shall take rooms in London, and work at water-colours andblack-and-white. Unless I go to the Basque country, where my sister is. Don't you think, Mr. Warburton, one might make a lot of drawings in thePyrenees, and then have an exhibition of them in London? I have to earnmy living, and I must do something of that kind. "

Whilst Will was shaping his answer Mrs. Pomfret came toward them fromthe house, and the current of the conversation was turned. PresentlyRalph summoned his guest to the book-room, where they talked till thekindly hour of tea. But before setting out for his homeward journey, Warburton had another opportunity of exchanging words with Miss Elvanin the garden. 

"Well, I shall hear what you decide to do, " he said, bluffly. "If yougo to the Pyrenees--but I don't think you will. "

"No, perhaps not. London rather tempts me, " was the girl's dreamy reply. 

"I'm glad to hear it. "

"I must get Bertha's advice--Miss Cross'. "

Will nodded. He was about to say something, but altered his mind; andso the colloquy ended. 

CHAPTER 27

Toward ten o'clock that evening, Warburton alighted from a train atNotting Hill Gate, and walked through heavy rain to the abode ofNorbert Franks. With satisfaction, he saw the light at the great windowof his studio, and learnt from the servant who admitted him that Frankshad no company. His friend received him with surprise, so long was itsince Warburton had looked in unexpectedly. 

"Nothing amiss?" said Franks, examining the hard-set face, with itsheavy eyes, and cheeks sunken. 

"All right. Came to ask for news, that's all. "

"News? Ah, I understand. There's no news. "

"Still reflecting?"

"Yes. Keeping away, just to see how I like it. Sensible that, don't youthink?"

Warburton nodded. The conversation did not promise much vivacity, forFranks looked tired, and the visitor seemed much occupied with his ownthoughts. After a few words about a canvas which stood on theeasel--another woman the artist was boldly transforming intoloveliness--Will remarked carelessly that he had spent the day atAshtead. 

"By Jove, I ought to go and see those people, " said Franks. 

"Better wait a little, perhaps, " returned the other with a smile. "MissElvan is with them. "

"Ah! Lucky you told me--not that it matters much, " added Franks, aftera moment's reflection, "at all events as far as I'm concerned. But itmight be a little awkward for her. How long is she staying?"

Will told all he knew of Miss Elvan's projects. He went on to say thatshe seemed to him more thoughtful, more serious, than in the old time;to be sure, she had but recently lost her father, and the subduinginfluence of that event might have done her good. 

"You had a lot of talk?" said Franks. 

"Oh, we gossiped in the garden. Poor old Pomfret has his gout, andcouldn't come out with us. What do you think, by the bye, of her chanceof living by art? She says she'll have to. "

"By that, or something else, no doubt, " Franks replied disinterestedly. "I know her father had nothing to leave, nothing to make an income. "

"Are her water-colours worth anything?"

"Not much, I'm afraid, I can't quite see her living by anything of thatsort. She's the amateur, pure and simple. Now, Bertha Cross--there'sthe kind of girl who does work and gets paid for it. In her modestline, Bertha is a real artist. I do wish you knew her, Warburton. "

"So you have said a good many times, " remarked Will. "But I don't seehow it would help you. I know Miss Elvan, and--"

He paused, as if musing on a thought. 

"And what?" asked Franks impatiently. 

"Nothing--except that I like her better than I used to. "

As he spoke, he stood up. 

"Well, I can't stay. It's raining like the devil. I wanted to knowwhether you'd done anything decisive, that's all. "

"I'll let you know when I do, " answered Franks, suppressing a yawn. "Good-night, old man. "

For a fortnight, Warburton led his wonted life, shut off as usual fromthe outer world. About this time, Allchin began to observe with anxietythe change in his master's aspect and general behaviour. 

"I'm afraid you're not feeling quite yourself, sir, " he said at closingtime one night. "I've noticed lately you don't seem quite well. "

"Have you? Well, perhaps you are right. But it doesn't matter. "

"If you'll excuse _me_, sir, " returned the assistant, "I'm afraid itdoes matter. I hope, sir, you won't think I speak disrespectful, butI've been noticing that you didn't seem to care about waiting oncustomers lately. "

"You've noticed that?"

"I have, sir, if the truth must be told. And I kept saying to myself asit wasn't like you. What I'm afraid of, sir, if you don't mind mesaying it, is that the customers themselves are beginning to notice it. Mrs. Gilpin said to me yesterday--'What's come to Mr. Jollyman?' shesays. 'He hasn't a civil word for me!' she says. Of course, I made outas you'd been suffering from a bad 'eadache, and I shouldn't wonder ifthat's the truth, sir. "

Warburton set his teeth and said nothing. 

"You wouldn't like to take just a little 'oliday, sir?" returnedAllchin. "This next week, I could manage well enough. It might do yougood, sir, to have a mouthful of sea air--"

"I'll think about it, " broke in the other abruptly. 

He was going away without another word, but, in crossing the shop, hecaught his henchman's eye fixed on him with a troublous gaze. Self-reproach checked his steps. 

"You're quite right, Allchin, " he said in a confidential tone. "I'm notquite up to the mark, and perhaps I should do well to take a holiday. Thank you for speaking about it. "

He walked home, and there, on his table, he found a letter from Franks, which he eagerly tore open. "I have as good as decided, " wrote theartist. "Yesterday, I went to Ashtead, and saw R. We met like oldfriends--just as I wished. Talked as naturally as you and I. Isuspect--only suspect of course--that she knows of my visits to WalhamGreen, and smiles at them! Yes, as you say, I think she hasimproved--decidedly. The upshot of it all is that I shall call on theCrosses again, and, when an opportunity offers, try my chance. I thinkI am acting sensibly, don't you?"

After reading this, Will paced about his room for an hour or two. Thenhe flung himself into bed, but got no sleep until past dawn. Rising atthe usual hour, he told himself that this would not do; to live on inthis way was mere moral suicide; he resolved to run down to St. Neots, whence, if his mother were capable of the journey, she and Jane mightgo for a week or two to the seaside. So, having packed his travellingbag, he walked to the shop, and arranged with Allchin for a week'sabsence, greatly to the assistant's satisfaction. Before noon he was atThe Haws. But the idea of a family expedition to the seaside could notbe carried out: Mrs. Warburton was not strong enough to leave home, andJane had just invited a friend to come and spend a week with them. Disguising as best he could his miserable state of mind and body, Willstayed for a couple of days. The necessity for detailed lying about hisaffairs in London--lying which would long ago have been detected, butfor the absolute confidence of his mother and sister, and the retiredhabits of their life--added another cause of unrest to those alreadytormenting him, and he was glad to escape into solitude. Though withlittle faith in the remedy, he betook himself to a quiet spot on thecoast of Norfolk, associated with memories of holiday in childhood, andthere for the rest of the time he had allowed himself did what a mancould do to get benefit from sea and sky. 

And in these endless hours of solitude there grew upon him a perceptionof the veritable cause of his illness. Not loss of station, notoverwork, not love; but simply the lie to which he was committed. Therewas the root of the matter. Slowly, dimly, he groped toward the factthat what rendered his life intolerable was its radical dishonesty. Lived openly, avowedly, it would have involved hardships indeed, butnothing of this dull wretchedness which made the world a desert. Hebegan to see how much better, how much easier, it would have been totell the truth two years ago. His mother was not so weak-minded a womanas to be stricken down by loss of money; and as for Sherwood, his follymerited more than the unpleasantness that might have resulted to himfrom disclosure. Grocerdom with a clear conscience would have been atotally different thing from grocerdom surreptitiously embraced. Instead of slinking into a corner for the performance of an honourableact, he should have declared it, frankly, unaffectedly, to all who hadany claim upon him. At once, the enterprise became amusing, interesting. If it disgraced him with any of his acquaintances, so muchthe worse for them; all whose friendship was worth having would haveshown only the more his friends; as things stood, he was ashamed, degraded, not by circumstances, but by himself. 

To undo it all--? To proclaim the truth--? Was it not easy enough? Hehad proved now that his business would yield income sufficient for hismother and sister, as well as for his own needs; the crisis wassurmounted; why not cast off this load of mean falsehood, which wascrushing him to the ground? By Heaven! he would do so. 

Not immediately. Better wait till he had heard from Jane that theirmother was a little stronger, which would probably be the case in aweek or two. But (he declared ill his mind) the resolve was taken. Atthe first favourable moment he would undo his folly. Before taking thisstep, he must of course announce it to Godfrey Sherwood; an unpleasantnecessity; but no matter. 

He walked about the beach in a piping wind, waved his arms, talked tohimself, now and then raised a great shout. And that night he sleptsoundly. 

CHAPTER 28

He got back to Fulham Road in time for the press of Saturday night. Allchin declared that he looked much better, and customers were oncemore gratified by Mr. Jollyman's studious civility. On Sunday morninghe wrote a long letter to Sherwood, which, for lack of other address, he sent to the care of Godfrey's relative in Wales. This was somethingdone. In the afternoon he took a long walk, which led him through theHolland Park region. He called to see Franks, but the artist was not athome; so he left a card asking for news. And the next day broughtFranks' telegraphic reply. "Nothing definite yet. Shall come to see youlate one of these evenings. I have not been to Walham Green. " Though hehad all but persuaded himself that he cared not at all, one way or theother, this message did Warburton good. Midway in the week, businessbeing slack, he granted himself a half holiday, and went to Ashtead, merely in friendliness to Ralph Pomfret--so he said to himself. 

From Ashtead station to the Pomfrets' house was a good twenty minutes'walk. As he strode along, eyes upon the ground, Will all at once sawthe path darkened by a shadow; he then became conscious of a femalefigure just in front of him, and heedlessly glancing at the face, wasarrested by a familiar smile. 

"You were coming to see us?" asked Miss Elvan, offering her hand. "Whata pity that I have to go to town! Only just time to catch the train. "

"Then I'll walk back to the station with you--may I?"

"I shall be delighted, if you don't mind the trouble. I have anappointment with Miss Cross. She has found rooms which she thinks willsuit me, and we're going to look at them together. "

"So you have decided for London?"

"I think so. The rooms are at Chelsea, in Oakley Crescent. I know howfond you are of London, and how well you know it. And I know so little;only a street or two here and there. I mean to remedy my ignorance. Ifever you have an afternoon to spare, Mr. Warburton, I should be so gladif you would let me go with you to see interesting places. "

For an instant, Will was surprised, confused, but Rosamund's entiresimplicity and directness of manner rebuked this sensation. He repliedin a corresponding tone that nothing would please him more. They werenow at the railway station, and the train approached. Rosamund havingsprung into a carriage, gave her hand through the window, saying:

"I may be settled in a day or two. You will hear--"

With the sentence unfinished, she drew back, and the train rolled away. For a minute or two, Warburton stood on the platform, his lipsmechanically prolonging the smile which had answered Miss Elvan's, andhis thoughts echoing her last words. When he turned, he at first walkedslowly; then his pace quickened, and he arrived at the Pomfrets' house, as though on urgent business. In the garden he caught sight of Ralph, recovered from his attack of gout, sitting at his ease, pipe in mouth. Will told of his meeting with Miss Elvan. 

"Yes, yes; she's off to London town--wants to live there, like all therest of the young people. In thirty years' time she'll have had enoughof it, and be glad to creep into a quiet corner like this. My wife's inthe house, teaching our new maid to make tea-cakes--you shall have someat five o'clock. I wonder whether any girl could be found nowadays whoknows how to make tea-cakes? There's Rosamund--she knows no more aboutthat kind of thing than of ship-building. Do you know any young ladywho could make a toothsome tea-cake?"

"I'm not quite sure, " answered Will reflectively, "but I have one inmind who perhaps does--it wouldn't surprise me. "

"That's to your credit. By the bye, you know that Norbert has beenhere. "

"Yes, I heard of it. He wrote to tell me. "

"Aye, but he's been twice--did you know that? He was here yesterday. "

"Indeed?"

Ralph looked at the other with an odd smile. 

"One might have expected a little awkwardness between them, " hecontinued. "Not a bit of it. There again--your girl of to-day; she hasa way of her own with all this kind of thing. Why they just shook handsas if they'd never been anything but pleasant friends. All the same, asI tell you, Norbert has been a second time. "

"I'm glad to hear it, " said Warburton. 

Will had purposed getting back to the shop about seven o'clock. He was, indeed, back in London at that hour, but his state of mind tempted himto shirk squalid duty; instead of turning toward Fulham Road, he tookhis way into the Strand, and there loitered in the evening sunshine, self-reproachful, yet enjoying the unwonted liberty. It wasdinner-time; restaurants exhaled their pungent odours, and Will feltsharpening appetite. For the first time since his catastrophe, hegranted himself the dinner of a well-to-do man, and, as would naturallybefall in such a case, made his indulgence large. 

Several days passed and brought no letter from any one. But at midnighton Saturday, there lay awaiting him a letter addressed in Sherwood'swell-known hand. Godfrey began by excusing himself for his delay inreplying; he had had rather a nasty attack of illness, and was only nowable to hold his pen. But it was lucky he had not written before; thisvery morning there had reached him the very best news. "The father ofthe man who owes me ten thousand pounds is dying. Off and on he hasbeen ill for a long time, but I hear at length that there can be nodoubt whatever that the end is near. I can't pretend to any humanfeeling in this matter; the man's death means life for us--so the worldgoes. Any day now, you may have a telegram from me announcing theevent. Of the prompt payment of the debt as soon as my friend inherits, there is no shadow of doubt. I therefore urge you very strongly not tomake a disclosure. It will be needless. Wait till we see each other. Iam still in Ireland--for a reason which I will explain when we meet. "

Will drew a long breath. If ever news came opportunely, it was this. Hethrew up the window of his stuffy little sitting-room, and looked outinto the summer night. The murmur of London once more made music to hisears. 

CHAPTER 29

Rosamund took the Chelsea lodgings proposed to her by Bertha Cross, andin a few days went to live there. The luggage which she brought fromAshtead enabled her to add a personal touch to the characterless rooms:in the place of the landlady's ornaments, which were not things ofbeauty, she scattered her own _bibelots_, and about the walls she hunga number of her own drawings, framed for the purpose, as well asseveral which bore the signature, "Norbert Franks. " Something less thana year ago, when her father went abroad, their house at Bath had beengiven up, and the furniture warehoused; for the present, Rosamund andher sister were content to leave things thus. The inheritance of eachamounted only to a few hundred pounds. 

"It's enough to save one from worry for a year or two, " said Rosamundto her friend Bertha. "I'm not extravagant; I can live here verycomfortably. And there's a pleasure in the thought that one's work notonly _may_ succeed but _must_. "

"I'm sure I hope so, " replied Bertha, "but where's the _must_?"

"What am I to do if it doesn't?" asked Miss Elvan, with her sweetsmile, and in a tone of irresistible argument. 

"True, " conceded her humorous friend. "There's no other way out of thedifficulty. "

This was on the day of Rosamund's coming to Chelsea. A week later, Bertha found the sitting-room brightened with the hangingwater-colours, with curtains of some delicate fabric at the windows, with a new rug before the fire place. 

"These things have cost so little, " said Rosamund, half apologetically. "And--yes, I was obliged to buy this little tea service; I reallycouldn't use Mrs. Darby's; it spoilt the taste of the tea. Trifles, butthey really have their importance; they help to keep one in the rightmind. Oh, I must show you an amusing letter I've had from Winnie. Winifred is prudence itself. She wouldn't spend a sixpenceunnecessarily. 'Suppose one fell ill, ' she writes, 'what a blessing itwould be to feel that one wasn't helpless and dependent. Oh, do becareful with your money, and consider very, very seriously what is thebest course to take in your position. ' Poor, dear old Winnie! I knowshe frets and worries about me, and pictures me throwing gold away bythe handful. Yet, as you know, that isn't my character at all. If I layout a few sovereigns to make myself comfortable here, I know what I'mdoing; it'll all come back again in work. As you know, Bertha, I'm notafraid of poverty--not a bit! I had very much rather be shockinglypoor, living in a garret and half starved, than just keep myself tidilygoing in lodgings such as these were before I made the little changes. Winnie has a terror of finding herself destitute. She jumped for joywhen she was offered that work, and I'm sure she'd be content to livethere in the same way for years. She feels safe as long as she needn'ttouch her money. "

Winifred Elvan, since her father's death, had found an engagement asgoverness in an English family at St. Jean de Luz. This, in the youngersister's eyes, involved a social decline, more disagreeable to her thanshe chose to confess. 

"The one thing, " pursued Rosamund, "that I really dread, is thecommonplace. If I were utterly, wretchedly, grindingly poor, there'd beat all events a savour of the uncommon about it. I can't imagine myselfmarrying a prosperous shopkeeper; but if I cared for a clerk who hadnothing but a pound a week, I would marry him to-morrow. "

"The result, " said Bertha, "might be lamentably commonplace. "

"Not if it was the right sort of man. --Tell me what you think of thatbit. " She pointed to a framed drawing. "It's in the valley of Bidassoa. "

They talked art for a little, then Rosamund fell into musing, andpresently said:

"Don't you think Norbert has behaved very well. "

"How well?"

"I mean, it would have been excusable, perhaps, if he had betrayed alittle unkind feeling toward me. But nothing of the kind, absolutelynothing. I'm afraid I didn't give him credit for so much manliness. When he came to Ashtead the second time, of course I understood hismotive at once. He wished to show me that his behaviour at the firstmeeting wasn't mere bravado and to assure me that I needn't be afraidof him. There's a great deal of delicacy in that; it really pleased me. "

Bertha Cross was gazing at her friend with a puzzled smile. 

"You're a queer girl, " she remarked. 

"Queer? Why?"

"Do you mean that you were really and truly surprised that Mr. Franksbehaved like a gentleman?"

"Oh, Bertha!" protested the other. "What a word!"

"Well, like a man, then. "

"Perhaps I oughtn't to have felt that, " admitted Rosamund thoughtfully. "But I did, and it meant a good deal. It shows how very right I waswhen I freed myself. "

"Are you quite sure of that?" asked Bertha, raising her eyebrows andspeaking more seriously than usual. 

"I never was more sure of anything. "

"Do you know, I can't help thinking it an argument on the other side. "

Rosamund looked her friend in the eyes. 

"Suppose it means that you were altogether mistaken about Mr. Franks?"went on Bertha, in the same pleasant tone between jest and earnest. 

"I wasn't mistaken in my own feeling, " said Rosamund in her melodiousundertone. 

"No; but your feeling, you have always said, was due to a judgment youformed of Mr. Franks' character and motives. And now you confess thatit looks very much as if you had judged him wrongly. "

Rosamund smiled and shook her head. 

"Do you know, " asked Bertha, after a pause, "that he has been coming toour house lately?"

"You never mentioned it. But why shouldn't he go to your house?"

"Rather, why should he?" asked Bertha, with a laugh. "Don't trouble toguess. The reason was plain enough. He came to talk about you. "

"Oh!" exclaimed the listener with amused deprecation. 

"There's no doubt of it; no--shadow--of--doubt. In fact, we've had verypleasant little chats about you. Of course I said all the disagreeablethings I could; I knew that was what you would wish. "

"Certainly, " fell from Rosamund. 

"I didn't positively calumniate you, but just the unpleasant littlehints that a friend is so well able to throw out; the sort of thinglikely to chill any one. I hope you quite approve?"

"Quite. "

"Well, the odd thing was that they didn't quite have the effect I aimedat. He talked of you more and more, instead of less and less. Wasn't itprovoking, Rosamund?"

Again their eyes encountered. 

"I wish, " continued Miss Elvan, "I knew how much of this is truth, andhow much Bertha's peculiar humour. "

"It's substantial truth. That there may be humour in it, I don't deny, but it isn't of my importing. "

"When did he last come to see you?" Rosamund inquired. 

"Let me see. Just before he went to see you. "

"It doesn't occur to you, " said Rosamund, slowly meditative, "that hehad some other reason--not the apparent one--for coming to your house?"

"It doesn't occur to me, and never will occur to me, " was Bertha'samused answer. 

When it was time for Bertha to walk home wards, Rosamund put her haton, and they went out together. Turning to the west, they passed alongCheyne Walk, and paused awhile by old Chelsea Church. The associationsof the neighbourhood moved Miss Elvan to a characteristic display ofenthusiasm. Delightful to live here! A joy to work amid such memories, of ancient and of latter time!

"I must get Mr. Warburton to come and walk about Chelsea with me, " sheadded. 

"Mr. Warburton?"

"He's a great authority on London antiquities. Bertha, if you happen tosee Norbert these days, do ask him for Mr. Warburton's address. "

"Why not ask your people at Ashtead?" said Bertha. 

"I shan't be going there for two or three weeks. Promise to askNorbert--will you? For me, of course. "

Bertha had turned to look at the river. Her face wore a puzzled gravity. 

"I'll try to think of it, " she replied, walking slowly on. 

"He's a great mystery, " were Rosamund's next words. "My uncle has noidea what he does, and Norbert, they tell me, is just as ignorant, orat all events, professes to be. Isn't it a queer thing? He came togrief in business two years ago, and since then he has lived out ofsight. Uncle Ralph supposes he had to take a clerk's place somewhere, and that he doesn't care to talk about it. "

"Is he such a snob?" asked Bertha, disinterestedly. 

"No one would think so who knows him. I'm convinced there's some otherexplanation. "

"Perhaps the truth is yet more awful, " said Bertha solemnly. "He mayhave got a place _in a shop_. "

"Hush! hush!" exclaimed the other, with a pained look. "Don't say suchthings! A poor clerk is suggestive--it's possible to see him in aromantic light--but a shopman! If you knew him, ' you would laugh at theidea. Mystery suits him very well indeed; to tell the truth, he's muchmore interesting now than when one knew him as a partner in amanufactory of some kind. You see he's unhappy--there are lines in hisface--"

"Perhaps, " suggested Bertha, "he has married a rich widow and daren'tconfess it. "

CHAPTER 30

It was on Saturday night that Godfrey Sherwood came at length toWarburton's lodgings. Reaching home between twelve and one o'clock Willsaw a man who paced the pavement near Mrs. Wick's door; the man, atsight of him, hastened forward; there were exclamations of surprise andof pleasure. 

"I came first of all at nine o'clock, " said Sherwood. "The landladysaid you wouldn't be back before midnight, so I came again. Been to thetheatre, I suppose?"

"Yes, " answered Will, "taking part in a play called 'The Grocer'sSaturday Night. '

"I'd forgotten. Poor old fellow! You won't have much more of _that_thank Heaven!--Are you too tired to talk to-night?"

"No, no; come in. "

The house was silent and dark. Will struck a match to light the candleplaced for him at the foot of the stairs, and led the way up to hissitting-room on the first floor. Here he lit a lamp, and the twofriends looked at each other. Each saw a change. If Warburton was thinand heavy-eyed, Sherwood's visage showed an even more noticeablefalling-off in health. 

"What's been the matter with you?" asked Will. "Your letter said youhad had an illness, and you look as if you hadn't got over it yet. "

"Oh, I'm all right now, " cried the other. "Liver got out of order--orthe spleen, or something--I forget. The best medicine was the news Igot about old Strangwyn. --There, by Jove! I've let the name out. Thewonder is I never did it before, when we were talking. It doesn'tmatter now. Yes, it's Strangwyn, the whisky man. He'll die worth amillion or two, and Ted is his only son. I was a fool to lend thatmoney to Ted, but we saw a great deal of each other at one time, andwhen he came asking for ten thousand--a mere nothing for a fellow ofhis expectations--nobody thought his father could live a year, but theold man has held out all this time, and Ted, the rascal, kept swearinghe couldn't pay the interest on his debt. Of course I could have madehim; but he knew I shouldn't dare to risk the thing coming to hisfather's ears. I've had altogether about three hundred pounds, insteadof the four hundred a year he owed me--it was at four per cent. Now, ofcourse, I shall get all the arrears--but that won't pay for all themischief that's been done. "

"Is it certain, " asked Will, "that Strangwyn will pay?"

"Certain? If he doesn't I sue him. The case is plain as daylight. "

"There's no doubt that he'll have his father's money?"

"None whatever. For more than a year now, he's been on good terms withthe old man. Ted is a very decent fellow, of his sort. I don't say thatI care as much for him now as I used to; we've both of us altered; buthis worst fault is extravagance. The old man, it must be confessed, isn't very good form; he smells rather of the distillery; but TedStrangwyn might come of the best family in the land. Oh, you needn'thave the least anxiety. Strangwyn will pay, principal and interest, assoon as the old man has retired; and that may happen any day, anyhour. --How glad I am to see you again, Will! I've known one or twoplucky men, but no one like you. I couldn't have gone through it; Ishould have turned coward after a month of that. Well, it's over, andit'll be something to look back upon. Some day, perhaps, you'll amuseyour sister by telling her the story. To tell you the truth, I couldn'tbear to come and see you; I should have been too miserably ashamed ofmyself. --And not a soul has found you out, all this time?"

"No one that I know of. "

"You must have suffered horribly from loneliness. --But I have things totell you, important things. " He waved his arm. "Not to-night; it's toolate, and you look tired to death. "

"Tell on, " said Warburton. "If I went to bed I shouldn't sleep--whereare you staying?"

"Morley's Hotel. Not at my own expense, " Sherwood added hastily. "I'macting as secretary to a man--a man I got to know in Ireland. A finefellow! You'll know him very soon. It's about him that I want to tellyou. But first of all, that idea of mine about Irish eggs. The troublewas I couldn't get capital enough. My cousin Hackett risked a couple ofhundred pounds; it was all lost before the thing could really be setgoing. I had a bad time after that, Will, a bad time, I tell you. Yetgood results came of it. For two or three months I lived on next tonothing--a few pence a day, all told. Of course, if I had let Strangwynknow how badly off I was, he'd have sent a cheque; but I didn't feel Ihad any right to his money, it was yours, not mine. Besides, I said tomyself that, if I suffered, it was only what I deserved; I took it as asort of expiation of the harm I'd done. All that time I was in Dublin, I tried to get employment but nobody had any use for me--until at last, when I was all but dying of hunger, somebody spoke to me of a certainMilligan, a young and very rich man living in Dublin. I resolved to goand see him, and a lucky day it was. You remember Conolly--Bates'straveller? Well, Milligan is just that man, in appearance; a thoroughIrishman, and one of the best hearted fellows that ever lived. Thoughhe's rich I found him living in a very plain way, in a room whichlooked like a museum, full of fossils, stuffed birds and animals, queerold pictures, no end of such things. Well, I told him plainly who Iwas, and where I was; and almost without thinking, he cried out--'Whatcould be simpler? Come and be my secretary. '--'You want asecretary?'--'I hadn't thought of it, ' said Milligan, 'but now itstrikes me it's just what I _do_ want. I knew there was something. Yes, yes, come and be my secretary; you're just the man. ' He went on to tellme he had a lot of correspondence with sellers of curiosities, and itbored him to write the letters. Would I come for a couple of hours aday? He'd pay me twenty pounds a month. You may suppose I wasn't longin accepting. We began the next day, and in a week's time we were goodfriends. Milligan told me that he'd always had weak health, and he wasconvinced his life had been saved by vegetarianism. I myself wasn'tfeeling at all fit just then; he persuaded me to drop meat, and taughtme all about the vegetarian way of living. I hadn't tried it for amonth before I found the most wonderful results. Never in my life had Isuch a clear mind, and such good spirits. It remade me. "

"So you've come to London to hunt for curios?" interposed Will. 

"No, no; let me go on. When I got to know Milligan well, I found thathe had a large estate somewhere in Connaught. And, as we talked, anidea came to me. " Again he sprang up from his chair. "'If I were alandowner on that scale, ' I said, 'do you know what I should do--Ishould make a vegetarian colony; a self-supporting settlement of peoplewho ate no meat, drank no alcohol, smoked no tobacco; a communitywhich, as years went on, might prove to the world that there was thetrue ideal of civilised life--health of mind and of body, true culture, true humanity!'" The eyes glowed in his fleshless, colourless face; hespoke with arm raised, head thrown back--the attitude of anenthusiastic preacher. "Milligan caught at the idea--caught at iteagerly. 'There's something fine in that!' he said. 'Why shouldn't itbe done?' 'You're the man that could do it, ' I told him. 'You'd be abenefactor to the human race. Isolated examples are all very well, butwhat we want is an experiment on a large scale, going on through morethan one generation. Let children be born of vegetarian parents, brought up as vegetarians, and this in conditions of life every waysimple, natural, healthy. This is the way to convert the world. ' Sothat's what we're working at now, Milligan and I. Of course there areendless difficulties; the thing can't be begun in a hurry; we have tosee no end of people, and correspond with the leaders of vegetarianismeverywhere. But isn't it a grand idea? Isn't it worth working for?"

Warburton mused, smiling. 

"I want you to join us, " said Sherwood abruptly. 

"Ho, ho! That's another matter. "

"I shall bring you books to read. "

"I've no time. I'm a grocer. "

"Pooh!" exclaimed Sherwood. "In a few days you'll be an independentman. --Yes, yes, I know that you'll have only a small capital, whenthings are settled; but it's just people with a small capital that wewant to enlist; the very poor and the well-to-do will be no use to us. It's too late to-night to go into details. We have time to talk, plentyof time. That you will join us, I feel sure. Wait till you've had timeto think about it. For my own part, I've found the work of my life, andI'm the happiest man living!"

He walked round and round the table, waving his arms, and Warburton, after regarding him curiously, mused again, but without a smile. 

CHAPTER 31

Behind his counter next morning, Will thought over Sherwood's story, and laughed to himself wonderingly. Not that any freak of his oldpartner's--of the man whom he had once regarded as, above all, practical and energetic--could now surprise him; but it seemedastonishing that Godfrey should have persuaded a man of solid means, even a Celt, to pledge himself to such an enterprise Was the storytrue? Did Milligan really exist? If any doubt were possible on thispoint, did it not also throw suspicion on the story of Strangwyn, andthe ten thousand pounds? Will grew serious at the reflection. He hadnever conceived a moment's distrust of Sherwood's honesty, nor did hismisgiving now take that form; the question which troubled himthroughout to-day was--whether Godfrey Sherwood might be a victim ofdelusions. Certainly he had a very strange look; that haggard face, those brilliant eyes--

So disquieting was the suspicion that, at dosing time, Will could nolonger resist an impulse to betake himself to Morley's Hotel. Sherwoodhad said that Milligan was there only for a few days, until the wealthyIrishman could find a furnished house suitable to his needs whilst heremained in London. Arrived at the hotel, he inquired for his friend;Sherwood had dined and gone out. Will hesitated a moment, then askedwhether Mr. Milligan was to be seen. Mr. Milligan, he learnt, had goneout with Mr. Sherwood. So Milligan did exist. Will's relief at settlingthis point banished his doubts on all the others. He turned westwardagain, and through a night of soft, warm rain walked all the way to hislodgings. 

On the third day after, late in the evening, Sherwood paid him a secondvisit. Godfrey was in high spirits. He announced that Milligan hadtaken a house near the Marble Arch, where he also, as secretary, wouldhave his quarters, and that already a meeting had been convened of theleading London vegetarians. Things were splendidly in train. Then heproduced an evening newspaper, with a paragraph, which spoke of theserious illness of Mr. Strangwyn; recovery, it was said, could hardlybe hoped for. 

"What's more, " cried Sherwood. "I've seen Ted Strangwyn himself. Nobodycould behave better. The old man, he assured me, couldn't last morethan a day or two, and he promised--quite spontaneously, I didn't say aword--to pay his debt in full as soon as ever his father's will wasproved, which will be done as quickly as possible. --And now, have youthought over what I said the other night?"

"Thought--yes. "

"With not much result, I see. Never mind; you must have time. I wantyou to meet Milligan. Could you come to lunch next Sunday? He invitesyou. "

Warburton shook his head. He had never cared for the acquaintance ofrich men, and was less than ever disposed to sit at their tables. Allhis anxieties regarding Sherwood's mental condition having been set atrest, he would go on with his grocer's life as long as need be, strengthened with the hope that shone before him. 

The end of July had come. After a week of rain, the weather had turnedbright, with a coolness at morning and evening very pleasant at thistime of year in London streets. Warburton had business in the Citywhich he must needs see to personally; he was on the point of leavingthe shop, dressed as became a respectable citizen, silk hat and all, when in the doorway appeared Miss Bertha Cross. A certain surprisemarked her smile of recognition; it meant, no doubt, that, never beforehaving seen Mr. Jollyman save bareheaded and aproned, she was struckwith the change in his aspect when thus equipped for going abroad. Immediately Mr. Jollyman doffed his hat and stepped behind the counter. 

"Please don't let me keep you, " said Bertha, with a glance towardsAllchin, who was making parcels at the back of the shop. "I only wantsome--some matches, and one or two trifling things. "

Never had she seemed so embarrassed in making a purchase. Her eyesfell, and she half turned away. Mr. Jollyman appeared to hesitate, healso glancing towards Allchin; but the young lady quickly recoveredherself, and, taking up a packet of something exhibited on the counter, asked its price. The awkwardness was at an end; Bertha made herpurchases, paid for them, and then left the shop as usual. 

It was by the last post on the evening after this day that Warburtonreceived a letter of which the exterior puzzled him. Whose could bethis graceful, delicate hand? A woman's doubtless; yet he had no femalecorrespondent, save those who wrote from St. Neots. The postmark wasLondon. He opened, "Dear Mr. Warburton"--a glance over the leaf showedhim--"Sincerely yours, Rosamund Elvan. " H'm!

"Dear Mr. Warburton, --I am settled in my lodgings here, and gettingseriously to work. It has occurred to me that you might be able tosuggest some quaint corner of old London, unknown to me, which wouldmake a good subject for a water-colour. London has been, I am sure, fartoo much neglected by artists; if I could mark out a claim here, as thecolonists say, I should be lucky. For the present, I am just sketching(to get my hand in) about Chelsea. To-morrow afternoon, about sixo'clock, if this exquisite mellow weather continues, I shall be on theEmbankment in Battersea Park, near the Albert Bridge, where I want tocatch a certain effect of sky and water. "

That was all. And what exactly did it mean? Warburton's practicalknowledge of women did not carry him very far, but he was wont totheorise at large on the subject, and in this instance it seemed to himthat one of his favourite generalities found neat application. MissElvan had in a high degree the feminine characteristic of not knowingher own mind. Finding herself without substantial means, she of coursemeant to marry, and it was natural that she should think of marryingNorbert Franks; yet she could not feel at all sure that she wished todo so; neither was she perfectly certain that Franks would again offerher the choice. In this state of doubt she inclined to cultivate theacquaintance of Franks' intimate friend, knowing that she might thus, very probably, gather hints as to the artist's state of mind, and, ifit seemed good to her, could indirectly convey to him a suggestion ofher own. Warburton concluded, then, that he was simply being made useof by this typical young lady. That point settled, he willingly lenthimself to her device, for he desired nothing better than to see Frankslured back to the old allegiance, and away from the house at WalhamGreen. So, before going to bed, he posted a reply to Miss Elvan'sletter, saying that he should much like a talk with her about theartistic possibilities of obscure London, and that he would walk nextday along the Battersea Embankment, with the hope of meeting her. 

And thus it came to pass. Through the morning there were showers, butabout noon a breeze swept the sky fair, and softly glowing summerreigned over the rest of the day. In his mood of hopefulness, Warburtonhad no scruple about abandoning the shop at tea-time; he did not eventrouble himself to invent a decorous excuse, but told Allchin plainlythat he thought he would have a walk. His henchman, who of late hadalways seemed rather pleased than otherwise when Warburton absentedhimself, loudly approved the idea. 

"Don't you 'urry back, sir. There'll be no business as I can't manage. Don't you think of 'urrying. The air'll do you good. "

As he walked away, Will said to himself that no doubt Allchin wouldonly be too glad of a chance of managing the business independently, and that perhaps he hoped for the voluntary retirement of Mr. Jollymanone of these days. Indeed, things were likely to take that course. AndAllchin was a good, honest fellow, whom it would be a pleasure to seeflourishing. --How much longer would old Strangwyn cumber the world?

With more of elasticity than usual in his rapid stride, Will passed outof Fulham Road into King's Road, and down to the river at Cheyne Walk, whence his eye perceived a sitting figure on the opposite bank. Hecrossed Albert Bridge; he stepped down into the Park; he drew near tothe young lady in grey trimmed with black, who was at work upon adrawing. Not until he spoke did she seem aware of his arrival; thenwith her brightest smile of welcome, she held out a pretty hand, and inher melodious voice thanked him for so kindly taking the trouble tocome. 

"Don't look at this, " she added. "It's too difficult--I can't get itright--"

What his glance discovered on the block did not strengthen Will'sconfidence in Rosamund's claim to be a serious artist. He had alwaystaken for granted that her work was amateurish, and that she had littlechance of living by it. On the whole, he felt glad to be confirmed inthis view; Rosamund as an incompetent was more interesting to him thanif she had given proof of great ability. 

"I mustn't be too ambitious, " she was saying. "The river suggestsdangerous comparisons. I want to find little corners of the town suchas no one ever thought of painting--"

"Unless it was Norbert Franks, " said Will genially, leaning on hisstick with both hands, and looking over her head. 

"Yes, I had almost forgotten, " she answered with a thoughtful smile. "In those days he did some very good things. "

". Some remarkably good things. Of course you know the story of how heand I first met?"

"Oh, yes. Early morning--a quiet little street--I remember. Where wasthat?"

"Over yonder. " Will nodded southward. "I hope he'll take that up againsome day. "

"Oh, but let me do it first, " exclaimed Rosamund, laughing. "Youmustn't rob me of my chance, Mr. Warburton? Norbert Franks issuccessful and rich, or going to be; I am a poor struggler. Of course, in painting London, it's atmosphere one has to try for above all. Oursky gives value, now and then, to forms which in themselves are utterlyuninteresting. "

"Exactly what Franks used to say to me. There was a thing I wanted himto try--but then came the revolution. It was the long London street, after a hot, fine day, just when the lamps have been lit. Have younoticed how golden the lights are? I remember standing for a long timeat the end of Harley Street, enjoying that effect. Franks was going totry it--but then came the revolution. "

"For which--you mean, Mr. Warburton--I was to blame. "

Rosamund spoke in a very low voice and a very sweet, her head bent. 

"Why, yes, " replied Will, in the tone of corresponding masculinity, "though I shouldn't myself have used that word. You, no doubt, were thecause of what happened, and so, in a sense, to blame for it. But I knowit couldn't be helped. "

"Indeed, it couldn't, " declared Rosamund, raising her eyes a little, and looking across the river. 

She had not in the least the air of a coquette. Impossible to associateany such trivial idea with Rosamund's habitual seriousness of bearing, and with the stamp of her features, which added some subtle charm toregularity and refinement. By temper critical, and especially disposedto mistrustful scrutiny by the present circumstances, Warburton was yetunable to resist the softening influence of this quintessentialwomanhood. In a certain degree, he had submitted to it during thatholiday among the Alps, then, on the whole, he inclined to regardRosamund impatiently and with slighting tolerance. Now that he desiredto mark her good qualities, and so justify himself in the endeavour torenew her conquest of Norbert Franks, he exposed himself to whateverperil might lie in her singular friendliness. True, no sense of dangeroccurred to him, and for that very reason his state was the moreprecarious. 

"You have seen him lately at Ashtead?" was his next remark. 

"More than once. And I can't tell you how glad we were to see eachother! I knew in a moment that he had really forgiven me--and I havealways wanted to be assured of that. How thoroughly good andstraightforward he is! I'm sure we shall be friends all our lives. "

"I agree with you, " he said, "that there's no better fellow living. Till now, I can't see a sign of his being spoilt by success. And spoiltin the worst sense, I don't think he ever will be, happen what may, there's a simplicity about him which makes his safeguard. But, as forhis painting--well, I can't be so sure, I know little or nothing aboutit, but it's plain that he no longer takes his work very seriously. Itpleases people--they pay large prices for it--where's the harm? Still, if he had some one to keep a higher ideal before him--"

He broke off, with a vague gesture. Rosamund looked up at him. 

"We must try, " she said, with quiet earnestness. 

"Oh, I don't know that _I'm_ any use, " replied Will, with a laugh. "Ispeak with no authority. But you--yes. _You_ might do much. More thanany one else possibly could. "

"That is exaggerating, Mr. Warburton, " said Rosamund. "Even in the olddays my influence didn't go for much. You speak of the 'revolution'caused by--by what happened; but the truth is that the revolution hadbegun before that. Remember I saw 'Sanctuary' while he was painting it, and, but we won't talk of that. "

"To tell you the truth, " returned Warburton, meeting her eyes steadily, with his pleasantest look, "I saw no harm in 'Sanctuary. ' I think hewas quite right to do what he could to earn money. He wanted to bemarried; he had waited quite long enough; if he hadn't done somethingof the kind, I should have doubted whether he was very much in earnest. No, no; what I call the revolution began when he had lost all hope. Atthe time he would have given up painting altogether, I believe; if ithadn't been that he owed me money, and knew I wanted it. "

Rosamund made a quick movement of interest. 

"I never heard about that. "

"Franks wouldn't talk about it, be sure. He saw me in a hobble--I losteverything, all at once--and he went to work like a brick to get moneyfor me. And that, when he felt more disposed to poison himself than topaint. Do you think I should criticise the work he did under thesecircumstances?"

"No, indeed! Thank you, Mr. Warburton, for telling me that story. "

"How exquisite London is at this time of the year!" Rosamund murmured, as having declared it was time to be walking homewards, they walkedslowly towards the bridge. "I'm glad not to be going away. Look at thatlovely sky! Look at the tones of those houses. -- Oh, I _must_ make useof it all! Real use, I mean, as splendid material for art, not only formoney-making. Do advise me, Mr. Warburton. Where shall I go to look forbits?"

Walking with bent head, Will reflected. 

"Do you know Camberwell?" he asked. "There are good little corners--"

"I don't know it at all. Could you--I'm afraid to ask. You couldn'tspare time--?"

"Oh yes, easily. That's to say, during certain hours. "

"On Monday say? In the afternoon?"

"Yes. "

"How kind of you!" murmured Rosamund. "If I were only an amateur, amusing myself, I couldn't give you the trouble; but it's serious I_must_ earn money before long. You see, there's nothing else I can do. My sister--you know I have a sister?--she has taken to teaching; she'sat St. Jean de Luz. But I'm no use for anything of that kind. I must beindependent. Why do you smile?"

"Not at you, but at myself. I used to say the same thing. But I had notalent of any kind, and when the smash came--"

They were crossing the bridge. Will looked westward, in the directionof his shop, and it struck him how amusing it would be to startleRosamund by a disclosure of his social status. Would she still beanxious for his company in search of the picturesque? He could not feelsure--curiosity urged him to try the experiment, but an obscureapprehension closed his lips. 

"How very hard for you!" sighed Rosamund. "But don't think, " she addedquickly, "that I have a weak dread of poverty. Not at all! So long asone can support oneself. Nowadays, when every one strives and battlesfor money, there's a distinction in doing without it. "

Five minutes more, and they were in Oakley Crescent. Rosamund pausedbefore reaching the house in which she dwelt, took the camp-stool fromher companion, and offered her hand for good-bye. Only then didWarburton become aware that he had said nothing since that remark ofhers about poverty; he had walked in a dream. 

CHAPTER 32

August came, and Strangwyn, the great whisky distiller, was yet alive. For very shame, Will kept his thoughts from that direction. The gloomymood had again crept upon him, in spite of all his reasons for hope;his sleep became mere nightmare, and his day behind the counter abilious misery. 

Since the occasion last recorded, Bertha Cross had not been to theshop. One day, the order was brought by a servant; a week later, Mrs. Cross herself appeared. The querulous lady wore a countenance so nearlycheerful that Warburton regarded her uneasily. She had come to purchasetea, and remarked that it was for use during a seaside holiday; youcould never depend on the tea at seaside places. Perhaps, thought Will, the prospect of change sufficed to explain her equanimity. But for therest of the day he was so glum and curt, that Allchin frequently lookedat him with pained remonstrance. 

At home, he found a telegram on his table. He clutched at it, rent theenvelope. But no; it was not what he expected. Norbert Franks asked himto look in that evening. So, weary and heartsick as he was, he took thetrain to Notting Hill Gate. 

"What is it?" he asked bluntly, on entering the studio. 

"Wanted a talk, that was all, " replied his friend. "Hope I haven'tdisturbed you. You told me, you remember, that you preferred cominghere. "

"All right. I thought you might have news for me. "

"Well, " said Franks, smiling at the smoke of his cigarette, "there'sperhaps something of the sort. "

The other regarded him keenly. 

"You've done it. "

"No--o--o; not exactly. Sit down; you're not in a hurry? I went toWalham Green a few days ago, but Bertha wasn't at home. I saw hermother. They're going away for a fortnight, to Southwold, and I have asort of idea that I may run down there. I half promised. "

Will nodded, and said nothing. 

"You disapprove? Speak plainly, old man. What's your real objection? Ofcourse I've noticed before now that you have an objection. Out with it!"

"Have you seen Miss Elvan again?"

"No. Have you?"

"Two or three times. "

Franks was surprised. 

"Where?"

"Oh, we've had some walks together. "

"The deuce you have!" cried Franks, with a laugh. 

"Don't you want to know what we talked about, " pursued Warburton, looking at him with half-closed eyelids. "Principally about you. "

"That's very flattering--but perhaps you abused me?"

"On the whole, no. Discussed you, yes, and in considerable detail, coming to the conclusion that you were a very decent fellow, and weboth of us liked you very much. "

Franks laughed gaily, joyously. 

"_Que vous etes aimables, tous-les-deux_! You make me imagine I'm backin Paris. Must I round a compliment in reply?"

"That's as you like. But first I'll tell you the upshot of it all, asit shapes itself to me. Hasn't it even dimly occurred to you that, under the circumstances, it would be--well, say a graceful thing--togive that girl a chance of changing her mind again?"

"What--Rosamund?"

"It never struck you?"

"But, hang it all, Warburton!" exclaimed the artist. "How _should_ Ihave thought of it? You know very well--and then, it's perfectlycertain she would laugh at me. "

"It isn't certain at all. And, do you know, it almost seems to me apoint of honour. "

"You're not serious? This is one of your solemn jokes--such as youhaven't indulged in lately. "

"No, no. Listen, " said Will, with a rigid earnestness on his face as hebent forward in the chair. "She is poor, and doesn't know how she'sgoing to live. You are flourishing, and have all sorts of brilliantthings before you; wouldn't it be a generous thing--the kind of thingone might expect of a fellow with his heart in the right place--? Youunderstand me?"

Franks rounded his eyes in amazement. 

"But--am I to understand that she _expects_ it?"

"Not at all. She hasn't in the remotest way betrayed such a thought--beassured of that. She isn't the sort of girl to do such a thing. It'sentirely my own thought. "

The artist changed his seat, and for a moment wore a look of perturbedreflection. 

"How the deuce, " he exclaimed, "can you come and talk to me like thiswhen you know I've as good as committed myself--?"

"Yes, and in a wobbling, half-hearted way which means you had no righteven to think of committing yourself. You care nothing about that othergirl--"

"You're mistaken. I care a good deal. In fact--"

"In fact, " echoed Warburton with good-natured scorn, "so much thatyou've all but made up your mind to go down to Southwold whilst she isthere! Bosh! You cared for one girl in a way you'll never care foranother. "

"Well--perhaps--yes that may be true--"

"Of course it's true. If you don't marry _her_, go in for a prizebeauty or for an heiress or anything else that's brilliant. Think ofthe scope before a man like you. "

Franks smiled complacently once more. 

"Why, that's true, " he replied. "I was going to tell you about mysocial adventures. Who do you think I've been chumming with? Sir LukeGriffin--the great Sir Luke. He's asked me down to his place inLeicestershire, and I think I shall go. He's really a very nice fellow. I always imagined him loud, vulgar, the typical parvenu. Nothing of thekind--no one would guess that he began life in a grocer's shop. Why, hecan talk quite decently about pictures, and really likes them. "

Warburton listened with a chuckle. 

"Has he daughters?"

"Three, and no son. The youngest, about seventeen, an uncommonly prettygirl. Well, as you say, why shouldn't I marry her and a quarter of amillion? By Jove! I believe I could. She was here with her fatheryesterday. I'm going to paint the three girls together. --Do you know, Warburton, speaking without any foolish vanity, what astonishes me isto think of the enormous choice of wives there is for a man of decentappearance and breeding who succeeds in getting himself talked about. Without a joke, I am convinced I know twenty girls, and more or lessnice girls, who would have me at once, if I asked them. I'm not aconceited fellow--am I now? I shouldn't say this to any one else. I'msimply convinced of its being a fact. "

Warburton declared his emphatic agreement. 

"Seeing that, " he added, "why are you in such a hurry? Your millionairegrocer is but a steppingstone; who knows but you may soon chum withdukes? If any man living ought to be cautious about his marriage, it'syou. "

The artist examined his friend with a puzzled smile. 

"I should like to know, Warburton, how much of this is satire, and howmuch serious advice. Perhaps it's all satire--and rather savage?"

"No, no, I'm speaking quite frankly. "

"But, look here, there's the awkward fact that I really have gonerather far with the Crosses. "

Will made a movement of all but angry impatience. 

"Do you mean, " he asked quickly, "that _she_ has committed herself inany way?"

"No, that she certainly hasn't, " was Franks, deliberate reply, in avoice as honest as the smile which accompanied it. 

"My advice then is--break decently off, and either do what I suggested, or go and amuse yourself with millionaire Sir Luke, and extend youropportunities. "

Franks mused. 

"You are serious about Rosamund?" he asked, after a glance atWarburton's set face. 

"Think it over, " Will replied, in a rather hard voice. "I saw the thinglike that. Of course, it's no business of mine; I don't know why Iinterfere; every man should settle these matters in his own way. But itwas a thought I had, and I've told it you. There's no harm done. "

CHAPTER 33

When Warburton reached his lodging the next evening he found a letteron his table. Again the fine feminine hand; it was the second time thatRosamund had written to him. A vague annoyance mingled with hiscuriosity as he tore the envelope. She began by telling him of adrawing she had made in Camberwell Grove--not bad, it seemed to her, but she wished for his opinion. Then, in a new paragraph:

"I have seen Norbert again. I call him Norbert, because I always thinkof him by that name, and there's an affectation in writing 'Mr. Franks. ' I felt that, when we talked of him, and I really don't knowwhy I didn't simply call him Norbert then. I shall do so in future. You, I am sure, have little respect for silly social conventions, andyou will understand me. Yes, I have seen him again, and I feel obligedto tell you about it. It was really very amusing. You know, of course, that all embarrassment was over between us. At Ashtead we met like thebest of friends. So, when Norbert wrote that he wanted to see me, Ithought nothing could be more natural, and felt quite glad. But, assoon as we met, I saw something strange in him, something seemed tohave happened. And--how shall I tell you? It's only a guess ofmine--things didn't come to foolish extremities--but I really believethat the poor fellow had somehow persuaded himself that it's his dutyto--no, I can't go on, but I'm sure you will understand. I was never soamused at anything. 

"Why do I write this to you? I hardly know. But I have just a suspicionthat the story may not come to you quite as a surprise. If Norbertthought he had a certain duty--strange idea!--perhaps friends of hismight see things in the same way. Even the most sensible people areinfluenced by curious ideas on one subject. I need not say that, assoon as the suspicion dawned upon me, I did my best to let himunderstand how far astray he was going. I think he understood. I feelsure he did. At all events he got into natural talk again, and partedin a thoroughly reasonable way. 

"I beg that you won't reply to this letter. I shall work on, and hopeto be able to see you again before long. "

Warburton threw the sheet of paper on to the table, as if dismissing itfrom his thoughts. He began to walk about the room Then he stoodmotionless for ten minutes. "What's the matter with me?" this was thecurrent of his musing. "I used to think myself a fellow of some energy;but the truth is, I know my mind about nothing, and I'm at the mercy ofevery one who chooses to push me this way or that. "

He took up the letter again, and was about to re-read it, but suddenlyaltered his mind, and thrust the folded paper into his pocket. 

Eight days went by. Will had a visit from Sherwood, who brought newsthat the whisky distiller had seemed a little better, but could notpossibly live more than a week or two. As regards the vegetarian colonyall went well; practical men were at work on the details of the scheme;Sherwood toiled for ten hours a day at secretarial correspondence. Nextday, there came a postcard from Rosamund. 

"Work ready to show you. Could you come and have a cup of tea to-morrowafternoon?"

At the conventional hour Will went to Oakley Crescent. Not, however, ashe had expected, to find Miss Elvan alone; with her sat Mrs. Pomfret, in London for the afternoon. The simple and kindly lady talked asusual, but Will, nervously observant, felt sure that she was not quiteat her ease. On the other hand, nothing could have been more naturallygraceful than Rosamund's demeanour; whether pouring out tea, orexhibiting her water-colours, or leading the talk to subjects of commoninterest, she was charming in her own way, a way which borrowed nothingfrom the every-day graces of the drawing-room. Her voice, alwayssubdued, had a range of melodious expression which caressed the ear, nomatter how trifling the words she uttered, and at moments its slightlytremulous murmur on rich notes suggested depths of sentiment lyingbeneath this familiar calm. To her aunt she spoke with a touch ofplayful affection; when her eyes turned to Warburton, their look almostsuggested the frankness of simple friendship, and her tone was that ofthe largest confidence. 

Never had Will felt himself so lulled to oblivion of things external;he forgot the progress of time, and only when Mrs. Pomfret spoke of thetrain she had to catch, made an effort to break the lazy spell and takehis leave. 

On the morrow, and on the day after that, he shirked business duringthe afternoon, excusing himself with the plea that the heat of the shopwas insufferable. He knew that neglect of work was growing upon him, and again he observed that Allchin seemed rather pleased than vexed bythese needless absences. The third day saw him behind the counter untilfive o'clock, when he was summoned as usual to the back parlour to tea. Laying before him a plate of watercress and slices of brown bread andbutter, Mrs. Allchin, a discreetly conversational young woman, remarkedon the continued beauty of the weather, and added a hope that Mr. Jollyman would not feel obliged to remain in the shop this evening. 

"No, no, it's your husband's turn, " Will replied good-naturedly. "Hewants a holiday more than I do. "

"Allchin want a 'oliday, sir!" exclaimed the woman. "Why he never knowswhat to do with himself when he's away from business. He enjoysbusiness, does Allchin. Don't you think of him, sir. I never knew a manso altered since he's been kept to regular work all the year round. Iused to dread the Sundays, and still more the Bank holidays when wewere here first; you never knew who he'd get quarrelling with as soonas he'd nothing to do But now, sir, why I don't believe you'll find aless quarrelsome man anywhere, and he was saying for a joke onlyyesterday, that he didn't think he could knock down even a coster, he'sso lost the habit. "

Will yielded and stole away into the mellowing sunshine. He walkedwestward, till he found himself on the Embankment by Albert Bridge;here, after hesitating awhile, he took the turn into Oakley Street. Hehad no thought of calling to see Miss Elvan; upon that he could notventure; but he thought it barely possible that he might meet with herin this neighbourhood, and such a meeting would have been pleasant. Disappointed, he crossed the river, lingered a little in BatterseaPark, came back again over the bridge, --and, with a sudden leap of theheart, which all but made his whole body spring forward, saw a slimfigure in grey moving by the parapet in front of Cheyne Walk. 

They shook hands without speaking, very much as though they had met byappointment. 

"Oh, these sunsets!" were Rosamund's first words, when they had moved afew steps together. 

"They used to be my delight when I lived there, " Will replied, pointingeastward. 

"Show me just where it was, will you?"

They turned, and went as far as Chelsea Bridge, where Warburton pointedout the windows of his old flat. 

"You were very happy there?" said Rosamund. 

"Happy--? Not unhappy, at all events. Yes, in a way I enjoyed my life;chiefly because I didn't think much about it. "

"Look at the sky, now. "

The sun had gone down in the duskily golden haze that hung above theriver's vague horizon. Above, on the violet sky, stood range over rangeof pleated clouds, their hue the deepest rose, shading to purple in thefolds. 

"In other countries, " continued the soft, murmuring voice, "I havenever seen a sky like that. I love this London!"

"As I used to, " said Warburton, "and shall again. "

They loitered back past Chelsea Hospital, exchanging brief, insignificant sentences. Then for many minutes neither spoke, and inthis silence they came to the foot of Oakley Street, where again theystood gazing at the sky. Scarcely changed in form, the western cloudshad shed their splendour, and were now so coldly pale that one wouldhave imagined them stricken with moonlight; but no moon had risen, onlyin a clear space of yet blue sky glistened the evening star. 

"I must go in, " said Rosamund abruptly, as though starting from a dream. 

CHAPTER 34

She was gone, and Warburton stood biting his lips. Had he shaken handswith her? Had he said good-night? He could not be sure. Nothing waspresent to him but a sense of gawkish confusion, following on a wildimpulse which both ashamed and alarmed him, he stood in a bumpkinattitude, biting his lips. 

A hansom came crawling by, and the driver called his attention--"Keb, sir?" At once he stepped forward, sprang on to the footboard, and--stood there looking foolish. 

"Where to, sir?"

"That's just what I can't tell you, " he answered with a laugh. "I wantto go to somebody's house, but don't know the address. "

"Could you find it in the Directory, sir? They've got one at thecorner. "

"Good idea. "

The cab keeping alongside with him, he walked to the public-house, andthere, midway in whisky-and-soda, looked up in the great red volume thename of Strangwyn. There it was, --a house in Kensington Gore. He jumpedinto the hansom, and, as he was driven down Park Lane, he felt that hehad enjoyed nothing so much for a long time; it was the child's delightin "having a ride"; the air blew deliciously on his cheeks, and thetrotting clap of the horse's hoofs, the jingle of the bells, aided hisexhilaration. And when the driver pulled up, it was with anextraordinary gaiety that Will paid him and shouted good-night. 

He approached the door of Mr. Strangwyn's dwelling. Some one was atthat moment turning away from it, and, as they glanced at each other, acry of recognition broke from both. 

"Coming to make inquiry?" asked Sherwood. "I've just been doing thesame thing. "

"Well?"

"No better, no worse. But that means, of course, nearer the end. "

"Queer we should meet, " said Warburton. "This is the first time I'vebeen here. "

"I can quite understand your impatience. It seems an extraordinarycase; the poor old man, by every rule, ought to have died weeks ago. Which way are you walking?"

Will answered that he did not care, that he would accompany Sherwood. 

"Let us walk as far as Hyde Park Corner, then, " said Godfrey. "Delighted to have a talk with you. " He slipped a friendly hand underhis companion's arm. "Why don't you come, Will, and make friends withMilligan? He's a splendid fellow; you couldn't help taking to him. Weare getting on gloriously with our work. For the first time in my lifeI feel as if I had something to do that's really worth doing. I tellyou this scheme of ours has inconceivable importance; it may haveresults such as one dare not talk about. "

"But how long will it be before you really make a start?" askedWarburton, with more interest than he had yet shown in this matter. 

"I can't quite say--can't quite say. The details are of course full ofdifficulty--the thing wouldn't be worth much if they were not. One ofMilligan's best points is, that he's a thoroughly practicalman--thoroughly practical man. It's no commercial enterprise we'reabout, but, if it's to succeed, it must be started on sound principles. I'd give anything if I could persuade you to join us, old fellow. Youand your mother and sister--you're just the kind of people we want. Think what a grand thing it will be to give a new start tocivilisation! Doesn't it touch you?"

Warburton was mute, and, taking this for a sign of the impressionablemoment, Sherwood talked on, ardently, lyrically, until Hyde Park Cornerwas reached. 

"Think it over, Will. We shall have you yet; I know we shall. Come andsee Milligan. "

They parted with a warm hand-grip, and Warburton turned toward FulhamRoad. 

When Warburton entered the shop the next morning, Allchin was on thelookout for him. 

"I want to speak to you, sir, " he said, "about this golden syrup we'vehad from Rowbottom's--"

Will listened, or seemed to listen, smiling at vacancy. To whateverAllchin proposed, he gave his assent, and in the afternoon, withoutdaring to say a word he stole into freedom. 

He was once more within sight of Albert Bridge. He walked orprowled--for half an hour close about Oakley Crescent. Then, over thebridge and into the Park. Back again, and more prowling. At last, wearyand worn, to the counter and apron, and Allchin's talk about goldensyrup. 

The next day, just before sunset, he sauntered on the Embankment. Helifted up his eyes, and there, walking towards him, came the slimfigure in grey. 

"Not like the other evening, " said Rosamund, before he could speak, hereyes turning to the dull, featureless west. 

He held her hand, until she gently drew it away, and then wasfrightened to find that he had held it so long. From head to foot, hequivered, deliciously, painfully. His tongue suffered a semi-paralysis, so that, trying to talk, he babbled--something about the sweetness ofthe air--a scent from the gardens across the river--

"I've had a letter from Bertha Cross, " said his companion, as shewalked slowly on. "She comes home to-morrow. "

"Bertha Cross--? Ah, yes, your friend--"

The name sounded to Warburton as if from a remote past. He repeated itseveral times to himself. 

They stood with face turned toward the lurid south. The air was verystill. From away down the river sounded the bells of Lambeth Church, their volleying clang softened by distance to a monotonous refrain, drearily at one with the sadness of the falling night. Warburton heardthem, yet heard them not; all external sounds blended with that withinhim, which was the furious beating of his heart. He moved a hand as ifto touch Rosamund's, but let it fall as she spoke. 

"I'm afraid I must go. It's really raining--"

Neither had an umbrella. Big drops were beginning to splash on thepavement. Warburton felt one upon his nose. 

"To-morrow, " he uttered thickly, his tongue hot and dry, his lipsquivering. 

"Yes, if it's fine, " replied Rosamund. 

"Early in the afternoon?"

"I can't. I must go and see Bertha. "

They were walking at a quick step, and already getting wet. 

"At this hour then, " panted Will. 

"Yes. "

Lambeth bells were lost amid a hollow boom of distant thunder. 

"I must run, " cried Rosamund. "Good-bye. "

He followed, keeping her in sight until she entered the house. Then heturned and walked like a madman through the hissing rain--walked heknew not whither--his being a mere erratic chaos, a symbol of Nature'sprime impulse whirling amid London's multitudes. 

CHAPTER 35

Tired and sullen after the journey home from the seaside, Mrs. Crosskept her room. In the little bay-windowed parlour, Bertha Cross andRosamund Elvan sat talking confidentially. 

"Now, do confess, " urged she of the liquid eyes and sentimental accent. "This is a little plot of yours--all in kindness, of course. Youthought it best--you somehow brought him to it?"

Half laughing, Bertha shook her head. 

"I haven't seen him for quite a long time. And do you really think thiskind of plotting is in my way? It would as soon have occurred to me totry and persuade Mr. Franks to join the fire-brigade. "

"Bertha! You don't mean anything by that? You don't think I am a dangerto him?"

"No, no, no! To tell you the truth, I have tried to think just aslittle about it as possible, one way or the other. Third persons neverdo any good in such cases, and more often than not get into horridscrapes. "

"Fortunately, " said Rosamund, after musing a moment with her chin onher hand, "I'm sure he isn't serious. It's his good-nature, his senseof honour. I think all the better of him for it. When he understandsthat I'm in earnest, we shall just be friends again, real friends. "

"Then you are in earnest?" asked Bertha, her eyelids winking mirthfully. 

Rosamund's reply was a very grave nod, after which she gazed awhile atvacancy. 

"But, " resumed Bertha, after reading her friend's face, "you have notsucceeded in making him understand yet?"

"Perhaps not quite. Yesterday morning I had a letter from him, askingme to meet him in Kensington Gardens. I went, and we had a long talk. Then in the evening, by chance, I saw Mr. Warburton. "

"Has that anything to do with the matter?"

"Oh, no!" replied Miss Elvan hastily. "I mention it, because, as I toldyou once before, Mr. Warburton always likes to talk of Norbert. "

"I see. And you talked of him?"

"We only saw each other for a few minutes. The thunder-storm cameon. --Bertha, I never knew any one so mysterious as Mr. Warburton. Isn'tit extraordinary that Norbert, his intimate friend, doesn't know whathe does? I can't help thinking he must write. One can't associate himwith anything common, mean. "

"Perhaps his glory will burst upon us one of these days, " said Bertha. 

"It really wouldn't surprise me. He has a remarkable face--the kind offace that suggests depth and force. I am sure he is very proud. Hecould bear any extreme of poverty rather than condescend to ignobleways of earning money. "

"Is the poor man very threadbare?" asked Bertha. "Has his coat thatgreenish colour which comes with old age in cheap material?"

"You incorrigible! As far as I have noticed, he is quite properlydressed. "

"Oh, oh!" protested Bertha, in a shocked tone. "Properly dressed! Whata blow to my romantic imagination! I thought at least his coat-cuffswould be worn out. And his boots? Oh, surely he is down at heel? Do saythat he's down at heel, Rosamund!"

"What a happy girl you are, Bertha, " said the other after a laugh. "Isometimes think I would give anything to be like you. "

"Ah, but you don't know--you can t see into the gloomy depths, hiddenfrom every eye but my own. For instance, while here we sit, talking asif I hadn't a care in the world I am all the time thinking that I mustgo to Mr. Jollyman's--the grocer's, that is--as we haven't a lump ofsugar in the house. "

"Then let me walk with you, " said Rosamund. "I oughtn't to have comeworrying you to-day, before you had time to settle down. Just let mewalk with you to the grocer's, and then I'll leave you at peace. "

They presently went forth, and walked for some distance westward alongFulham Road. 

"Here's Mr. Jollyman's, " said Bertha. "Will you wait for me, or comein?"

Rosamund followed her friend into the shop. Absorbed in thought, shescarcely raised her eyes, until a voice from behind the counter repliedto Bertha's "Good-morning"; then, suddenly looking up, she saw thatwhich held her motionless. For a moment she gazed like a startled deer;the next her eyes fell, her face turned away; she fled out into thestreet. 

And there Bertha found her, a few yards from the shop. 

"Why did you run away?"

Rosamund had a dazed look. 

"Who was that behind the counter?" she asked, under her breath. 

"Mr. Jollyman. Why?"

The other walked on. Bertha kept at her side. 

"What's the matter?"

"Bertha--Mr. Jollyman is Mr. Warburton. "

"Nonsense!"

"But he _is_! Here's the explanation--here's the mystery. A grocer--inan apron!"

Bertha was standing still. She, too, looked astonished, perplexed. 

"Isn't it a case of extraordinary likeness?" she asked, with a gravesmile. 

"Oh, dear, no! I met his eye--he showed that he knew me--and then hisvoice. A grocer--in an apron?"

"This is very shocking, " said Bertha, with a recovery of her naturalhumour. "Let us walk. Let us shake off the nightmare. "

The word applied very well to Rosamund's condition; her fixed eyes werelike those of a somnambulist. 

"But, Bertha!" she suddenly exclaimed, in a voice of almost petulantprotest. "He knew you all the time--oh, but perhaps he did not knowyour name?"

"Indeed he did. He's constantly sending things to the house. "

"How extraordinary! Did you ever hear such an astonishing thing in yourlife?"

"You said more than once, " remarked Bertha, "that Mr. Warburton was aman of mystery. "

"Oh, but how _could_ I have imagined--! grocer!"

"In an apron!" added the other, with awed voice. 

"But, Bertha, does Norbert know? He declared he had never found outwhat Mr. Warburton did. Was that true, or not?"

"Ah, that's the question. If poor Mr. Franks has had this secret uponhis soul! I can hardly believe it. And yet--they are such intimatefriends. "

"He must have known it, " declared Rosamund. 

Thereupon she became mute, and only a syllable of dismay escaped hernow and then during the rest of the walk to the Crosses' house. Hercompanion, too, was absorbed in thought. At the door Rosamund offeredher hand. No, she would not come in; she had work which must positivelybe finished this afternoon whilst daylight lasted. 

Out of the by-street, Rosamund turned into Fulham Road, and there founda cab to convey her home. On entering the house, she gave instructionsthat she was at home to nobody this afternoon; then she sat down at thetable, as though to work on a drawing, but at the end of an hour herbrush had not yet been dipped in colour. She rose, stood in theattitude of one who knows not what to do, and at length moved to thewindow. Instantly she drew back. On the opposite side of the littlesquare stood a man, looking toward her house; and that man wasWarburton. 

From safe retirement, she watched him. He walked this way; he walkedthat; again he stood still, his eyes upon the house. Would he crossover? Would he venture to knock at the door? No, he withdrew; hedisappeared. 

Presently it was the hour of dusk. Every few minutes Rosamundreconnoitred at the window, and at length, just perceptible to herstraining eyes, there again stood Warburton. He came forward. Standingwith hand pressed against her side, she waited in nervous anguish for aknock at the front door; but it did not sound. She stood motionless fora long, long time, then drew a deep, deep breath, and trembled as shelet herself sink into a chair. 

Earlier than usual, she went up to her bedroom. In a corner of the roomstood her trunk; this she opened, and from the chest of drawers shetook forth articles of apparel, which she began to pack, as though fora journey. When the trunk was half full, she ceased in weariness, rested for a little, and then went to bed. 

And in the darkness there came a sound of subdued sobbing. It lastedfor some minutes--ceased--for some minutes was again audible. Thensilence fell upon the chamber. 

Lying awake between seven and eight next morning, Rosamund heard thepostman's knock. At once she sprang out of bed, slipped on herdressing-gown, and rang the bell. Two letters were brought up to her;she received them with tremulous hand. Both were addressed in writing, unmistakably masculine; the one was thick, the other was thin and thisshe opened first. 

"Dear Miss Elvan"--it was Warburton who wrote--"I hoped to see you thisevening, as we had appointed. Indeed, I _must_ see you, for, as you mayimagine, I have much to say. May I come to your house? In any case, letme know place and hour, and let it be as soon as possible. Reply atonce, I entreat you. Ever sincerely yours--"

She laid it aside, and broke the other envelope. 

"Dear, dearest Rosamund"--thus began Norbert Franks--"our talk thismorning has left me in a state of mind which threatens frenzy. You knowI haven't too much patience. It is out of the question for me to wait aweek for your answer, though I promised. I can't wait even a couple ofdays. I must see you again to-morrow--must, must, _must_. Come to thesame place, there's a good, dear, sweet, beautiful girl! If you don't, I shall be in Oakley Crescent, breaking doors open, behaving insanely. Come early--"

And so on, over two sheets of the very best notepaper, with Norbert'srespectable address handsomely stamped in red at the top. (The othermissive was on paper less fashionable, with the address, sadlyplebeian, in mere handwriting. ) Having read to the end, Rosamundfinished her dressing and went down to the sitting-room. Breakfast wasready, but, before giving her attention to it, she penned a note. Itwas to Warburton. Briefly she informed him that she had decided to joinher sister in the south of France, and that she was starting on thejourney _this morning_. Her address, she added, would be "c/o Mrs. Alfred Coppinger, St. Jean de Luz, Basses Pyrenees. " And therewith sheremained Mr. Warburton's sincerely. 

"Please let this be posted at once, " said Rosamund when the landladycame to clear away. 

And posted it was. 

CHAPTER 36

His hands upon the counter, Warburton stared at the door by which firstRosamund, then Bertha Cross, had disappeared. His nerves werea-tremble; his eyes were hot. Of a sudden he felt himself shaken withirresistible mirth; from the diaphragm it mounted to his throat, andonly by a great effort did he save himself from exploding in laughter. The orgasm possessed him for several minutes. It was followed by asense of light-heartedness, which set him walking about, rubbing hishands together, and humming tunes. 

At last the burden had fallen from him; the foolish secret was blownabroad; once more he could look the world in the face, bidding it thinkof him what it would. 

They were talking now--the two girls, discussing their strangediscovery. When he saw Rosamund this evening--of course he would seeher, as she had promised--her surprise would already have lost itspoignancy; he had but to tell the story of his disaster, of hisstruggles, and then to announce the coming moment of rescue. No chancecould have been happier than this which betrayed him to these two atthe same time; for Bertha Cross's good sense would be the best possiblecorrective of any shock her more sensitive companion might havereceived. Bertha Cross's good sense--that was how he thought of her, without touch of emotion; whilst on Rosamund his imagination dwelt withexultant fervour. He saw himself as he would appear in her eyes whenshe knew all--noble, heroic. What he had done was a fine thing, beyondthe reach of ordinary self-regarding mortals, and who more capable thanRosamund of appreciating such courage? After all, fate was kind. In thebyways of London it had wrought for him a structure of romance, andamid mean pursuits it exalted him to an ideal of love. 

And as he thus dreamt, and smiled and gloried--very much like anaproned Malvolio--the hours went quickly by. He found himself nearAlbert Bridge, pacing this way and that, expecting at every moment theappearance of the slim figure clad in grey. The sun set; the blind ofRosamund's sitting-room showed that there was lamplight within; and atten o'clock Warburton still hung about the square, hoping--against hisreason--that she might come forth. He went home, and wrote to her. 

In a score of ways he explained to himself her holding aloof. It wasvexation at his not having confided in her; it was a desire to reflectbefore seeing him again; it was--and so on, all through the night, which brought him never a wink of sleep. Next morning, he did not go tothe shop; it would have been impossible to stand at the counter for tenminutes, he sent a note to Allchin, saying that he was detained byprivate affairs, then set off for a day-long walk in the country, tokill time until the coming of Rosamund's reply. On his return in theafternoon, he found it awaiting him. 

An hour later he was in Oakley Crescent. He stood looking at the housefor a moment, then approached, and knocked at the door. He asked ifMiss Elvan was at home. 

"She's gone away, " was the reply of the landlady, who spoke distantly, her face a respectable blank. 

"Left for good?"

"Yes, sir, " answered the woman, her eyes falling. 

"You don't know where she has gone to?"

"It's somewhere abroad, sir--in France, I think. She has a sisterthere. "

This was at five o'clock or so. Of what happened during the next fourhours, Will had never a very distinct recollection. Beyond doubt, hecalled at the shop, and spoke with Allchin; beyond doubt, also, he wentto his lodgings and packed a travelling bag. Which of his movementswere performed in cabs, which on foot, he could scarce have decided, had he reflected on the matter during the night that followed. Thatnight was passed in the train, on a steamboat, then again on therailway And before sunrise he was in Paris. 

At the railway refreshment-room, he had breakfast, eating with someappetite; then he drove to the terminus of another line. The streets ofParis, dim vistas under a rosy dawn, had no reality for his eyes; thefigures flitting here and there, the voices speaking a foreign tongue, made part of a phantasm in which he himself moved no lessfantastically. He was in Paris; yet how could that be? He would wakeup, and find himself at his lodgings, and get up to go to business inFulham Road; but the dream bore him on. Now he had taken anotherticket. His bag was being registered--for St. Jean de Luz. A longjourney lay before him. He yawned violently, half remembering that hehad passed two nights without sleep. Then he found himself seated in acorner of the railway carriage, an unknown landscape slipping awaybefore his eyes. 

Now for the first time did he seem to be really aware of what he wasdoing. Rosamund had taken flight to the Pyrenees, and he was in hotpursuit. He grew exhilarated in the thought of his virile energy. Ifthe glimpse of him aproned and behind a counter had been too great ashock for Rosamund's romantic nature, this vigorous action would morethan redeem his manhood in her sight. "Yes, I am a grocer; I have livedfor a couple of years by selling tea and sugar--not to speak oftreacle; but none the less I am the man you drew on to love you. Grocerthough I be, I come to claim you!" Thus would he speak and how couldthe reply be doubtful? In such a situation, all depends on the man'sstrength and passionate resolve. Rosamund should be his; he swore it inhis heart. She should take him as he was, grocer's shop and all; notuntil her troth was pledged would he make known to her the prospect ofbetter things. The emotions of the primitive lover had told upon him. She thought to escape him, by flight across Europe? But what if theflight were meant as a test of his worthiness? He seized upon the idea, and rejoiced in it. Rosamund might well have conceived this method ofjustifying both him and herself. "If he loves me as I would be loved, let him dare to follow!"

To-morrow morning he would stand before her, grocerdom a thousand milesaway. They would walk together, as when they were among the Alps. Why, even then, had his heart prompted, had honour permitted, he could havewon her. He believed now, what at the time he had refused to admit, that Franks' moment of jealous anger was not without its justification. Again they would meet among the mountains, and the shop in Fulham Roadwould be seen as at the wrong end of a telescope--its due proportions. They would return together to England, and at once be married. As forthe grocery business--

Reason lost itself amid ardours of the natural man. 

He paid little heed to the country through which he was passing. Heflung himself on to the dark platform, and tottered drunkenly in searchof the exit. _Billet_? Why, yes, he had a _billet_ somewhere. Hotel?Yes, yes, the hotel, --no matter which. It took some minutes before hisbrain could grasp the idea that his luggage cheque was wanted; he hadforgotten that he had any luggage at all. Ultimately, he was thrustinto some sort of a vehicle, which set him down at the hotel door. Food? Good Heavens, no; but something to drink, and a bed to tumbleinto--quick. 

He stood in a bedroom, holding in his hand a glass of he knew not whatbeverage. Before him was a waiter, to whom--very much to his ownsurprise--he discoursed fluently in French, or something meant for thattongue. That it was more than sixty hours since he had slept; that hehad started from London at a moment's notice; that the Channel had beenvery rough for the time of the year; that he had never been in thispart of France before, and hoped to see a good deal of the Pyrenees, perhaps to have a run into Spain; that first of all he wanted to findthe abode of an English lady named Mrs. Cap--Cop--he couldn't think ofthe name, but he had written it down in his pocket-book. 

The door closed; the waiter was gone; but Warburton still talked French. 

"Oui, oui--en effet--tres fatigue, horriblement fatiguee! Trois nuitssans sommeil--trois nuits--trois!"

His clothes fell in a heap on the floor; his body fell in anotherdirection. He was dead asleep. 

CHAPTER 37

Amid struggle and gloom the scene changed. He was in Kew Gardens, rushing hither and thither, in search of some one. The sun still beatupon him, and he streamed at every pore. Not only did he seek in vain, but he could not remember who it was that he sought. This way and that, along the broad and narrow walks, he hurried in torment, until of asudden, at a great distance, he descried a figure seated on a bench. Hebounded forward. In a moment he would see the face, and would know--

When he awoke a sense of strangeness hung about him, and, as he sat upin bed, he remembered. This was the hotel at St. Jean de Luz. Whatcould be the time? He had no matches at hand, and did not know wherethe bell was. Looking around, he perceived at length a thread of light, of daylight undoubtedly, which must come from the window. He got out ofbed, cautiously crossed the floor, found the window, and the means ofopening it, then unlatched the shutters which had kept the room indarkness. At once a flood of sunshine poured in. Looking forth, he sawa quiet little street of houses and gardens, and beyond, some milesaway, a mountain peak rising against the cloudless blue. 

His watch had run down. He rang the bell, and learnt that the hour wasnearly eleven. 

"I have slept well, " he said in his Anglo-French. "I am hungry. Bringme hot water. And find out, if you can, where lives Mrs. Coppinger. Icouldn't remember the name last night--Mrs. Coppinger. "

In half an hour he was downstairs. The English lady for whom heinquired lived, they told him, outside St. Jean de Luz, but not muchmore than a mile away. Good, he would go there after lunch. And untilthat meal was ready, he strolled out to have a look at the sea. Fiveminutes' walk brought him on to the shore of a rounded bay, shelteredby breakwaters against Atlantic storms above a sandy beach lay thelittle town, with grassy slopes falling softly to the tide on eitherhand. 

At noon, he ate and drank heroically, then, having had his way pointedout to him, set forth on the quest. He passed through the length of thetown, crossed the little river Nivelle, where he paused for a moment onthe bridge, to gaze at the panorama of mountains, all but to the summitclad in soft verdure, and presently turned into an inland road, whichled him between pastures and fields of maize, gently upwards. On aheight before him stood a house, which he believed to be that hesought; he had written down its unrememberable Basque name, and inquiryof a peasant assured him that he was not mistaken. Having his goal inview, he stood to reflect. Could he march up to the front door, and askboldly for Miss Elvan? But--the doubt suddenly struck him--what ifRosamund were not living here? At Mrs. Coppinger's her sister wasgoverness; she had bidden him address letters there, but that might bemerely for convenience; perhaps she was not Mrs. Coppinger's guest atall, but had an abode somewhere in the town. In that case, he must seeher sister--who perhaps, nay, all but certainly, had never heard hisname. 

He walked on. The road became a hollow lane, with fern and heather andgorse intermingled below the thickets on the bank. Another five minuteswould bring him to the top of the hill, to the avenue of trees by whichthe house was approached. And the nearer he came, the more awkwardseemed his enterprise. It might have been better to write a note toRosamund, announcing his arrival, and asking for an interview. On theother hand that was a timid proceeding; boldly to present himselfbefore her would be much more effective. If he could only be sure ofseeing her, and seeing her alone. 

For a couple of hours did he loiter irresolutely, ever hoping thatchance might help him. Perhaps, as the afternoon grew cooler, peoplemight come forth from the house. His patience at length worn out, heagain entered the avenue, half resolved to go up to the door. 

All at once he heard voices--the voices of children, and toward himcame two little girls, followed by a young lady. They drew near. Standing his ground, with muscles tense, Warburton glanced at the younglady's face, and could not doubt that this was Rosamund's sister; thefeatures were much less notable than Rosamund's, but their gentleprettiness made claim of kindred with her. Forthwith he doffed his hat, and advanced respectfully. 

"I think I am speaking to Miss Elvan?"

A nervous smile, a timidly surprised affirmative, put him a little moreat his ease. 

"My name is Warburton, " he pursued, with the half humorous air of onewho takes a liberty which he feels sure will be pardoned. "I have thepleasure of knowing your relatives, the Pomfrets, and--"

"Oh, yes, my sister has often spoken of you, " said Winifred quickly. Then, as if afraid that she had committed an indiscretion, she castdown her eyes and looked embarrassed. 

"Your sister is here, I think, " fell from Warburton, as he threw aglance at the two little girls, who had drawn apart. 

"Here? Oh, no. Not long ago she thought of coming, but--"

Will stood confounded. All manner of conjectures flashed through hismind. Rosamund must have broken her journey somewhere. That she had notleft England at all seemed impossible. 

"I was mistaken, " he forced himself to remark carelessly. Then, with afriendly smile, "Forgive me for intruding myself. I came up here forthe view--"

"Yes, isn't it beautiful!" exclaimed Winifred, evidently glad of thisdiversion from personal topics. And they talked of the landscape, untilWarburton felt that he must take his leave. He mentioned where he wasstaying, said that he hoped to spend a week or so at St. Jean deLuz--and so got away, with an uneasy feeling that his behaviour had notexactly been such as to recommend him to the timid young lady. 

Rosamund had broken her journey somewhere, that was evident; perhaps inParis, where he knew she had friends. If she did not arrive thisevening, or to-morrow, her sister would at all events hear that she wascoming. But how was he to be informed of her arrival? How could he keepan espial on the house? His situation was wretchedly unlike that he hadpictured to himself; instead of the romantic lover, carrying all beforehim by the energy of passion, he had to play a plotting, almostsneaking part, in constant fear of being taken for a presumptuousinterloper. Lucky that Rosamund had spoken of him to her sister. Well, he must wait; though waiting was the worst torture for a man in hismood. 

He idled through the day on the seashore. Next morning he bathed, andhad a long walk, coming back by way of the Coppingers' house, butpassing quickly, and seeing no one. When he returned to the hotel, hewas told that a gentleman had called to see him, and had left his card"Mr. Alfred Coppinger. " Ho, ho! Winifred Elvan had mentioned theirmeeting, and the people wished to be friendly. Excellent! Thisafternoon he would present himself. Splendid. Ml his difficulties wereat an end. He saw himself once more in a gallant attitude. 

The weather was very hot--unusually hot, said people at the hotel. Ashe climbed the hill between three and four o'clock, the sun's ardourreminded him of old times in the tropics. He passed along the shadyavenue, and the house door was opened to him by a Basque maid-servant, who led him to the drawing-room. Here, in a dim light which filteredthrough the interstices of shutters, sat the lady of the house alone. 

"Is it Mr. Warburton?" she asked, rising feebly, and speaking in athin, fatigued, but kindly voice. "So kind of you to come. My husbandwill be delighted to see you. How did you get up here on such a day?Oh, the terrible heat!"

In a minute or two the door opened to admit Mr. Coppinger, and thevisitor, his eyes now accustomed to the gloom, saw a ruddy, vigorous, middle-aged man, dressed in flannels, and wearing the white shoescalled _espadrilles_. 

"Hoped you would come, " he cried, shaking hands cordially. "Why didn'tyou look in yesterday? Miss Elvan ought to have told you that it doesme good to see an Englishman. Here for a holiday? Blazing hot, but itwon't last long. South wind. My wife can't stand it. She's here becauseof the doctors, but it's all humbug; there are lots of places inEngland would suit her just as well, and perhaps better. Let's havesome tea, Alice, there's a good girl. Mr. Warburton looks thirsty, andI can manage a dozen cups or so. Where's Winifred? Let her bring in thekits. They're getting shy; it'll do them good to see a stranger. "

Will stayed for a couple of hours, amused with Mr. Coppinger's talk, and pleased with the gentle society of the ladies. The invitation tobreakfast being seriously repeated, he rejoiced to accept it. See howProvidence favours the daring. When Rosamund arrived, she would findhim established as a friend of the Coppingers. He went his wayexultingly. 

But neither on the morrow, nor the day after, did Winifred receive anynews from her sister. Will of course kept to himself the events of hislast two days in London; he did not venture to hint at any knowledge ofRosamund's movements. A suspicion was growing in his mind that shemight not have left England; in which case, was ever man's plight moreridiculous than his? It would mean that Rosamund had deliberatelymisled him; but could he think her capable of that? If it were so, andif her feelings toward him had undergone so abruptly violent a changesimply because of the discovery she had made--why, then Rosamund wasnot Rosamund at all, and he might write himself down a most egregiousass. 

Had not an inkling of some such thing whispered softly to him beforenow? Had there not been moments, during the last fortnight, when hestood, as it were, face to face with himself, and felt oddly abashed bya look in his own eyes?

Before leaving his lodgings he had written on a piece of paper "PosteRestante, St. Jean de Luz, France, " and had given it to Mrs. Wick, withthe charge to forward immediately any letter or telegram that mightarrive for him. But his inquiries at the post-office were vain. To besure, weeks had often gone by without bringing him a letter; there wasnothing strange in this silence yet it vexed and disquieted him. On thefourth day of his waiting, the weather suddenly broke, rain fell intorrents, and continued for forty-eight hours. Had not the Coppingers'house been open to him he must have spent a wretched time. Returning tothe hotel on the second evening of deluge, he looked in at thepost-office, and this time a letter was put into his hand. He openedand read it at once. 

"Dear old boy, why the deuce have you gone away to the end of the earthwithout letting me know? I called at your place this evening, and wasamazed at the sight of the address which your evil-eyed woman showedme--looking as if she feared I should steal it. I wanted particularlyto see you. How long are you going to stay down yonder? Rosamund and Istart _for our honeymoon_ on Thursday next, and we shall probably beaway for a couple of months, in Tyrol. Does this astonish you? Itoughtn't to, seeing that you've done your best to bring it about. Yes, Rosamund and I are going to be married, with the least possible delay. I'll tell you all the details some day--though there's very little totell that you don't know. Congratulate me on having come to my senses. How precious near I was to making a tremendous fool of myself. It's youI have to thank, old man. Of course, as you saw, I should never havecared for any one but Rosamund, and it's pretty sure that she wouldnever have been happy with any one but me. I wanted you to be a witnessat our wedding, and now you've bolted, confound you! Write to my Londonaddress, and it will be forwarded. "

Will thrust the letter into his pocket, went out into the street, andwalked to the hotel through heavy rain, without thinking to open hisumbrella. 

Next morning, the sky was clear again, the sunny air fresh as that ofspring. Will rose earlier than usual, and set out on an excursion. Hetook train to Hendaye, the little frontier town, at the mouth of theBidassoa, crossed the river in a boat, stepped on to Spanish soil, andclimbed the hill on which stands Fuenterabbia. 

Later he passed again to the French shore, and lunched at the hotel. Then he took a carriage, and drove up the gorge of Bidassoa, enjoyingthe wild mountain scenery as much as he had enjoyed anything in hislife. The road bridged the river; it brought him into Spain once more, and on as far as to the Spanish village of Vera, where he lingered inthe mellowing afternoon. All round him were green slopes of thePyrenees, green with pasture and with turf, with bracken, with woods ofoak. There came by a yoke of white oxen, their heads covered with thewonted sheepskin, and on their foreheads the fringe of red wooltassels; he touched a warm flank with his palm, and looked into themild, lustrous eyes of the beast that passed near him. 

"Vera, Vera, " he repeated to himself, with pleasure in the name. Heshould remember Vera when he was back again behind the counter inFulham Road. He had never thought to see the Pyrenees, never dreamt oflooking at Spain. It was a good holiday. 

"Vera, Vera, " he again murmured. How came the place to be so called?The word seemed to mean _true_. He mused upon it. 

He dined at the village inn, then drove at dusk back to Hendaye, downthe great gorge; crags and precipices, wooded ravines and barrenheights glooming magnificently under a sky warm with afterglow; besidehim the torrent leapt and roared, and foamed into whiteness. 

And from Hendaye the train brought him back to St. Jean de Luz. Beforegoing to bed, he penned a note to Mr. Coppinger, saying that he wasUnexpectedly obliged to leave for England, at an early hour next day, and regretted that he could not come to say good-bye. He added apostscript. "Miss Elvan will, of course, know of her sister's marriageto Norbert Franks. I hear it takes place to-morrow. Very good news. "

This written, he smoked a meditative pipe, and went upstairs humming atune. 

CHAPTER 38

Touching the shore of England, Will stamped like a man who returns fromexile. It was a blustering afternoon, more like November than August;livid clouds pelted him with rain, and the wind chilled his face; butthis suited very well with the mood which possessed him. He had beenaway on a holiday--a more expensive holiday than he ought to haveallowed himself, and was back full of vigour. Instead of making himqualmish, the green roarers of the Channel had braced his nerves, andput him in good heart; the boat could not roll and pitch half enoughfor his spirits. A holiday--a run to the Pyrenees and back; who durstsay that it had been anything else? The only person who could see thematter in another light was little likely to disclose her thoughts. 

At Dover he telegraphed to Godfrey Sherwood: "Come and see meto-night. " True, he had been absent only a week, but the time seemed tohim so long that he felt it must have teemed with events. In therailway carriage he glowed with good fellowship toward the otherpassengers; the rain-beaten hop-lands rejoiced his eyes, and the firsthouses of London were so many friendly faces greeting his return. Fromthe station he drove to his shop. Allchin, engaged in serving a lady, forgot himself at the sight of Mr. Jollyman, and gave a shout ofwelcome. All was right, nothing troublesome had happened; trade betterthan usual at this time of year. 

"He'll have to put up the shutters, " said Allchin confidentially, witha nod in the direction of the rival grocer. "His wife's been making arow in the shop again--disgraceful scene--talk of the 'oleneighbourhood. She began throwing things at customers, and somebody aswas badly hit on the jaw with a tin of sardines complained to thepolice. We shall be rid of him very soon, you'll see, sir. "

This gave Warburton small satisfaction, but he kept his human thoughtsto himself, and presently went home. Here his landlady met him with theannouncement that only a few hours ago she had forwarded a letterdelivered by the post this morning. This was vexatious; several daysmust elapse before he could have the letter back again from St. Jean deLuz. Sure that Mrs. Wick must have closely scrutinised the envelope, hequestioned her as to handwriting and postmark, but the woman declaredthat she had given not a glance to these things, which were not herbusiness. Couldn't she even remember whether the writing lookedmasculine or feminine? No; she had not the slightest idea; it was nother business to "pry" and Mrs. Wick closed her bloodless lips withvirtuous severity. 

He had tea and walked back again to the shop, w ere as he girt himselfwith his apron, he chuckled contentedly. 

"Has Mrs. Cross looked in?" he inquired. 

"Yes, sir, " answered his henchman, "she was here day before yes'day, and asked where you was. I said you was travelling for your health inforeign parts. "

"And what did she say to that?"

"She said 'Oh'--that's all, sir. It was a very small order she gave. Ican't make out how she manages to use so little sugar in her 'ouse. It's certain the servant doesn't have her tea too sweet--what do _you_think, sir?"

Warburton spoke of something else. 

At nine o'clock he sat at home awaiting his visitor. The expected knocksoon sounded and Sherwood was shown into the room. Will grasped hishand, calling out: "What news?

"News?" echoed Godfrey, in a voice of no good omen. "Haven't you heard?"

"Heard what?"

"But your telegram--? Wasn't that what it meant?"

"What do _you_ mean?" cried Will. "Speak, man! I've been abroad for aweek. I know nothing; I telegraphed because I wanted to see you, thatwas all. "

"Confound it! I hoped you knew the worst. Strangwyn is dead. "

"He's dead? Well, isn't that what we've been waiting for?"

"Not the old man, " groaned Sherwood, "not the old man. It's TedStrangwyn that's dead. Never was such an extraordinary case of badluck. And his death--the most astounding you ever heard of. He was downin Yorkshire for the grouse. The dogcart came round in the morning, andas he stood beside it, stowing away a gun or something, the horse madea movement forward, and the wheel went over his toe. He thought nothingof it. The next day he was ill; it turned to tetanus; and in a fewhours he died. Did you ever in your life hear anything like that?"

Warburton had listened gravely. Towards the end, his features began totwitch, and, a moment after Godfrey had ceased, a spasm of laughterovercame him. 

"I can't help it, Sherwood, " he gasped. "It's brutal, I know, but Ican't help it. "

"My dear boy, " exclaimed the other, with a countenance of relief, "I'mdelighted you can laugh. Talk about the irony of fate--eh? I couldn'tbelieve my eyes when I saw the paragraph in the paper yesterday. But, you know, " he added earnestly, "I don't absolutely give up hope. According to the latest news, it almost looks as if old Strangwyn mightrecover; and, if he does, I shall certainly try to get this money outof him. If he has any sense of honour--"

Will again laughed, but not so spontaneously. 

"My boy, " he said, "it's all up, and you know it. You'll never see apenny of your ten thousand pounds. "

"Oh, but I can't help hoping--"

"Hope as much as you like. How goes the other affair?"

"Why, there, too, odd things have been happening. Milligan has just gotengaged, and, to tell you the truth, to a girl I shouldn't have thoughthe'd ever have looked twice at. It's a Miss Parker, the daughter of aCity man. Pretty enough if you like, but as far as I can see, no morebrains than a teapot, and I can't for the life of me understand how aman like Milligan--. But of course, it makes no difference; our workgoes on. We have an enormous correspondence. "

"Does Miss Parker interest herself in it?" asked Will. 

"Oh, yes, in a way, you know; as far as she can. She has turnedvegetarian, of course. To tell you the truth, Warburton, it vexes me agood deal. I didn't think Milligan could do such a silly thing. I hopehe'll get married quickly. Just at present, the fact is, he isn't quitehimself. "

Again Warburton was subdued by laughter. 

"Well, I thought things might have been happening whilst I was away, "he said, "and I wasn't mistaken. Luckily, I have come back with arenewed gusto for the shop. By the bye, I'm going to keep that secretno longer. I'm a grocer, and probably shall be a grocer all my life, and the sooner people know it the better. I'm sick of hiding away. TellMilligan the story; it will amuse Miss Parker, And, talking of MissParker, do you know that Norbert Franks is married? His old love--MissElvan. Of course it was the sensible thing to do. They're off to Tyrol. As soon as I have their address, I shall write and tell him all aboutJollyman's. "

"Of course, if you really feel you must, " said Godfrey, withreluctance. "But remember that I still hope to recover the money. OldStrangwyn has the reputation of being an honourable man--"

"Like Brutus, " broke in Warburton, cheerfully. "Let us hope. Of coursewe will hope. Hope springs eternal--"

Days went by, and at length the desired letter came back from St. Jeande Luz. Seeing at a glance that it was from his sister, Will reproachedhimself for having let more than a month elapse without writing to St. Neots. Of his recent "holiday" he had no intention of saying a word. Jane wrote a longer letter than usual, and its tenor was disquieting. Their mother had not been at all well lately; Jane noticed that she wasbecoming very weak. "You know how she dreads to give trouble, andcannot bear to have any one worry about her. She has seen Dr. Edgetwice in the last few days, but not in my presence, and I feel surethat she has forbidden him to tell me the truth about her. I dare notlet her guess how anxious I am, and have to go on in my usual way, justdoing what I can for her comfort. If you would come over for a day, Ishould feel very glad. Not having seen mother for some time, you wouldbe better able than I to judge how she looks. " After reading thisWill's self-reproaches were doubled. At once he set off for St. Neots. 

On arriving at The Haws, he found Jane gardening, and spoke with herbefore he went in to see his mother. 

He had been away from home, he said, and her letter had strayed inpursuit of him. 

"I wondered, " said Jane, her honest eyes searching his countenance. "And it's so long since you sent a word; I should have written againthis afternoon. "

"I've been abominably neglectful, " he replied, "and time goes soquickly. "

"There's something strange in your look, " said the girl. "What is it, Iwonder? You've altered in some way I don't know how. "

"Think so? but never mind me; tell me about mother. "

They stood among the garden scents, amid the flowers, which told ofparting summer, and conversed with voices softened by tendersolicitude. Jane was above all anxious that her brother's visit shouldseem spontaneous, and Will promised not to hint at the news she hadsent him. They entered the house together. Mrs. Warburton, after herusual morning occupations, had lain down on the couch in the parlour, and fallen asleep; as soon as he beheld her face, Will understood hissister's fears, White, motionless, beautiful in its absolute calm, thevisage might have been that of the dead; after gazing for a moment, both, on the same impulse, put forth a hand to touch the unconsciousform. The eyelids rose a look of confused trouble darkened the featuresthen the lips relaxed in a happy smile. 

"Will--and you find me asleep?--I appeal to Jane; she will tell youit's only an accident. Did you ever before see me asleep like this, Jane?"

At once she rose, and moved about, and strove to be herself; but theeffort it cost her was too obvious; presently she had to sit down, withtremulous limbs, and Will noticed that her forehead was moist. 

Not till evening did he find it possible to lead the conversation tothe subject of her health. Jane had purposely left them alone. Her sonhaving said that he feared she was not so well as usual, Mrs. Warburtonquietly admitted that she had recently consulted her doctor. 

"I am not young, Will, you know. Sixty-five next birthday. "

"But you don't call that old!" exclaimed her son. 

"Yes, it's old for one of my family, dear, None of us, that I know of, lived to be much more than sixty, and most died long before. Don't letus wear melancholy faces, " she added, with that winning smile which hadever been the blessing of all about her. "You and I, dear, are toosensible, I hope, to complain or be frightened because life must havean end. When my time comes, I trust to my children not to make meunhappy by forgetting what I have always tried to teach them. I shouldlike to think--and I know--that you would be sorry to lose me; but tosee you miserable on my account, or to think you miserable after I havegone--I couldn't bear that. "

Will was silent, deeply impressed by the calm voice, the noble thought. He had always felt no less respect than love for his mother, especiallyduring the latter years, when experience of life better enabled him tounderstand her rare qualities; but a deeper reverence took possessionof him whilst she was speaking. Her words not only extended hisknowledge of her character; they helped him to an understanding ofhimself, to a clearer view of life, and its possibilities. 

"I want to speak to you of Jane, " continued Mrs. Warburton, with a lookof pleasant reflection. "You know she went to see her friend, MissWinter, a few weeks ago. Has she told you anything about it?"

"Nothing at all. "

"Well, do you know that Miss Winter has taken up flower-growing as abusiness, and it looks as if she would be very successful. She isrenting more land, to make gardens of, and has two girls with her, asapprentices. I think that's what Jane will turn to some day. Of courseshe won't be really obliged to work for her living, but, when she isalone, I'm certain she won't be content to live just as she doesnow--she is far too active; but for me, I daresay she would go and joinMiss Winter at once. "

"I don't much care for that idea of girls going out to work when theycould live quietly at home, " said Will. 

"I used to have the same feeling, " answered his mother, "but Jane and Ihave often talked about it, and I see there is something to be said forthe other view. At all events, I wanted to prevent you from wonderingwhat was to become of her when she was left alone. To be sure, " sheadded, with a bright smile, "Jane may marry. I hope she will. But Iknow she won't easily be persuaded to give up her independence. Jane isa very independent little person. "

"If she has that in mind, " said Will, "why shouldn't you both go andlive over there, in Suffolk? You could find a house, no doubt--"

Mrs. Warburton gently shook her head. 

"I don't think I could leave The Haws. And--for the short time--"

"Short time? but you are not seriously ill, mother. "

"If I get stronger, " said Mrs. Warburton, without raising her eyes, "wemust manage to send Jane into Suffolk. I could get along very wellalone. But there--we have talked enough for this evening, Will. Can youstay over tomorrow? Do, if you could manage it. I am glad to have younear me. "

When they parted for the night, Will asked his sister to meet him inthe garden before breakfast, and Jane nodded assent. 

CHAPTER 39

The garden was drenched in dew, and when about seven o'clock, the firstsunbeam pierced the grey mantle of the east, every leaf flashed backthe yellow light. Will was walking there alone, his eyes turned now andthen to the white window of his mother's room. 

Jane came forth with her rosy morning face, her expression graver thanof wont. 

"You are uneasy about mother, " were her first words. "So am I, very. Ifeel convinced Dr. Edge has given her some serious warning; I saw thechange in her after his last visit. "

"I shall go and see him, " said Will. 

They talked of their anxiety, then Warburton proposed that they shouldwalk a little way along the road, for the air was cool. 

"I've something I want to tell you, " he began, when they had set forth. "It's a little startling--rather ludicrous, too. What should you say ifsome one came and told you he had seen me serving behind a grocer'scounter in London?"

"What do you mean, Will?"

"Well, I want to know how it would strike you. Should you be horrified?"

"No; but astonished. "

"Very well. The fact of the matter is then, " said Warburton, with anuneasy smile, "that for a couple of years I _have_ been doing that. Itcame about in this way--"

He related Godfrey Sherwood's reckless proceedings, and thecircumstances which had decided him to take a shop. No exclamationescaped the listener; she walked with eyes downcast, and, when herbrother ceased, looked at him very gently, affectionately. 

"It was brave of you, Will, " she said. 

"Well, I saw no other way of making good the loss; but now I am sick ofliving a double life--_that_ has really been the worst part of it, allalong. What I want to ask you, is--would it be wise or not to tellmother? Would it worry and distress her? As for the money, you seethere's nothing to worry about; the shop will yield a sufficientincome, though not as much as we hoped from Applegarth's; but of courseI shall have to go on behind the counter. "

He broke off, laughing, and Jane smiled, though with a line of troubleon her brow. 

"That won't do, " she said, with quiet decision. 

"Oh, I'm getting used to it. "

"No, no, Will, it won't do. We must find a better way. I see no harm inshopkeeping, if one has been brought up to it; but you haven't, and itisn't suitable for you. About mother--yes, I think we'd better tellher. She won't worry on account of the money; that isn't her nature, and it's very much better that there should be confidence between usall. "

"I haven't enjoyed telling lies, " said Will, "I assure you. "

"That I'm sure you haven't, poor boy!--but Mr. Sherwood? Hasn't he madeany effort to help you. Surely he--"

"Poor old Godfrey!" broke in her brother, laughing. "It's a joke toremember that I used to think him a splendid man of business, far morepractical than I. Why, there's no dreamier muddlehead living. "

He told the stories of Strangwyn and of Milligan with such exuberanceof humour that Jane could not but join in his merriment. 

"No, no; it's no good looking in that direction. The money has gone, there's no help for it. But you can depend on Jollyman's. Of course theaffair would have been much more difficult without Allchin. Oh, youmust see Allchin some day!"

"And absolutely no one has discovered the secret?" asked Jane. 

Will hesitated, then. 

"Yes, one person. You remember the name of Miss Elvan? A fortnightago--imagine the scene--she walked into the shop with a friend of hers, a Miss Cross, who has been one of my customers from the first. As soonas she caught sight of me she turned and ran; yes, ran out into thestreet in indignation and horror. Of course she must have told herfriend, and whether Miss Cross will ever come to the shop again, Idon't know. I never mentioned that name to you, did I? The Crosses werefriends of Norbert Franks. And, by the bye, I hear that Franks wasmarried to Miss Elvan a few days ago--just after her awful discovery. No doubt she told him, and perhaps he'll drop my acquaintance. "

"You don't mean that?"

"Well, not quite; but it wouldn't surprise me if his wife told him thatreally one mustn't be too intimate with grocers. In future, I'm goingto tell everybody; there shall be no more hiding and sneaking. That'swhat debases a man; not the selling of sugar and tea. A short time ago, I had got into a vile state of mind; I felt like poisoning myself. AndI'm convinced it was merely the burden of lies weighing upon me. Yes, yes, you're quite right; of course, mother must be told. Shall I leaveit to you, Jane? I think you could break it better. "

After breakfast, Will walked into St. Neots, to have a privateconversation with Dr. Edge, and whilst he was away Jane told her motherthe story of the lost money. At the end of an hour's talk, she went outinto the garden, where presently she was found by her brother, who hadwalked back at his utmost pace, and wore a perturbed countenance. 

"You haven't told yet?" were his first words, uttered in a breathlessundertone. 

"Why?" asked Jane startled. 

"I'm afraid of the result. Edge says that every sort of agitation mustbe avoided. "

"I have told her, " said Jane, with quiet voice, but anxious look. "Shewas grieved on your account, but it gave her no shock. Again and againshe said how glad she was you had let us know the truth. "

"So far then, good. "

"But Dr. Edge--what did he tell you?"

"He said he had wanted to see me, and thought of writing. Yes, hespeaks seriously. "

They talked for a little, then Will went into the house alone, andfound his mother as she sat in her wonted place, the usual needleworkon her lap. As he crossed the room, she kept her eyes upon him in agaze of the gentlest reproach, mingled with a smile, which told theorigin of Will's wholesome humour. 

"And you couldn't trust me to take my share of the trouble?"

"I knew only too well, " replied her son, "that your own share wouldn'tcontent you. "

"Greedy mother!--Perhaps you were right, Will. I suppose I should haveinterfered, and made everything worse for you; but you needn't havewaited quite so long before telling me. The one thing that I can'tunderstand is Mr. Sherwood's behaviour. You had always given me such adifferent idea of him. Really, I don't think he ought to have been letoff so easily. "

"Oh, poor old Godfrey! What could he do? He was sorry as man could be, and he gave me all the cash he could scrape together--"

"I'm glad he wasn't a friend of mine, " said Mrs. Warburton. "In all mylife, I have never quarrelled with a friend, but I'm afraid I must havefallen out with Mr. Sherwood. Think of the women who entrust their allto men of that kind, and have no strong son to save them from theconsequences. "

After the mid-day meal all sat together for an hour or two in thegarden. By an evening train, Will returned to London. Jane had promisedto let him have frequent news, and during the ensuing week she wrotetwice with very favourable accounts of their mother's condition. Amonth went by without any disquieting report, then came a letter inMrs. Warburton's own hand. 

"My dear Will, " she wrote, "I can't keep secrets as long as you. Thisis to inform you that a week ago I let The Haws, on annual tenancy, toa friend of Mr. Turnbull's, who was looking for such a house. The dayafter to-morrow we begin our removal to a home which Jane has takennear to Miss Winter's in Suffolk. That she was able to find just whatwe wanted at a moment's notice encourages me in thinking thatProvidence is on our side, or, as your dear father used to say, thatthe oracle has spoken. In a week's time I hope to send news that we aresettled. You are forbidden to come here before our departure, but willbe invited to the new home as soon as possible. The address is--" etc. 

The same post brought a letter from Jane. 

"Don't be alarmed by the news, " she wrote. "Mother has been so firm inthis resolve since the day of your leaving us, that I could only obeyher. Wonderful and delightful to tell, she seems better in health. Idare not make too much of this, after what Dr. Edge said, but for thepresent she is certainly stronger. As you suppose, I am going to workwith Miss Winter. Come and see us when we are settled, and you shallhear all our plans. Everything has been done so quickly, that I live ina sort of a dream. Don't worry, and of course don't on any accountcome. "

These letters arrived in the evening, and, after reading them, Warburton was so moved that he had to go out and walk under the starrysky, in quiet streets. Of course the motive on which his mother hadacted was a desire to free him as soon as possible from the slavery ofthe shop; but that slavery had now grown so supportable, that hegrieved over the sacrifice made for his sake. After all, would he nothave done better to live on with his secret? And yet--and yet--

CHAPTER 40

With curiosity which had in it a touch of amusement, Will was waitingto hear from Norbert Franks. He waited for nearly a month, and wasbeginning to feel rather hurt at his friend's neglect, perhaps a littleuneasy on another score, when there arrived an Italian postcard, stamped Venice. "We have been tempted as far as this, " ran the hurriedscrawl. "Must be home in ten days. Shall be delighted to see youagain. " Warburton puckered his brows and wondered whether a previousletter or card had failed to reach him. But probably not. 

At the end of September, Franks wrote from his London address, brieflybut cordially, with an invitation to luncheon on the next day, whichwas Sunday. And Warburton went. 

He was nervous as he knocked at the door; he was rather more nervous ashe walked into the studio. Norbert advanced to him with a shout ofwelcome, and from a chair in the background rose Mrs. Franks. Perceptibly changed, both of them. The artist's look was not quite soingenuous as formerly; his speech, resolute in friendliness, had notquite the familiar note. Rosamund, already more mature of aspect, smiled somewhat too persistently, seemed rather too bent on showingherself unembarrassed. They plunged into talk of Tyrol, of theDolomites, of Venice, and, so talking, passed into the dining-room. 

"Queer little house this, isn't it?" said Mrs. Franks as she sat downto table. "Everything is sacrificed to the studio; there's no room toturn anywhere else. We must look at once for more comfortable quarters. "

"It's only meant for a man living alone, " said the artist, with alaugh. Franks laughed frequently, whether what he said was amusing ornot. "Yes, we must find something roomier. 

"A score of sitters waiting for you, I suppose?" said Warburton. 

"Oh, several. One of them such an awful phiz that I'm afraid of her. IfI make her presentable, it'll be my greatest feat yet. But the laboureris worthy of his hire, you know, and this bit of beauty-making willhave its price. "

"You know how to interpret _that_, Mr. Warburton, " said Rosamund, witha discreetly confidential smile. "Norbert asks very much less than anyother portrait painter of his reputation would. "

"He'll grow out of that bad habit, " Will replied. His note was one ofjoviality, almost of bluffness. 

"I'm not sure that I wish him to, " said the painter's wife, her eyesstraying as if in a sudden dreaminess. "It's a distinction nowadays notto care for money. Norbert jokes about making an ugly woman beautiful, "she went on earnestly, "but what he will really do is to discover thevery best aspect of the face, and so make something much more than anordinary likeness. "

Franks fidgeted, his head bent over his plate. 

"That's the work of the great artist, " exclaimed Warburton, boldlyflattering. 

"Humbug!" growled Franks, but at once he laughed and glanced nervouslyat his wife. 

Though this was Rosamund's only direct utterance on the subject, Warburton discovered from the course of the conversation, that shewished to be known as her husband's fervent admirer, that she took himwith the utmost seriousness, and was resolved that everybody elseshould do so. The "great artist" phrase gave her genuine pleasure; sherewarded Will with the kindest look of her beautiful eyes, and fromthat moment appeared to experience a relief, so that her talk flowedmore naturally. Luncheon over, they returned to the studio, where themen lit their pipes, while Rosamund, at her husband's entreaty, exhibited the sketches she had brought home. 

"Why didn't you let me hear from you?" asked Warburton. "I got nothingbut that flimsy postcard from Venice. "

"Why, I was always meaning to write, " answered the artist. "I know itwas too bad. But time goes so quickly--"

"With you, no doubt. But if you stood behind a counter all day--"

Will saw the listeners exchange a startled glance, followed by anartificial smile. There was an instant's dead silence. 

"Behind a counter--?" fell from Norbert, as if he failed to understand. 

"The counter; _my_ counter!" shouted Will blusterously. "You know verywell what I mean. Your wife has told you all about it. "

Rosamund flushed, and could not raise her eyes. 

"We didn't know, " said Franks, with his nervous little laugh, "whetheryou cared--to talk about it--"

"I'll talk about it with any one you like. So you _do_ know? That's allright. I still owe my apology to Mrs. Franks for having given her sucha shock. The disclosure was really too sudden. "

"It is I who should beg you to forgive me, Mr. Warburton, " repliedRosamund, in her sweetest accents. "I behaved in a very silly way. Butmy friend Bertha Cross treated me as I deserved. She declared that shewas ashamed of me. But do not, pray do not, think me worse than I was. I ran away really because I felt I had surprised a secret. I wasembarrassed, --I lost my head. I'm sure you don't think me capable ofreally mean feelings?"

"But, old man, " put in the artist, in a half pained voice, "what thedeuce does it all mean? Tell us the whole story, do. "

Will told it, jestingly, effectively. 

"I was _quite_ sure, " sounded, at the close, in Rosamund's voice oftender sympathy, "that you had some noble motive. I said so at once toBertha. "

"I suppose, " said Will, "Miss Cross will never dare to enter the shopagain?"

"She doesn't come!"

"Never since, " he answered laughingly. "Her mother has been once ortwice, and seems to regard me with a very suspicious eye. Mrs. Crosswas told no doubt?"

"That I really can't say, " replied Rosamund, averting her eyes. "Butdoesn't it do one good to hear such a story, Norbert?" she addedimpulsively. 

"Yes, that's pluck, " replied her husband, with the old spontaneity, inhis eyes the old honest look which hitherto had somehow been a littleobscured. "I know very well that _I_ couldn't have done it. " Warburtonhad not looked at Rosamund since her explanation and apology. He wasafraid of meeting her eyes; afraid as a generous man who shrinks frominflicting humiliation. For was it conceivable that Rosamund couldsupport his gaze without feeling humiliated? Remembering what hadpreceded that discovery at the shop; bearing in mind what had followedupon it; he reflected with astonishment on the terms of herself-reproach. It sounded so genuine; to the ears of her husband itmust have been purest, womanliest sincerity. As though she could readhis thoughts, Rosamund addressed him again in the most naturallyplayful tone. 

"And you have been in the Basque country since we saw you. I'm so gladyou really took your holiday there at last; you often used to speak ofdoing so. And you met my sister--Winifred wrote to me all about it. TheCoppingers were delighted to see you. Don't you think them nice people?Did poor Mrs. Coppinger seem any better?"

In spite of himself, Will encountered her look, met the beautiful eyes, felt their smile envelop him. Never till now had he known the passivestrength of woman, that characteristic which at times makes her a forceof Nature rather than an individual being. Amazed, abashed, he let hishead fall--and mumbled something about Mrs. Coppinger's state of health. 

He did not stay much longer. When he took his leave, it would haveseemed natural if Franks had come out to walk a little way with him, but his friend bore him company only to the door. 

"Let us see you as often as possible, old man. I hope you'll often comeand lunch on Sunday; nothing could please us better. "

Franks' handgrip was very cordial, the look and tone were affectionate, but Will said to himself that the old intimacy was at an end; it mustnow give place to mere acquaintanceship. He suspected that Franks wasafraid to come out and walk with him, afraid that it might not pleasehis wife. That Rosamund was to rule--very sweetly of course, butunmistakably--no one could doubt who saw the two together for fiveminutes. It would be, in all likelihood, a happy subjugation, forNorbert was of anything but a rebellious temper; his bonds would be ofsilk; the rewards of his docility would be such as many aself-assertive man might envy. But when Warburton tried to imaginehimself in such a position, a choked laugh of humourous disdain heavedhis chest. 

He wandered homewards in a dream. He relived those moments on theEmbankment at Chelsea, when his common sense, his reason, his trueemotions, were defeated by an impulse now scarcely intelligible; he sawhimself shot across Europe, like a parcel despatched by express; andall that fury and rush meaningless as buffoonery at a pantomime! Yetthis was how the vast majority of men "fell in love"--if ever they didso at all. This was the prelude to marriages innumerable, marriagesdestined to be dull as ditchwater or sour as verjuice. In love, forsooth! Rosamund at all events knew the value of that, and had savedhim from his own infatuation. He owed her a lifelong gratitude. 

That evening he re-read a long letter from Jane which had reached himyesterday. His sister gave him a full description of the new home inSuffolk, and told of the arrangement she had made with Miss Winter, whereby, in a twelvemonth, she would be able to begin earning a littlemoney, and, if all went well, before long would become self-supporting. Could he not run down to see them? Their mother had borne the removalremarkably well, and seemed, indeed, to have a new vigour; possibly theair might suit her better than at The Haws. Will mused over this, buthad no mind to make the journey just yet. It would be a pain to him tosee his mother in that new place; it would shame him to see his sisterat work, and to think that all this change was on his account. So hewrote to mother and sister, with more of expressed tenderness thanusual, begging them to let him put off his visit yet a few weeks. Presently they would be more settled. But of one thing let them besure; his daily work was no burden whatever to him, and he hardly knewwhether he would care to change it for what was called the greaterrespectability of labour in an office. His health was good; his spiritscould only be disturbed by ill news from those he loved. He promisedthat at all events he would spend Christmas with them. 

September went by. One of the Sundays was made memorable by a visit toAshtead. Will had requested Franks to relate in that quarter the storyof Mr. Jollyman, and immediately after hearing it, Ralph Pomfret wrotea warm-hearted letter which made the recipient in Fulham chuckle withcontentment. At Ashtead he enjoyed himself in the old way, gladdened bythe pleasure with which his friends talked of Rosamund's marriage. Mrs. Pomfret took an opportunity of speaking to him apart, a bright smile onher good face. 

"Of course we know who did much, if not everything, to bring it about. Rosamund came and told me how beautifully you had pleaded Norbert'scause, and Norbert confided to my husband that, but for you, he wouldmost likely have married a girl he really didn't care about at all. Idoubt whether a _mere man_ ever did such a thing so discreetly andsuccessfully before!"

In October, Will began to waver in his resolve not to go down intoSuffolk before Christmas. There came a letter from his mother whichdeeply moved him; she spoke of old things as well as new, and declaredthat in her husband and in her children no woman had ever known truerhappiness. This was at the middle of the week; Will all but made up hismind to take an early train on the following Sunday. On Friday he wroteto Jane, telling her to expect him, and, as he walked home from theshop that evening he felt glad that he had overcome the feelings whichthreatened to make this first visit something of a trial to hisself-respect. 

"There's a telegram a-waiting for you, sir, " said Mrs. Wick, as heentered. 

The telegram contained four words:

"Mother ill. Please come. "

CHAPTER 41

Happen what might in the world beyond her doors, Mrs. Cross led thewonted life of domestic discomfort and querulousness. An interval therehad been this summer, a brief, uncertain interval, when something likegood-temper seemed to struggle with her familiar mood; it was the monthor two during which Norbert Franks resumed his friendly visitings. Fallen out of Mrs. Cross's good graces since his failure to become hertenant a couple of years ago, the artist had but to present himselfagain to be forgiven, and when it grew evident that he came to thehouse on Bertha's account, he rose into higher favour than ever. Butthis promising state of things abruptly ended. One morning, Bertha, with a twinkle in her eyes, announced the fact of Franks' marriage. Hermother was stricken with indignant amaze. 

"And you laugh about it?"

"It's so amusing, " answered Bertha. 

Mrs. Cross examined her daughter. 

"I don't understand you, " she exclaimed, in a tone of irritation. "I do_not_ understand you, Bertha! All I can say is, behaviour moredisgraceful I _never_--"

The poor lady's feelings were too much for her. She retreated to herbedroom, and there passed the greater part of the day. But in theevening curiosity overcame her sullenness. Having obtained as muchinformation about the artist's marriage as Bertha could give her, sherelieved herself in an acrimonious criticism of him and Miss Elvan. 

"I never liked to say what I really thought of that girl, " were herconcluding words. "Now your eyes are opened. Of course you'll never seeher again?"

"Why, mother?" asked Bertha. "I'm very glad she has married Mr. Franks. I always hoped she would, and felt pretty sure of it. "

"And you mean to be friends with them both?"

"Why not?--But don't let us talk about that, " Bertha addedgood-humouredly. "I should only vex you. There's something else I wantto tell you, something you'll really be amused to hear. "

"Your ideas of amusement, Bertha--"

"Yes, yes, but listen. It's about Mr. Jollyman. Who do you think Mr. Jollyman really is?"

Mrs. Cross heard the story with bent brows and lips severely set. 

"And why didn't you tell me this before, pray?"

"I hardly know, " answered the girl, thoughtfully, smiling. "Perhapsbecause I waited to hear more to make the revelation more complete. But--"

"And this, " exclaimed Mrs. Cross, "is why you wouldn't go to the shopyesterday?"

"Yes, " was the frank reply. "I don't think I shall go again. "

"And, pray, why not?"

Bertha was silent. 

"There's one very disagreeable thing in your character, Bertha, "remarked her mother severely, "and that is your habit of hiding andconcealing. To think that you found this out more than a week ago!You're very, very unlike your father. _He_ never kept a thing from me, never for an hour. But you are always _full_ of secrets. It isn'tnice--it isn't at all nice. "

Since her husband's death Mrs. Cross had never ceased discovering hisvirtues. When he lived, one of the reproaches with which she constantlysoured his existence was that of secretiveness. And Bertha, who knewsomething and suspected more of the truth in this matter, never felt itso hard to bear with her mother as when Mrs. Cross bestowed suchretrospective praise. 

"I have thought it over, " she said quietly, disregarding the reproof, "and on the whole I had rather not go again to the shop. "

Thereupon Mrs. Cross grew angry, and for half an hour clamoured as tothe disadvantage of leaving Jollyman's for another grocer's. In the endshe did not leave him, but either went to the shop herself or sent theservant. Great was her curiosity regarding the disguised Mr. Warburton, with whom, after a significant coldness, she gradually resumed her oldchatty relations. At length, one day in autumn, Bertha announced to herthat she could throw more light on the Jollyman mystery; she had learntthe full explanation of Mr. Warburton's singular proceedings. 

"From those people, I suppose?" said Mrs. Cross, who by this phrasesignified Mr. And Mrs. Franks. "Then I don't wish to hear one word ofit. "

But as though she had not heard this remark, Bertha began hernarrative. She seemed to repeat what had been told her with a quietpleasure. 

"Well, then, " was her mother's comment, "after all, there's nothingdisgraceful. "

"I never thought there was. "

"Then why have you refused to enter his shop?"

"It was awkward, " replied Bertha. 

"No more awkward for you than for me, " said Mrs. Cross. "But I'venoticed, Bertha, that you are getting rather selfish in some things--Idon't of course say in _everything_--and I think it isn't difficult toguess where that comes from. "

Soon after Christmas they were left, by a familiar accident, without aservant; the girl who had been with them for the last six monthssomehow contrived to get her box secretly out of the house anddisappeared (having just been paid her wages) without warning. Long andloudly did Mrs. Cross rail against this infamous behaviour. 

The next morning, a young woman came to the house and inquired for Mrs. Cross; Bertha, who had opened the door, led her into the dining room, and retired. Half an hour later, Mrs. Cross came into the parlour, beaming. 

"There now! If that wasn't a good idea! Who do you think sent thatgirl, Bertha?--Mr. Jollyman. "

Bertha kept silence. 

"I had to go into the shop yesterday, and I happened to speak to Mr. Jollyman of the trouble I had in finding a good servant. It occurred tome that he _might_ just possibly know of some one. He promised to makeinquiries, and here at once comes the nicest girl I've seen for a longtime. She had to leave her last place because it was too hard; justfancy, a shop where she had to cook for sixteen people, and see to fivebedrooms; no wonder she broke down, poor thing. She's been resting fora month or two: and she lives in the same house as a person named Mrs. Hopper, who is the sister of the wife of Mr. Jollyman's assistant. Andshe's quite content with fifteen pounds--quite. "

As she listened, Bertha wrinkled her forehead, and grew rather absent. She made no remark, until, after a long account of the virtues she hadalready descried in Martha--this was the girl's name--Mrs. Cross addedthat of course she must go at once and thank Mr. Jollyman. 

"I suppose you still address him by that name?" fell from Bertha. 

"That name? Why, I'd really almost forgotten that it wasn't his realname. In any case, I couldn't use the other in the shop, could I?"

"Of course not; no. "

"Now you speak of it, Bertha, " pursued Mrs. Cross, "I wonder whether heknows that I know who he is?"

"Certainly he does. "

"When one thinks of it, wouldn't it be better, Bertha, for you to go tothe shop again now and then? I'm afraid the poor man may feel hurt. He_must_ have noticed that you never went again after that discovery, andone really wouldn't like him to think that you were offended. "

"Offended?" echoed the girl with a laugh. "Offended at what?"

"Oh, some people, you know, might think his behaviour strange--using aname that's not his own, and--and so on. "

"Some people might, no doubt. But the poor man, as you call him, isprobably quite indifferent as to what we think of him. "

"Don't you think it would be well if you went in and just thanked himfor sending the servant?"

"Perhaps, " replied Bertha, carelessly. 

But she did not go to Mr. Jollyman's, and Mrs. Cross soon forgot thesuggestion. 

Martha entered upon her duties, and discharged them with such zeal, such docility, that her mistress never tired of lauding her. She was ayoung woman of rather odd appearance; slim and meagre and red-headed, with a never failing simper on her loose lips, and blue eyes thatfrequently watered; she had somehow an air of lurking gentility infaded youth. Undeniable as were the good qualities she put forth onthis scene of innumerable domestic failures, Bertha could notaltogether like her. Submissive to the point of slavishness, she had attimes a look which did not harmonize at all with this demeanour, asomething in her eyes disagreeably suggestive of mocking insolence. Bertha particularly noticed this on the day after Martha had receivedher first wages. Leave having been given her to go out in the afternoonto make some purchases, she was rather late in returning, and Bertha, meeting her as she entered, asked her to be as quick as possible ingetting tea; whereupon the domestic threw up her head and regarded thespeaker from under her eyelids with an extraordinary smile; then with a"Yes, miss, this minute, miss" scampered upstairs to take her thingsoff. All that evening her behaviour was strange. As she waited at thesupper table she seemed to be subduing laughter, and in clearing awayshe for the first time broke a plate; whereupon she burst into tears, and begged forgiveness so long and so wearisomely that she had at lastto be ordered out of the room. 

On the morrow all was well again; but Bertha could not help watchingthat singular countenance, and the more she observed, the less sheliked it. 

The more "willing" a servant the more toil did Mrs. Cross exact fromher. When occasions of rebuke or of dispute were lacking, the day wouldhave been long and wearisome for her had she not ceaselessly plied thedomestic drudge with tasks, and narrowly watched their execution. Thespectacle of this slave-driving was a constant trial to Bertha'snerves; now and then she ventured a mild protest, but only with theresult of exciting her mother's indignation. In her mood of growingmoral discontent, Bertha began to ask herself whether acquiescence inthis sordid tyranny was not a culpable weakness, and one day early inthe year--a wretched day of east-wind--when she saw Martha perched onan outer window-sill cleaning panes, she found the courage to utterresolute disapproval. 

"I don't understand you, Bertha, " replied Mrs. Cross, the muscles ofher face quivering as they did when she felt her dignity outraged. "What do we engage a servant for? Are the windows to get so dirty wecan't see through them?"

"They were cleaned not many days ago, " said her daughter, "and I thinkwe could manage to see till the weather's less terrible. "

"My dear, if we _managed_ so as to give the servant no trouble at all, the house would soon be in a pretty state. Be so good as not tointerfere. It's really an extraordinary thing that as soon as I find agirl who almost suits me, you begin to try to spoil her. One wouldthink you took a pleasure in making my life miserable--"

Overwhelmed with floods of reproach, Bertha had either to combat or toretreat. Again her nerves failed her, and she left the room. 

At dinner that day there was a roast leg of mutton, and, as her habitwas, Mrs. Cross carved the portion which Martha was to take away forherself. One very small and very thin slice, together with oneunwholesome little potato, represented the servant's meal. As soon asthe door had closed, Bertha spoke in an ominously quiet voice. 

"Mother, this won't do. I am very sorry to annoy you, but if you callthat a dinner for a girl who works hard ten or twelve hours a day, Idon't. How she supports life, I can't understand. You have only to lookinto her face to see she's starving. I can bear the sight of it nolonger. "

This time she held firm. The conflict lasted for half an hour, duringwhich Mrs. Cross twice threatened to faint. Neither of them ateanything, and in the end Bertha saw herself, if not defeated, at allevents no better off than at the beginning, for her mother clungfiercely to authority, and would obviously live in perpetual striferather than yield an inch. For the next two days domestic life was veryunpleasant indeed; mother and daughter exchanged few words; meanwhileMartha was tasked, if possible, more vigorously than ever, and fedmysteriously, meals no longer doled out to her under Bertha's eyes. Thethird morning brought another crisis. 

"I have a letter from Emily, " said Bertha at breakfast, naming a friendof hers who lived in the far north of London. "I'm going to see herto-day. "

"Very well, " answered Mrs. Cross, between rigid lips. 

"She says that in the house where she lives, there's a bed-sitting-roomto let. I think, mother, it might be better for me to take it. "

"You will do just as you please, Bertha. "

"I shall have dinner to-day with Emily, and be back about tea-time. "

"I have no doubt, " replied Mrs. Cross, "that Martha will be so obligingas to have tea ready for you. If she doesn't feel _strong_ enough, ofcourse I will see to it myself. "

CHAPTER 42

On the evening before, Martha had received her month's wages, and hadbeen promised the usual afternoon of liberty to-day; but, as soon asBertha had left the house, Mrs. Cross summoned the domestic, andinformed her bluntly that the holiday must be postponed. 

"I'm very sorry, mum, " replied Martha, with an odd, half-frightenedlook in her watery eyes. "I'd promised to go and see my brother as hasjust lost his wife; but of course, if it isn't convenient, mum--"

"It really is not, Martha. Miss Bertha will be out all day, and I don'tlike being left alone You shall go to-morrow instead. "

Half an hour later, Mrs. Cross went out shopping, and was away tillnoon. On returning, she found the house full of the odour of somethingburnt. 

"What's this smell, Martha?" she asked at the kitchen door, "what isburning?"

"Oh, it's only a dishcloth as was drying and caught fire, mum, "answered the servant. 

"Only! What do you mean?" cried the mistress, angrily. "Do you wish toburn the house down?"

Martha stood with her arms akimbo, on her thin, dough-pale face themost insolent of grins, her teeth gleaming, and her eyes wide. 

"What do you mean?" cried Mrs. Cross. "Show me the burnt cloth at once. "

"There you are, mum!"

And Martha, with a kick, pointed to something on the floor. Amazed andwrathful, Mrs. Cross saw a long roller-towel, half a yard of it burntto tinder; nor could any satisfactory explanation of the accident bedrawn from Martha, who laughed, sobbed, and sniggered by turns as ifshe were demented. 

"Of course you will pay for it, " exclaimed Mrs. Cross for the twentiethtime. "Go on with your work at once, and don't let me have any more ofthis extraordinary behaviour. I can't think what has come to you. "

But Martha seemed incapable of resuming her ordinary calm. Whilstserving the one o'clock dinner--which was very badly cooked--she weptand sighed, and when her mistress had risen from the table, she stoodfor a long time staring vacantly before she could bestir herself toclear away. About three o'clock, having several times vainly rung thesitting-room bell, Mrs. Cross went to the kitchen. The door was shut, and, on trying to open it, she found it locked. She called "Martha, "again and again, and had no reply, until, all of a sudden, a shrillvoice cried from within--"Go away! Go away!" Beside herself with wrathand amazement, the mistress demanded admission answer, there came aviolent thumping on the door at the other side, and again the voicescreamed--"Go away! Go away!"

"What's the matter with you, Martha?" asked Mrs. Cross, beginning tofeel alarmed. 

"Go away!" replied the voice fiercely. 

"Either you open the door this moment, or I call a policeman. "

This threat had an immediate effect, though not quite of the kind thatMrs. Cross hoped. The key turned with a snap, the door was flung open, and there stood Martha, in a Corybantic attitude, brandishing adinner-plate in one hand, a poker in the other; her hair wasdishevelled, her face red, and fury blazed in her eyes. 

"You _won't_ go away?" she screamed "There, then--there goes one ofyour plates!"

She dashed it to the floor. 

"You _won't_ go away?--There goes one of you dishes!--and there goes abasin!--And there goes a tea-cup!"

One after another, the things she named perished upon the floor. Mrs. Cross stood paralysed, horror-stricken. 

"You think you'll make me pay for them?" cried Martha frantically. "Notme--not me! It's you as owes me money--money for all the work I've doneas wasn't in my wages, and for the food as I haven't had, when I'dought to. What do you call _that_?" She pointed to a plate of somethingon the kitchen table. "Is that a dinner for a human being, or is it adinner for a beetle? D'you think I'd eat it, and me with money in mypocket to buy better? You want to make a walkin' skeleton of me, doyou?--but I'll have it out of you, I will--There goes another dish! And_here_ goes a sugar-basin! And here goes your teapot!"

With a shriek of dismay, Mrs. Cross sprang forward. She was too late tosave the cherished object, and her aggressive movement excited Marthato yet more alarming behaviour. 

"You'd hit me, would you? Two can play at that game--you old skinflint, you! Come another step nearer, and I'll bring this poker on your head!You thought you'd get somebody you could do as you liked with, didn'tyou? You thought because I was willing, and tried to do my best, as Icould be put upon to any extent, did you? It's about time you learntyour mistake, you old cheese-parer! You and me has an account tosettle. Let me get at you--let me get at you--"

She brandished the poker so menacingly that Mrs. Cross turned and fled. Martha pursued, yelling abuse and threats. The mistress vainly tried toshut the sitting-room door against her; in broke the furious maid, andfor a moment so handled her weapon that Mrs. Cross with difficultyescaped a dangerous blow. Round and round the table they went, until, the cloth having been dragged off, Martha's feet caught in it, and shefell heavily to the floor. To escape from the room, the terrified ladymust have stepped over her. For a moment there was silence. Then Marthamade an attempt to rise, fell again, again struggled to her knees, andfinally collapsed, lying quite still and mute. 

Trembling, panting, Mrs. Cross moved cautiously nearer, until she couldsee the girl's face. Martha was asleep, unmistakably asleep; she hadeven begun to snore. Avoiding her contact with as much disgust as fear, Mrs. Cross got out of the room, and opened the front door of the house. This way and that she looked along the streets, searching for apoliceman, but none was in sight. At this moment, approached a familiarfigure, Mr. Jollyman's errand boy, basket on arm; he had parcels todeliver here. 

"Are you going back to the shop at once?" asked Mrs. Cross, afterhurriedly setting down her groceries in the passage. 

"Straight back, mum. "

"Then run as quickly as ever you can, and tell Mr. Jollyman that I wishto see him immediately--immediately. Run! Don't lose a moment!"

Afraid to shut herself in with the sleeping fury, Mrs. Cross remainedstanding near the front door, which every now and then she opened tolook for a policeman. The day was cold; she shivered, she felt weak, wretched, ready to sob in her squalid distress. Some twenty minutespassed, then, just as she opened the door to look about again, a rapidstep sounded on the pavement, and there appeared her grocer. 

"Oh, Mr. Jollyman!" she exclaimed. "What I have just gone through! Thatgirl has gone raving mad--she has broken almost everything in thehouse, and tried to kill me with the poker. Oh, I am so glad you'vecome! Of course there's never a policeman when they're wanted. Doplease come in. "

Warburton did not at once understand who was meant by "that girl, " butwhen Mrs. Cross threw open the sitting-room door, and exhibited herdomestic prostrate in disgraceful slumber, the facts of the situationbroke upon him. This was the girl so strongly recommended by Mrs. Hopper. 

"But I thought she had been doing very well--"

"So she had, so she had, Mr. Jollyman--except for a few littlethings--though there was always something rather strange about her. It's only today that she broke out. She is mad, I assure you, ravingmad!"

Another explanation suggested itself to Warburton. 

"Don't you notice a suspicious odour?" he asked significantly. 

"You think it's _that_!" said Mrs. Cross, in a horrified whisper. "Oh, I daresay you're right. I'm too agitated to notice anything. Oh, Mr. Jollyman! Do, do help me to get the creature out of the house. Howshameful that people gave her a good character. But everybody deceivesme--everybody treats me cruelly, heartlessly. Don't leave me alone withthat creature, Mr. Jollyman. Oh, if you knew what I have been throughwith servants! But never anything so bad as this--never! Oh, I feelquite ill--I must sit down--"

Fearful that his situation might become more embarrassing than it was, Warburton supported Mrs. Cross into the dining-room, and by dint ofloudly cheerful talk in part composed her. She consented to sit withthe door locked, whilst her rescuer hurried in search of a policeman. Before long, a constable's tread sounded in the hall; Mrs. Cross toldher story, exhibited the ruins of her crockery on the kitchen floor, and demanded instant expulsion of the dangerous rebel. Between them, Warburton and the man in authority shook Martha into consciousness, made her pack her box, put her into a cab, and sent her off to thehouse where she had lived when out of service; she all the time weepingcopiously, and protesting that there was no one in the world so dear toher as her outraged mistress. About an hour was thus consumed. When atlength the policeman had withdrawn, and sudden quiet reigned in thehouse, Mrs. Cross seemed again on the point of fainting. 

"How can I ever thank you, Mr. Jollyman!" she exclaimed, halfhysterically, as she let herself sink into the armchair. "Without you, what would have become of me! Oh, I feel so weak, if I had strength toget myself a cup of tea--"

"Let me get it for you, " cried Warburton. "Nothing easier. I noticedthe kettle by the kitchen fire. "

"Oh, I cannot allow, you, Mr. Jollyman--you are too kind--I feel soashamed--"

But Will was already in the kitchen, where he bestirred himself soeffectually that in a few minutes the kettle had begun to sing. Just ashe went back to the parlour, to ask where tea could be found, the frontdoor opened, and in walked Bertha. 

"Your daughter is here, Mrs. Cross, " said Will, in an undertone, stepping toward the limp and pallid lady. 

"Bertha, " she cried. "Bertha, are you there? Oh, come and thank Mr. Jollyman! If you knew what has happened whilst you were away!"

At the room door appeared the girl's astonished face. Warburton's eyesfell upon her. 

"It's a wonder you find me alive, dear, " pursued the mother. "If one ofthose blows had fallen on my head--!"

"Let me explain, " interposed Warburton quietly. And in a few words herelated the events of the afternoon. 

"And Mr. Jollyman was just getting me a clip of tea, Bertha, " addedMrs. Cross. "I do feel ashamed that he should have had such trouble. "

"Mr. Jollyman has been very kind indeed, " said Bertha, with look andtone of grave sincerity. "I'm sure we cannot thank him enough. "

Warburton smiled as he met her glance. 

"I feel rather guilty in the matter, " he said, "for it was I whosuggested the servant. If you will let me, I will do my best to atoneby trying to find another and a better. "

"Run and make the tea, my dear, " said Mrs. Cross. "Perhaps Mr. Jollymanwill have a cup with us--"

This invitation was declined. Warburton sought for his hat, and tookleave of the ladies, Mrs. Cross overwhelming him with gratitude, andBertha murmuring a few embarrassed words. As soon as he was gone, mother and daughter took hands affectionately, then embraced with moretenderness than for a long, long time. 

"I shall never dare to live alone with a servant, " sobbed Mrs. Cross. "If you leave me, I must go into lodgings, dear. "

"Hush, hush, mother, " replied the girl, in her gentlest voice. "Ofcourse I shall not leave you. 

"Oh, the dreadful things I have been through! It was drink, Bertha;that creature was a drunkard of the most dangerous kind. She did herbest to murder me. I wonder I am not at this moment lying dead. -- Oh, but the kindness of Mr. Jollyman! What a good thing I sent for him! Andhe speaks of finding us another servant; but, Bertha, I shall never tryto manage a servant again--never. I shall always be afraid of them; Ishall dread to give the simplest order. You, my dear, must be themistress of the house; indeed you must. I give over everything intoyour hands. I will never interfere; I won't say a word, whatever faultI may have to find; not a word. Oh, that creature; that horrible womanwill haunt my dreams. Bertha, you don't think she'll hang about thehouse, and lie in wait for me, to be revenged? We must tell thepoliceman to look out for her. I'm sure I shall never venture to go outalone, and if you leave me in the house with a new servant, even for anhour, I must be in a room with the door locked. My nerves will neverrecover from this shock. Oh, if you knew how ill I feel! I'll have acup of tea, and then go straight to bed. "

Whilst she was refreshing herself, she spoke again of Mr. Jollyman. 

"Do you think I ought to have pressed him to stay, dear? I didn't feelsure. "

"No, no, you were quite right not to do so, " replied Bertha. "He ofcourse understood that it was better for us to be alone. "

"I thought he would. Really, for a grocer, he is so very gentlemanly. "

"That's not surprising, mother. "

"No, no; I'm always forgetting that he isn't a grocer by birth. Ithink, Bertha, it will only be right to ask him to come to tea some daybefore long. "

Bertha reflected, a half-smile about her lips. 

"Certainly, " she said, "if you would like to. "

"I really should. He was so very kind to me. And perhaps--what do youthink?--ought we to invite him in his proper name?"

"No, I think not, " answered Bertha, after a moment's reflection. "Weare not supposed to know anything about that. "

"To be sure not. --Oh, that dreadful creature. I see her eyes, glaringat me, like a tiger's. Fifty times at least did she chase me round thistable. I thought I should have dropped with exhaustion; and if I had, one blow of that poker would have finished me. Never speak to me ofservants, Bertha. Engage any one you like, but do, do be careful tomake inquiries about her. I shall never wish even to know her name; Ishall never look at her face; I shall never speak a word to her. Ileave all the responsibility to you, dear. And now, help me upstairs. I'm sure 'I could never get up alone. I tremble in every limb--"

CHAPTER 43

Warburton's mother was dead. The first effect upon him of the certaintythat she could not recover from the unconsciousness in which he foundher when summoned by Jane's telegram, was that of an acute remorse; itpierced him to the heart that she should have abandoned the home of herlife-time, for the strangeness and discomfort of the new abode, andhere have fallen, stricken by death--the cause of it, he himself, he sounworthy of the least sacrifice. He had loved her; but what assurancehad he been wont to give her of his love? Through many and many a yearit was much if he wrote at long intervals a hurried letter. How seldomhad he cared to go down to St. Neots, and, when there, how soon had hefelt impatient of the little restraints imposed upon him by hismother's ways and prejudices. Yet not a moment had she hesitated, illand aged, when, at so great a cost to herself, it seemed possible tomake life a little easier for him. This reproach was the keenest painwith which nature had yet visited him. 

Something of the same was felt by his sister, partly on her own, partlyon his account, but as soon as Jane became aware of his self torment, her affection and her good sense soon brought succour to them both. Shespoke of the life their mother had led since coming into Suffolk, related a hundred instances to prove how full of interest andcontentment it had been, bore witness to the seeming improvement ofhealth, and the even cheerfulness of spirits which had accompanied it. Moreover, there was the medical assurance that life could not in anycase have been prolonged; that change of place and habits counted fornothing in the sudden end which some months ago had been foretold. Janeconfessed herself surprised at the ease with which so great and suddena change was borne; the best proof that could have been given of theirmother's nobleness of mind. Once only had Mrs. Warburton seemed tothink regretfully of the old home; it was on coming out of church onemorning, when, having stood for a moment to look at the graveyard, shemurmured to her daughter that she would wish to be buried at St. Neots. This, of course, was done; it would have been done even had she notspoken. And when, on the day after the funeral, brother and sisterparted to go their several ways, the sadness they bore with them had noembitterment of brooding regret. A little graver than usual, Will tookhis place behind the counter, with no word to Allchin concerning thecause of his absence. He wrote frequently to Jane, and from herreceived long letters, which did him good, so redolent were they of thegarden life, even in mid-winter, and so expressive of a frank, sweet, strong womanhood, like that of her who was no more. 

Meanwhile his business flourished. Not that he much exerted himself, orgreatly rejoiced to see his till more heavily laden night after night, by natural accretion custom flowed to the shop in fuller stream;Jollyman's had established a reputation for quality and cheapness, andbegan seriously to affect the trade of small rivals in the district. AsAllchin had foretold, the hapless grocer with the drunken wife sankdefeated before the end of the year; one morning his shop did not open, and in a few days the furniture of the house was carried off by somebrisk creditor. It made Warburton miserable to think of the man's doom;when Allchin, frank barbarian as he was, loudly exulted. Will turnedaway in shame and anger. Had the thing been practicable he would havegiven money out of his own pocket to the ruined struggler. He sawhimself as a merciless victor; he seemed to have his heel on the otherman's head, and to crush, crush--

At Christmas he was obliged to engage a second assistant. Allchin didnot conceal his dislike of this step, but he ended by admitting it tobe necessary. At first, the new state of things did not work quitesmoothly; Allchin was inclined to an imperious manner, which thenewcomer, by name Goff, now and then plainly resented. But in a day ortwo they were on fair terms, and ere long they became cordial. 

Then befell the incident of Mrs. Cross' Martha. 

Not without uneasiness had Warburton suggested a servant on therecommendation of Mrs. Hopper, but credentials seemed to be fairlygood, and when, after a week or two, Mrs. Cross declared herself morethan satisfied, he blessed his good luck. Long ago he had ceased tolook for the reappearance at the shop of Bertha Cross; he thought ofthe girl now and then, generally reverting in memory to that day whenhe had followed her and her mother into Kew Gardens--a recollectionwhich had lost all painfulness, and shone idyllically in summersunlight, but it mattered nothing to him that Bertha showed herself nomore. Of course she knew his story from Rosamund, and in all likelihoodshe felt her self-respect concerned in holding aloof from anacquaintance of his ambiguous standing. It mattered not a jot. 

Yet when the tragi-comedy of Martha's outbreak unexpectedly introducedhim to the house at Walham Green, he experienced a sudden revival ofthe emotions of a year ago. After his brief meeting with Bertha, he didnot go straight back to the shop, but wandered a little in quietby-ways, thinking hard and smiling. Nothing more grotesque than thepicture of Mrs. Cross amid her shattered crockery, Mrs. Cross pointingto the prostrate Martha, Mrs. Cross panting forth the chronicle of herwoes; but Mrs. Cross' daughter was not involved in this scene ofpantomime; she walked across the stage, but independently, with asimple dignity, proof against paltry or ludicrous circumstance. If anyone could see the laughable side of such domestic squalor, assuredly itwas Bertha herself of that Will felt assured. Did he not remember hersmile when she had to discuss prices and qualities in the shop? Notmany girls smile with so much implication of humorous comment. 

He had promised to look out for another servant, but hardly knew how togo to work. First of all, Mrs. Hopper was summoned to an interview inthe parlour behind the shop, and Martha's case was fully discussed. With much protesting and circumlocution, Mrs. Hopper brought herself atlength to own that Martha had been known to "take too much, " but thatwas so long ago, and the girl had solemnly declared, etc. , etc. However, as luck would have it, she did know of another girl, a reallygood general servant, who had only just been thrown out of a place bythe death of her mistress, and who was living at home in Kentish Town. Thither sped Warburton; he saw the girl and her mother, and, onreturning, sent a note to Mrs. Cross, in which he detailed all he hadlearnt concerning the new applicant. At the close he wrote: "You areaware, I think, that the name under which I do business is not my own. Permit me, in writing to you on a private matter, to use my ownsignature"--which accordingly followed. Moreover, he dated the letterfrom his lodgings, not from the shop. 

The next day brought him a reply; he found it on his breakfast table, and broke the envelope with amused curiosity. Mrs. Cross wrote that"Sarah Walker" had been to see her, and if inquiries provedsatisfactory, would be engaged. "We are very greatly obliged for thetrouble you have taken. Many thanks for your kind inquiries as to myhealth. I am glad to say that the worst of the shock has passed away, though I fear that I shall long continue to feel its effects. " A fewremarks followed on the terrible difficulties of the servant question;then "Should you be disengaged on Sunday next, we shall be glad if youwill take a cup of tea with us. "

Over his coffee and egg, Will pondered this invitation. It pleased him, undeniably, but caused him no undue excitement. He would have liked toknow in what degree Mrs. Cross' daughter was a consenting party to thestep. Perhaps she felt that, after the services he had rendered, theleast one could do was to invite him to tea. Why should he refuse?Before going to business, he wrote a brief acceptance. During the day, a doubt now and then troubled him as to whether he had behaveddiscreetly, but on the whole he looked forward to Sunday with pleasantexpectation. 

How should he equip himself? Should he go dressed as he would have goneto the Pomfrets', in his easy walking attire, jacket and soft-felt? Ordid the circumstances dictate chimney-pot and frock-coat? He scoffed athimself for fidgeting over the point; yet perhaps it had a certainimportance. After deciding for the informal costume, at the last momenthe altered his mind, and went arrayed as society demands; with theresult that, on entering the little parlour--that name suited it muchbetter than drawing-room--he felt overdressed, pompous, generallyabsurd. His cylinder seemed to be about three feet high; his glovesstared their newness; the tails of his coat felt as though they wrappedseveral times round his legs, and still left enough to trail upon thefloor as he sat on a chair too low for him. Never since the mostawkward stage of boyhood had he felt so little at ease "in company. "And he had a conviction that Bertha Cross was laughing at him. Hersmile was too persistent; it could only be explained as a compromisewith threatening merriment. 

A gap in the conversation prompted Warburton to speak of a littlematter which was just now interesting him. It related to Mr. Potts, theshopkeeper in Kennington Lane, whom he used to meet, but of whom for acouple of years and more, he had quite lost sight. Stirred by reproachof conscience, he had at length gone to make inquiries; but the name ofPotts was no longer over the shop. 

"I went in and asked whether the old man was dead; no, he had retiredfrom business and was lodging not far away. I found the house--a rathergrimy place, and the door was opened by a decidedly grimy woman. I sawat once that she didn't care to let me in. What was my business? and soon; but I held firm, and got at last into a room on the second floor, an uncomfortable sitting-room, where poor old Potts welcomed me. Ifonly he had known my address, he said, he should have written to tellme the news. His son in America, the one I knew, was doing well, andsent money every month, enough for him to live upon. 'But was hecomfortable in those lodgings? I asked. Of course I saw that he wasn't, and I saw too that my question made him nervous. He looked at the door, and spoke in a whisper. The upshot of it was that he had fallen intothe hands of a landlady who victimised him; just because she was an oldacquaintance, he didn't feel able to leave her. 'Shall I help you toget away?' I asked him, and his face shone with hope. Of course thewoman was listening at the keyhole; we both knew that. When I went awayshe had run half down the stairs, and I caught her angry look beforeshe hid it with a grin. I must find decent lodgings for the old fellow, as soon as possible. He is being bled mercilessly. "

"How very disgraceful!" exclaimed Mrs. Cross. "Really, the meanness ofsome women of that class!"

Her daughter had her eyes cast down, on her lips the faintestsuggestion of a smile. 

"I wonder whether we could hear of anything suitable, " pursued hermother, "by inquiring of people we know out at Holloway. I'm thinkingof the Boltons, Bertha. "

Mr. Potts' requirements were discussed, Bertha interesting herself inthe matter, and making various suggestions. The talk grew moreanimated. Warburton was led to tell of his own experience in lodgings. Catching Bertha's eye, he gave his humour full scope on the subject ofMrs. Wick, and there was merriment in which even Mrs. Cross made a showof joining. 

"Why, " she exclaimed, "do you stay in such very uncomfortable rooms?"

"It doesn't matter, " Will replied, "it's only for a time. "

"Ah, you have other views?"

"Yes, " he answered, smiling cheerfully, "I have other views. "

CHAPTER 44

Toward the end of the following week, Mrs. Cross came to the shop. Shehad a busy air, and spoke to Warburton in a confidential undertone. 

"We have been making inquiries, and at last I think we have heard ofsomething that might suit your poor friend. This is the address. Mydaughter went there this morning, and had a long talk with the woman, and she thinks it really might do; but perhaps you have already foundsomething?"

"Nothing at all, " answered Will. "I am much obliged to you. I will goas soon as possible. "

"We shall be so glad to hear if it suits, " said Mrs. Cross. "Do look inon Sunday, will you? We are always at home at five o'clock. -- Oh, Ihave written out a little list of things, " she added, laying hergrocery order on the counter. "Please tell me what they come to. "

Warburton gravely took the cash, and Mrs. Cross, with her thinlygracious smile, bade him good-day. 

He did not fail to "look in" on Sunday, and this time he wore hisordinary comfortable clothing. The rooms recommended for Mr. Potts hadseemed to him just what were needed, and on his own responsibility hehad taken them. Moreover, he had been to Kennington, and had made knownto the nervous old man the arrangements that were proposed for him. 

"But will he be allowed to leave?" asked Bertha in her eyes the twinklefor which Will watched. 

"He won't dare, he tells me, to give notice but he'll only have to paya week's rent in lieu of it. I have promised to be with him at ten tomorrow morning, to help him to get away. I shall take my heaviestwalking-stick; one must be prepared for every emergency. Glance overthe police news on Tuesday, Mrs. Cross, just to see whether I have cometo harm. "

"We shall be very anxious indeed, " replied the literal lady, withpained brow. "Couldn't you let us hear to-morrow evening? I know onlytoo well what dreadful creatures the women of that class can be. I verystrongly advise you, Mr. Warburton, to be accompanied by a policeman. Ibeg you will. "

Late on the Monday afternoon, Jollyman's errand boy left a note forMrs. Cross. It informed her that all had gone well, though "not withoutuproar. The woman shrieked insults from her doorstep after ourdeparting cab. Poor Mr. Potts was all but paralytic with alarm, butcame round famously at sight of the new lodgings. He wants to thank youboth. "

It was on this same evening that Warburton had a visit from GodfreySherwood. A fortnight ago, just after Easter, had taken place themarriage of Mr. Milligan and Miss Parker; and Sherwood, whilst hischief was absent on the honeymoon, had run down to the seaside for achange of air. Tonight, he presented himself unexpectedly, and his facewas the prologue to a moving tale. 

"Read that, Warburton--" he held out a letter. "Read that, and tell mewhat you think of human nature. "

It was a letter from Milligan, who, with many explanations andapologies, wrote to inform his secretary that the Great Work could notbe pursued, that the vegetarian colony in Ireland, which was tocivilise the world, must--so far as he was concerned--remain a gloriousdream. The fact of the matter was, Mrs. Milligan did not like it. Shehad tried vegetarianism; it did not suit her health; moreover, sheobjected to living in Ireland, on account of the dampness of theclimate. Sadly, reluctantly, Mrs. Milligan's husband had to forgo hisnoble project. In consequence, he would have no need henceforth of asecretary, and Sherwood must consider their business relations at anend. 

"He encloses a very liberal cheque, " said Godfrey. "But what adownfall! I foresaw it. I hinted my fears to you as soon as Miss Parkerappeared on the scene. Poor old Milligan! A lost man--sunk in thecommonplace--hopelessly whelmed in vulgar matrimony. Poor old fellow!"

Warburton chuckled. 

"But that isn't all, " went on the other, "Old Strangwyn is dead, reallydead at last. I wrote several times to him; no acknowledgment of myletters. Now it's all over. The ten thousand pounds--"

He made a despairing gesture. Then:

"Take that cheque, Warburton. It's all I have; take it, old fellow, andtry to forgive me. You won't? Well, well, if I live, I'll pay you yet;but I'm a good deal run down, and these disappointments have almostfloored me. To tell you the truth, the vegetarian diet won't do. I feelas weak as a cat. If you knew the heroism it has cost me, down at theseaside, to refrain from chops and steaks. Now I give it up. Anothermonth of cabbage and lentils and I should be sunk beyond recovery. Igive it up. This very night I shall go and have a supper, a realsupper, in town. Will you come with me, old man? What's before me, Idon't know. I have half a mind to go to Canada as farm labourer; itwould be just the thing for my health; but let us go and have one moresupper together, as in the old days. Where shall it be?"

So they went into town, and supped royally, with the result thatWarburton had to see his friend home. Over the second bottle, Godfreydecided for an agricultural life in the Far West, and Will promised tospeak for him to a friend of his, a lady who had brothers farming inBritish Columbia; but, before he went, he must be assured thatWarburton really forgave him the loss of that money. Will protestedthat he had forgotten all about it; if any pardon were needed, hegranted it with all his heart. And so with affectionate cordiality theybade each other good-night. 

To his surprise, he received a letter from Sherwood, a day or twoafter, seriously returning to the British Columbia project, andreminding him of his promise. So, on Sunday, Will called for the firsttime without invitation at Mrs. Cross', and, being received with noless friendliness than hitherto, began asking news of Bertha'sbrothers; whereupon followed talk upon Canadian farming life, and themention of Godfrey Sherwood. Bertha undertook to write on the subjectby the next mail; she thought it likely enough that her brothers mightbe able to put Mr. Sherwood into the way of earning a living. 

"What do you think we did yesterday?" said Mrs. Cross. "We took theliberty of calling upon Mr. Potts. We had to go and see Mrs. Bolton, atHolloway, and, as it was so near, we thought we might venture--usingyour name as our introduction. And the poor old gentleman was delightedto see us--wasn't he, Bertha? Oh, and he is so grateful for oursuggestion of the lodgings. "

Bertha's smile betrayed a little disquiet. Perceiving this, Warburtonspoke with emphasis. 

"It was kind of you. The old man feels a little lonely in that foreignregion; he's hardly been out of Kennington for forty years. A very kindthought, indeed. "

"I am relieved, " said Bertha; "it seemed to me just possible that wehad been guilty of a serious indiscretion. Good intentions are verydangerous things. "

When next Warburton found time to go to Holloway, he heard all aboutthe ladies' visit. He learnt, moreover, that Mr. Potts had told themthe story of his kindness to the sick lad at St. Kitts, and of hisfirst visit to Kennington Lane. 

CHAPTER 45

When Bertha, at her mother's request, undertook the control of thehouse, she knew very well what was before her. 

During a whole fortnight, Mrs. Cross faithfully adhered to the compact. For the first time in her life, she declared, she was enjoying peace. Feeling much shaken in her nervous system, she rose late, retiredearly, and, when downstairs, reclined a good deal on the sofa. Sheprofessed herself unable to remember the new servant's name, andassumed an air of profound abstraction whenever "what do you call her"came into the room. Not a question did she permit herself as to thedetails of household management. Bertha happening (incautiously) tocomplain of a certain joint supplied by the butcher, Mrs. Cross turneda dreamy eye upon it, and said, in the tone of one who speaks of longago, "In my time he could always be depended upon for a smallshoulder"; then dismissed the matter as in no way concerning her. 

But repose had a restorative effect, and, in the third week, Mrs. Crossfelt the revival of her energies. She was but fifty-three years old, and in spite of languishing habits, in reality had very fair health. Caring little for books, and not much for society, how was she to passher time if denied the resource of household affairs? Bertha observedthe signs of coming trouble. One morning, her mother came downstairsearlier than usual, and after fidgeting about the room, where herdaughter was busy at her drawing-board, suddenly exclaimed:

"I wish you would tell that girl to make my bed properly. I haven'tclosed my eyes for three nights, and I ache from head to foot. The wayshe neglects my room is really shameful--"

There followed intimate details, to which Bertha listened gravely. 

"That shall be seen to at once, mother, " she replied, and left the room. 

The complaint, as she suspected, had very little foundation. It wasonly the beginning; day after day did Mrs. Cross grumble about this, that and the other thing, until Bertha saw that the anticipated momentwas at hand. The great struggle arose out of that old point of debate, the servant's meals. Mrs. Cross, stealing into the kitchen, had caughta glimpse of Sarah's dinner, and so amazed was she, so stirred withindignation to the depth of her soul, that she cast off all show ofrespect for the new order, and overwhelmed Bertha with rebukes. Herdaughter listened quietly until the torrent had spent its force, thensaid with a smile:

"Is this how you keep your promise, mother?"

"Promise? Did I promise to look on at wicked waste? Do you want tobring us to the workhouse, child?"

"Don't let us waste time in talking about what we settled a month ago, "replied Bertha decisively. "Sarah is doing very well, and there must beno change. I am quite content to pay her wages myself. Keep yourpromise, mother, and let us live quietly and decently. "

"If you call it living decently to pamper a servant until she burstswith insolence--"

"When was Sarah insolent to you? She has never been disrespectful tome. Quite the contrary, I think her a very good servant indeed. Youknow that I have a good deal of work to do just now, and--to speakquite plainly--I can't let you upset the orderly life of the house. Bequiet, there's a dear. I insist upon it. "

Speaking thus, Bertha laid her hands on her mother's shoulders, andlooked into the foolish, angry face so steadily, so imperturbably, withsuch a light of true kindness in her gentle eyes, yet at the same timesuch resolution about the well-drawn lips that Mrs. Cross had no choicebut to submit. Grumbling she turned; sullenly she held her tongue forthe rest of the day; but Bertha, at all events for a time, hadconquered. 

The Crosses knew little and saw less of their kith and kin. With herhusband's family, Mrs. Cross had naturally been on cold terms from anearly period of her married life; she held no communication with any ofthe name, and always gave Bertha to understand that, in one way oranother, the paternal uncles and aunts had "behaved very badly. " Of herown blood, she had only a brother ten years younger than herself, whowas an estate agent at Worcester. Some seven years had elapsed sincetheir last meeting, on which occasion Mrs. Cross had a littledifference of opinion with her sister-in-law. James Rawlings was now awidower, with three children, and during the past year or two notunfriendly letters had been exchanged between Worcester and WalhamGreen. Utterly at a loss for a means of passing her time, Mrs. Cross, in these days of domestic suppression, renewed the correspondence, andwas surprised by an invitation to pass a few days at her brother'shouse. This she made known to Bertha about a week after the decisivestruggle. 

"Of course, you are invited, too, but--I'm afraid you are too busy?"

Amused by her mother's obvious wish to go to Worcester unaccompanied, Bertha answered that she really didn't see how she was to spare thetime just now. 

"But I don't like to leave you alone here--"

Her daughter laughed at this scruple. She was just as glad of theprospect of a week's solitude as her mother in the thought of temporaryescape from the proximity of pampered Sarah. The matter was soonarranged, and Mrs. Cross left home. 

This was a Friday. The next day, sunshine and freedom putting her inholiday mood, Bertha escaped into the country, and had a long ramblelike that, a year ago, on which she had encountered Norbert Franks. Sunday morning she spent quietly at home. For the afternoon she hadinvited a girl friend. About five o'clock, as they were having tea, Bertha heard a knock at the front door. She heard the servant go toopen, and, a moment after, Sarah announced, "Mr. Warburton. "

It was the first time that Warburton had found a stranger in the room, and Bertha had no difficulty in reading the unwonted look with which headvanced to shake hands. 

"No bad news, I hope?" she asked gravely, after presenting him to theother visitor. 

"Bad news?--"

"I thought you looked rather troubled--"

Her carefully composed features resisted Will's scrutiny. 

"Do I? I didn't know it--but, yes, " he added, abruptly, "you are right. Something has vexed me--a trifle. "

"Look at these drawings of Miss Medwin's. They will make you forget allvexatious trifles. "

Miss Medwin was, like Bertha, a book illustrator, and had brought workto show her friend. Warburton glanced at the drawings with a decentshow of interest. Presently he inquired after Mrs. Cross, and learntthat she was out of town for a week or so; at once his countenancebrightened, and so shamelessly that Bertha had to look aside, lest herdisposition to laugh should be observed. Conversation of a ratherartificial kind went on for half an hour, then Miss Medwin jumped upand said she must go. Bertha protested, but her friend alleged thenecessity of making another call, and took leave. 

Warburton stood with a hand upon his chair. Bertha, turning back fromthe door, passed by him, and resumed her seat. 

"A very clever girl, " she said, with a glance at the window. 

"Very, no doubt, " said Will, glancing the same way. 

"Won't you sit down?"

"Gladly, if you don't think I am staying too long. I had something Iwanted to talk about. That was why I felt glum when I came in and founda stranger here. It's such a long time since I had any part in ordinarysociety, that I'm forgetting how to behave myself. "

"I must apologise for you to Miss Medwin, when I see her next, " saidBertha, with drollery in her eyes. 

"She will understand if you tell her I'm only a grocer, " remarked Will, looking at a point above her head. 

"That might complicate things. "

"Do you know, " resumed Warburton. "I feel sure that the Franks willnever again invite me to lunch or dine there. Franks is very carefulwhen he asks me to go and see them; he always adds that they'll bealone--quite alone. "

"But that's a privilege. "

"So it may be taken; but would it surprise you if they really preferredto see as little of me as possible?"

Bertha hesitated, smiling, and said at length with a certaingood-humoured irony:

"I think I should understand. "

"So do I, quite, " exclaimed Will, laughing. "I wanted to tell you thatI've been looking about me, trying to find some way of getting out ofthe shop. It isn't so easy. I might get a clerkship at a couple ofpounds a week, but that doesn't strike me as preferable to my presentposition. I've been corresponding with Applegarth, the jammanufacturer, and he very strongly advises me to stick to trade. I'mnot sure that he isn't right. "

There was silence. Each sat with drooping eyes. 

"Do you know, " Warburton then asked, "why I turned grocer?"

"Yes. "

"It was a fortunate idea. I don't see how else I should have madeenough money, these three years, to pay the income I owed to my motherand sister, and to support myself. Since my mother's death--"

Her look arrested him. 

"I am forgetting that you could not have known of that. She died lastautumn; by my father's will, our old house, at St. Neots then becamemine; it's let; the rent goes to my sister, and out of the shop profitsI easily make up what her own part of the lost capital used to yield. Jane is going in for horticulture, making a business of what was alwaysher chief pleasure, and before long she may be independent; but itwould be shabby to get rid of my responsibilities at her expense--don'tyou think so?"

"Worse than shabby. "

"Good. I like to hear you speak so decidedly. Now, if you please"--hisown voice was not quite steady--"tell me in the same tone whether youagree with Applegarth--whether you think I should do better to stick tothe shop and not worry with looking for a more respectable employment. "

Bertha seemed to reflect for a moment, smiling soberly. 

"It depends entirely on how you feel about it. "

"Not entirely, " said Warburton, his features nervously rigid; "butfirst let me tell you how I do feel about it. You know I beganshopkeeping as if I were ashamed of myself. I kept it a dead secret;hid away from everybody; told elaborate lies to my people; and theresult was what might have been expected--before long I sank into avile hypochrondria, saw everything black or dirty grey, thought lifeintolerable. When common sense found out what was the matter with me, Iresolved to have done with snobbery and lying; but a sanguine friend ofmine, the only one in my confidence, made me believe that something wasgoing to happen--in fact, the recovery of the lost thousands; and Ifoolishly held on for a time. Since the awful truth has been divulged, I have felt a different man. I can't say that I glory in grocerdom? butthe plain fact is that I see nothing degrading in it, and I do my day'swork as a matter of course. Is it any worse to stand behind a counterthan to sit in a counting-house? Why should retail trade be vulgar, andwholesale quite repeatable? This is what I've come to, as far as my ownthought and feeling go. "

"Then, " said Bertha, after a moment's pause, "why trouble yourself anymore?"

"Because--"

His throat turned so dry that he had to stop with a gasp. His fingerswere doing their best to destroy the tassels on the arm of his easychair. With, an effort, he jerked out the next words. 

"One may be content to be a grocer; but what about one's wife?"

With head bent, so that her smile was half concealed, Bertha answeredsoftly--

"Ah, that's a question. "

CHAPTER 46

After he had put the question, the reply to which meant so much to him, Will's eyes, avoiding Bertha, turned to the window. Though there wantedstill a couple of hours to sunset, a sky overcast was already duskingthe little parlour. Distant bells made summons to evening service, andfootfalls sounded in the otherwise silent street. 

"It's a question, " he resumed, "which has troubled me for a long time. Do you remember--when was it? A year ago?--going one Sunday with Mrs. Cross to Kew?"

"I remember it very well. "

"I happened to be at Kew that day, " Will continued, still nervously. "You passed me as I stood on the bridge. I saw you go into the Gardens, and I said to myself how pleasant it would be if I could have venturedto join you in your walk. You knew me--as your grocer. For me to haveapproached and spoken, would have been an outrage. That day I hadvillainous thoughts. "

Bertha raised her eyes; just raised them till they met his, then benther head again. 

"We thought your name was really Jolly man, " she said, in ahalf-apologetic tone. 

"Of course you did. A good invention, by the bye, that name, wasn't it?"

"Very good indeed, " she answered, smiling. "And you used to come to theshop. " pursued Will. 

"And I looked forward to it. There was something human in your way oftalking to me. "

"I hope so. "

"Yes, but--it made me ask myself that question. I comforted myself bysaying that of course the shop was only a temporary expedient; I shouldget out of it; I should find another way of making money; but, you see, I'm as far from that as ever; and if I decide to go onshopkeeping--don't I condemn myself to solitude?"

"It _is_ a difficulty, " said Bertha, in the tone of one who lightlyponders an abstract question. 

"Now and then, some time ago, I half persuaded myself that, even thougha difficulty, it needn't be a fatal one. " He was speaking now with hiseyes steadily fixed upon her; "but that was when you still came to theshop. Suddenly you ceased--"

His voice dropped. In the silence, Bertha uttered a little "Yes. "

"I have been wondering what that meant--"

His speech was a mere parched gasp. Bertha looked at him, and hereyebrows contracted, as if in sympathetic trouble. Gently she asked:

"No explanation occurred to you?"

With a convulsive movement, Will changed his position, and by so doingseemed to have released his tongue. 

"Several, " he said, with a strange smile. "The one which most plaguedme, I should very likely do better to keep to myself; but I won't; youshall know it. Perhaps you are prepared for it. Do you know that I wentabroad last summer?"

"I heard of it. "

"From Miss Elvan?"

"From Mrs. Franks. "

"Mrs. Franks--yes. She told you, then, that I had been to St. Jean deLuz? She told you that I had seen her sister?"

"Yes, " replied Bertha, and added quickly. "You had long wished to seethat part of France. "

"That wasn't my reason for going. I went in a fit of lunacy. I wentbecause I thought Miss Elvan was there. They told me at her Chelsealodgings that she had gone to St. Jean de Luz. This was on the dayafter she came into the shop with you. I had been seeing her. We methere and there, when she was sketching. I went crazy. Don't for amoment think the fault was hers--don't dream of anything of the kind. I, I alone, ass, idiot, was to blame. She must have seen what hadhappened, and, in leaving her lodgings, she purposely gave a falseaddress, never imagining that I was capable of pursuing her acrossEurope. At St. Jean de Luz I heard of her marriage--"

He stopped, breathless. The short sentences had been flung outexplosively. He was hot and red. 

"Did you suspect anything of all that?" followed in a more restrainedtone. "If so, of course I understand--"

Bertha seemed to be deep iii meditation. A faint smile was on her lips. She made no answer. 

"Are you saying to yourself, " Will went on vehemently, "that, insteadof being merely a foolish man, I have shown myself to be shameless? Itwas foolish, no doubt, to dream that an educated girl might marry agrocer; but when he begins his suit by telling such a story as this--!Perhaps I needn't have told it at all. Perhaps you had never had asuspicion of such things? All the same, it's better so. I've had enoughof lies to last me for all my life; but now that I've told you, try tobelieve something else; and that is--that I never loved RosamundElvan--never--never!"

Bertha seemed on the point of laughing; but she drew in her breath, composed her features, let her eyes wander to a picture on the wall. 

"Can you believe that?" Will asked, his voice quivering withearnestness, as he bent forward to her. 

"I should have to think about it, " was the answer, calm, friendly. 

"The fit of madness from which I suffered is very common in men. Oftenit has serious results. No end of marriages come about in that way. Happily I was in no danger of that. I simply made a most colossal foolof myself. And all the time--all the time, I tell you, believe it ornot, as you will or can--I was in love with _you_. "

Again Bertha drew in her breath, more softly than before. 

"I went one day from St. Jean de Luz over the border into Spain, andcame to a village among the mountains, called Vera. And there mymadness left me. And I thought of you--thought of you all the way backto St. Jean de Luz, thought of you as I had been accustomed to do inEngland, as if nothing had happened. Do you think it pained me thenthat Rosamund was Mrs. Franks? No more than if I had never seen her; bythat time, fresh air and exercise were doing their work, and at Vera Istood a sane man once more. I find it hard to believe now that I reallybehaved in that frantic way. Do you remember coming once to the shop toask for a box to send to America? As you talked to me that morning, Iknew what I know better still now, that there was no girl that I_liked_ as I liked you, no girl whose face had so much meaning for me, whose voice and way of speaking so satisfied me. But you don'tunderstand--I can't express it--it sounds stupid--"

"I understand very well, " said Bertha, once more on the impartial note. 

"But the other thing, my insanity?"

"I should have to think about that, " she answered, with a twinkle inher eyes. 

Will paused a moment, then asked in a shamefaced way:

"Did you suspect anything of the sort?"

Bertha moved her head as if to reply, but after all, kept silence. Thereupon Warburton stood up and clutched his hat. 

"Will you let me see you again--soon? May I come some afternoon in thisweek, and take my chance of finding you at home?--Don't answer. I shallcome, and you have only to refuse me at the door. It's only--animportunate tradesman. "

Without shaking hands, he turned and left the room. 

Dreamily he walked homewards; dreamily, often with a smile upon hisface, he sat through the evening, now and then he pretended to read, but always in a few minutes forgetting the page before him. He sleptwell; he arose in a cheerful but still dreamy, mood; and without athought of reluctance he went to his day's work. 

Allchin met him with a long-drawn face, saying: "She's dead, sir. " Hespoke of his consumptive sister-in-law, whom Warburton had befriended, but whom nothing had availed to save. 

"Poor girl, " said Will kindly. "It's the end of much suffering. "

"That's what I say, sir, " assented Allchin. "And poor Mrs. Hopper, she's fair worn out with nursing her. Nobody can feel sorry. "

Warburton turned to his correspondence. 

The next day, at about four o'clock, he again called at the Crosses. Without hesitation the servant admitted him, and he found Bertha seatedat her drawing. A little gravely perhaps, but not at all inhospitably, she rose and offered her hand. 

"Forgive me, " he began, "for coming again so soon. "

"Tell me what you think of this idea of a book-cover, " said Bertha, before he had ceased speaking. 

He inspected the drawing, found it pretty, yet ventured one or twoobjections; and Bertha, after smiling to herself for a little, declaredthat he had found the weak points. 

"You are really fond of this work?" asked Will. "You would be sorry togive it up?"

"Think of the world's loss, " Bertha answered with raised eyebrows. 

He sat down and kept a short silence, whilst the girl resumed herpencil. 

"There were things I ought to have told you on Sunday. " Will's voicethreatened huskiness. "Things I forgot. That's why I have come again sosoon. I ought to have told you much more about myself. How can you knowmy character--my peculiarities--faults? I've been going over all that. I don't think I'm ill-tempered, or unjust or violent, but there arethings that irritate me. Unpunctuality for instance. Dinner ten minuteslate makes me fume; failure to keep an appointment makes me hate aperson, I'm rather a grumbler about food; can't stand a potatoill-boiled or an under-done chop. Then--ah yes! restraint isintolerable to me. I must come and go at my own will. I must do andrefrain just as I think fit. One enormous advantage of my shopkeepingis that I'm my own master. I can't subordinate myself, won't be ruled. Fault-finding would exasperate me; dictation would madden me. Then yes, the money matter. I'm not extravagant, but I hate parsimony. If itpleases me to give away a sovereign I must be free to do it. Then--yes, I'm not very tidy in my habits; I have no respect for furniture; Ilike, when it's comfortable, to sit with my boots on the fender; and--Iloathe antimacassars. "

In the room were two or three of these articles, dear to Mrs. Cross. Bertha glanced at them, then bent her head and bit the end of herpencil. 

"You can't think of anything else?" she asked, when Will had beensilent for a few seconds. 

"Those are my most serious points. " He rose. "I only came to tell youof them, that you might add them to the objection of the shop. "

Bertha also rose. He moved toward her to take leave. 

"You will think?"

Turning half way, Bertha covered her face with her hands, like a childwho is bidden "not to look. " So she stood for a moment; then, facingWill again, said:

"I have thought. "

"And--?"

"There is only one thing I am sorry for--that you are nothing worsethan a grocer. A grocer's is such a clean, dainty, aromatic trade. Nowif you kept an oil shop--there would be some credit in overlooking it. And you are so little even of a grocer, that I should constantly forgetit. I should think of you simply as a very honest man--the most honestman I ever knew. "

Warburton's face glowed. 

"Should--should?" he murmured. "Can't it be _shall_?"

And Bertha, smiling now without a touch of roguishness, smiling in themere joy of her heart, laid a hand in his. 

CHAPTER 47

When Mrs. Cross came home she brought with her a changed countenance. The lines graven by habitual fretfulness and sourness of temper, bylong-indulged vices of the feminine will, could not of course beobliterated, but her complexion had a healthier tone, her eyes werebrighter, and the smile with which she answered Bertha's welcomeexpressed a more spontaneous kindliness than had appeared on her facefor many a year. She had recovered, indeed, during her visit to thehome of her childhood, something of the grace and virtue in which shewas not lacking before her marriage to a man who spoilt her by excessof good nature. Subject to a husband firm of will and occasionallyrough of tongue, she might have led a fairly happy and useful life. Itwas the perception of this truth which had strengthened Bertha in herultimate revolt. Perhaps, too, it had not been without influence on herown feeling and behaviour during the past week. 

Mrs. Cross had much to relate. At the tea-table she told all about herbrother's household, described the children, lauded the cook andhousemaid--"Ah, Bertha, if one could get such servants here! But Londonruins them. "

James Rawlings was well-to-do; he lived in a nice, comfortable way, ina pretty house just outside the town. "Oh, and the air, Bertha. Ihadn't been there a day before I felt a different creature. " James hadbeen kindness itself. Not a word about old differences. He regrettedthat his niece had not come, but she must come very soon. And thechildren--Alice, Tom, and little Hilda, so well-behaved, sointelligent. She had brought photographs of them all. She had broughtpresents--all sorts of things. 

After tea, gossip continued. Speaking of the ages of the children, theeldest eight, the youngest four, Mrs. Cross regretted their motherlessstate. A lady-nurse had care of them, but with this person their fatherwas not quite satisfied. He spoke of making a change. And here Mrs. Cross paused, with a little laugh. 

"Perhaps uncle thinks of marrying again?" said Bertha. 

"Not a bit of it, my dear, " replied her mother eagerly. "He expresslytold me that he should _never_ do that. I shouldn't wonder if--but letbygones be bygones. No, he spoke of something quite different. Lastnight we were talking, when the children had gone to bed, and all atonce he startled me by saying--'If only you could come and keep housefor me. ' The idea!"

"A wonderfully good idea it seems to me, " said Bertha, reflectively. 

"But how is it possible, Bertha? Are you serious?"

"Quite. I think it might be the very best thing for you. You needsomething to do, mother. If Uncle James really wishes it, you oughtcertainly to accept. "

Fluttered, not knowing whether to look pleased or offended, surprisedat her daughter's decisiveness, Mrs. Cross began urging objections. Shedoubted whether James was quite in earnest; he had admitted that Berthacould not be left alone, yet she could hardly go and live in his houseas well. 

"Oh, don't trouble about me, mother, " said the listener. "Nothing issimpler. "

"But what would you do?"

"Oh, there are all sorts of possibilities. At the worst"--Bertha pauseda moment, face averted, and lips roguish--"I could get married. "

And so the disclosure came about. Mrs. Cross seemed so startled as tobe almost pained; one would have thought that no remotest possibilityof such a thing had ever occurred to her. 

"Then Mr. Warburton _has_ found a position?" she asked at length. 

"No, he keeps to the shop. "

"But--my dear--you don't mean to tell me--?"

The question ended in a mere gasp. Mrs. Cross' eyes were darkened withincredulous horror. 

"Yes, " said Bertha, calmly, pleasantly, "we have decided that there'sno choice. The business is a very good one; it improves from day today; now that there are two assistants, Mr. Warburton need not work sohard as he used to. "

"But, my dearest Bertha, you mean to say that you are going to be thewife of a _grocer_?"

"Yes, mother, I really have made up my mind to it. After all, is it so_very_ disgraceful?"

"What will your friends say? What will--"

"Mrs. Grundy?" interposed Bertha. 

"I was going to say Mrs. Franks--"

Bertha nodded, and answered laughingly:

"That's very much the same thing, I'm afraid. "

CHAPTER 48

Norbert Franks was putting the last touches to a portrait of his wife;a serious portrait, full length, likely to be regarded as one of hismost important works. Now and then he glanced at the original, who satreading; his eye was dull, his hand moved mechanically, he hummed amonotonous air. 

Rosamund having come to the end of her book, closed it, and looked up. 

"Will that do?" she asked, after suppressing a little yawn. 

The painter merely nodded. She came to his side, and contemplated thepicture, inclining her head this way and that with an air ofsatisfaction. 

"Better than the old canvas I put my foot through, don't you think?"asked Franks. 

"Of course there's no comparison. You've developed wonderfully. Inthose days--"

Franks waited for the rest of the remark, but his wife lost herself incontemplation of the portrait. Assuredly he had done nothing moreremarkable in the way of bold flattery. Any one who had seen Mrs. Franks only once or twice, and at her best, might accept the paintingas a fair "interpretation" of her undeniable beauty; those who knew herwell would stand bewildered before such a counterfeit presentment. 

"Old Warburton must come and see it, " said the artist presently. 

Rosamund uttered a careless assent. Long since she had ceased to wonderwhether Norbert harboured any suspicions concerning his friend's briefholiday in the south of France. Obviously he knew nothing of thedramatic moment which had preceded, and brought about, his marriage, nor would he ever know. 

"I really ought to go and look him up. " Franks added. "I keep on sayingI'll go to-morrow and to-morrow. Any one else would think me anungrateful snob; but old Warburton is too good a fellow. To tell thetruth, I feel a little ashamed when I think of how he's living. Heought to have a percentage on my income. What would have become of meif he hadn't put his hand into his pocket when he was well off and Iwas a beggar?"

"But don't you think his business must be profitable?" asked Rosamund, her thoughts only half attentive to the subject. 

"The old chap isn't much of a business man, I fancy, " Franks answeredwith a smile. "And he has his mother and sister to support. And nodoubt he's always giving away money. His lodgings are miserable. Itmakes me uncomfortable to go there. Suppose we ask him to lunch onSunday?"

Rosamund reflected for a moment. 

"If you like--I had thought of asking the Fitzjames girls. "

"You don't think we might have him at the same time?"

Rosamund pursed her lips a little, averting her eyes as she answered:

"Would he care for it? And he said--didn't he?--that he meant to telleverybody, everywhere, how he earned his living. Wouldn't it be just alittle--?"

Franks laughed uneasily. 

"Yes, it might be just a little--. Well, he must come and see thepicture quietly. And I'll go and look up the poor old fellow to-night, I really will. "

This time, the purpose was carried out. Franks returned a little aftermidnight, and was surprised to find Rosamund sitting in the studio. Afriend had looked in late in the evening, she said, and had stayedtalking. 

"All about her husband's pictures, so tiresome? She thinks themmonuments of genius!"

"His last thing isn't half bad, " said Franks, good-naturedly. 

"Perhaps not. Of course I pretended to think him the greatest painterof modern times. Nothing else will satisfy the silly little woman. Youfound Mr. Warburton?"

Franks nodded, smiling mysteriously. 

"I have news for you. "

Knitting her brows a little his wife looked interrogation. 

"He's going to be married. Guess to whom. "

"Not to--?"

"Well--?"

"Bertha Cross--?"

Again Franks nodded and laughed. An odd smile rose to his wife's lips;she mused for a moment, then asked:

"And what position has he got?"

"Position? His position behind the counter, that's all. Say's he shan'tbudge. By the bye, his mother died last autumn; he's in easiercircumstances; the shop does well, it seems. He thought of trying forsomething else, but talked it over with Bertha Cross, and they decidedto stick to groceries. They'll live in the house at Walham Green. Mrs. Cross is going away--to keep house for a brother of hers. "

Rosamund heaved a sigh, murmuring:

"Poor Bertha!"

"A grocer's wife, " said Franks, his eyes wandering. "Oh, confound it!Really you know--" He took an impatient turn across the floor. Againhis wife sighed and murmured:

"Poor Bertha!"

"Of course, " said Franks, coming to a pause, "there's a good deal to besaid for sticking to a business which yields a decent income, andpromises much more. "

"Money!" exclaimed Rosamund scornfully. "What is money?"

"We find it useful, " quietly remarked the other. 

"Certainly we do; but you are an artist, Norbert, and money is only anaccident of your career. Do we ever talk about it, or think about it?Poor Bertha! With her talent!"

The artist paced about, his hands in his jacket pockets. He was smilinguneasily. 

"Did you know anything of this kind was going on?" he asked, withoutlooking at his wife. 

"I had heard nothing whatever. It's ages since Bertha was here. "

"Yet you don't seem very much surprised. "

"And you?" asked Rosamund, meeting his eyes. "Were you profoundlyastonished?"

"Why, yes. It came very unexpectedly. I had no idea they saw eachother--except in the shop. "

"And it vexes you?" said Rosamund, her eyes upon his face. 

"Vexes? Oh, I can't say that. " He fidgeted, turned about, laughed. "Whyshould it vex me? After all, Warburton is such a thoroughly goodfellow, and if he makes money--"

"Money!"

"We _do_ find it useful, you know, " insisted Franks, with a certainobstinacy. 

Rosamund was standing before the picture, and gazing at it. 

"That she should have no higher ambition! Poor Bertha!"

"We can't all achieve ambitions, " cried Franks from the other end ofthe room. "Not every girl can marry a popular portrait-painter. "

"A great artist!" exclaimed his wife, with emphasis. 

As she moved slowly away, she kept her look still turned upon the facewhich smiled from the easel. Watching her tremulous eyebrows, heruncertain lips, one might have fancied that Rosamund sought thesolution of some troublesome doubt, and hoped, only hoped, to find itin that image of herself so daringly glorified.