THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE

"Per various casus, per tot discrimina rerum, Tendimus in Latium; sedes ubi fata quietasOstendunt. Illic fas regna resurgere Trojae. Durate, et vosmet rebus servate secundis. "- Virgil. 

"By diuers casis, sere parrellis and sufferanceUnto Itaill we ettill (aim) quhare destanyeHas schap (shaped) for vs ane rest and quiet harbryePredestinatis thare Troye sall ryse agane. Be stout on prosper fortoun to remane. "- Gwain Douglas's translation. 

CHAPTER I--THE WORLD OUTSIDE

The 20th April 1814, an almost cloudless, perfectly sunny day, sawall London astir. On that day Lewis the Eighteenth was to come fromHartwell in triumph, summoned by France to the throne of hisancestors. London had not enjoyed too much gaiety that year. It wasthe year of the great frost. Nothing like it had been known in thememory of man. In the West of England, where snow is rare, roadswere impassable and mails could not be delivered. Four dead men weredug out of a deep drift about ten miles west of Exeter. Even atPlymouth, close to the soft south-western ocean, the average depth ofthe fall was twenty inches, and there was no other way of gettingeastwards than by pack-horses. The Great North Road was completelyblocked, and there was a barricade over it near Godmanchester of fromsix to ten feet high. The Oxford coach was buried. Some passengersinside were rescued with great difficulty, and their lives werebarely saved. The Solway Firth at Workington resembled the ArcticSea, and the Thames was so completely frozen over between Blackfriarsand London Bridges that people were able, not only to walk across, but to erect booths on the ice. Coals, of course, rose to famineprices in London, as it was then dependent solely upon water-carriagefor its supply. The Father of his people, the Prince Regent, wasmuch moved by the general distress of "a large and meritorious classof industrious persons, " as he called them, and issued a circular toall Lords Lieutenant ordering them to provide all practicable meansof removing obstructions from the highways. 

However, on this 20th April the London mob forgot the frost, forgotthe quartern loaf and the national debt, and prepared for a holiday, inspired thereto, not so much by Lewis the Eighteenth as by thewarmth and brilliant sky. There are two factors in all human bliss--an object and the subject. The object may be a trifle, but thecondition of the subject is most important. Turn a man out with hisdigestion in perfect order, with the spring in the air and in hisveins, and he will cheer anything, any Lewis, Lord Liverpool, dog, cat, or rat who may cross his path. Not that this is intended as asufficient explanation of the Bourbon reception. Far from it; but itdoes mitigate it a trifle. At eleven o'clock in the forenoon twotroops of the Oxford Blues drew up at Kilburn turnpike to await thesacred arrival. The Prince Regent himself went as far as Stanmore tomeet his August Brother. When the August Brother reached thevillage, the excited inhabitants thereof took the horses out of thecarriage and drew him through the street. The Prince, standing atthe door of the principal inn, was in readiness to salute him, andthis he did by embracing him! There have been some remarkableembraces in history. Joseph fell on Israel's neck, and Israel saidunto Joseph, "Now let me die, since I have seen thy face:" Paul, after preaching at Ephesus, calling the elders of the Church towitness that, for the space of three years, he ceased not to warnevery one night and day with tears, kneeled down and prayed, so thatthey all wept sore and fell on his neck: Romeo took a last embraceof Juliet in the vault, and sealed the doors of breath with arighteous kiss: Penelope embraced Ulysses, who was welcome to her asland is welcome to shipwrecked swimmers escaping from the greyseawater--there have, we say, been some remarkable embraces on thisearth since time began, but none more remarkable than that on thesteps of the Abercorn Arms. The Divine couple then drove in solemnprocession to town. From the park corner for three-quarters of amile or so was a line of private carriages, filled with mostfashionable people, the ladies all standing on the seats. The FrenchRoyalist flag waved everywhere. All along the Kilburn Road, thenthinly lined with houses, it was triumphant, and even the trees weredecorated with it. Arriving by way of Cumberland Gate at Piccadilly, Lewis was escorted, amidst uproarious rejoicing, to Grillon's Hotelin Albemarle Street. There, in reply to an address from the Prince, he "ascribed, under Providence, " to his Royal Highness and theBritish people his present blissful condition; and soon afterwards, being extremely tired, went to bed. This was on a Wednesday. Thenext day, Thursday, His Sacred Majesty, or Most Christian Majesty, ashe was then called, was solemnly made a Knight of the Garter, theBishops of Salisbury and Winchester assisting. On Friday he receivedthe corporation of London, and on Saturday the 23rd he prepared totake his departure. There was a great crowd in the street when hecame out of the hotel and immense applause; the mob crying out, "Godbless your Majesty!" as if they owed him all they had, and even theirlives. It was very touching, people thought at the time, and so itwas. Is there anything more touching than the waste of human loyaltyand love? As we read the history of the Highlands or a story ofJacobite loyalty such as that of Cooper's Admiral Bluewater, dear toboys, we sadden that destiny should decree that in a world in whichpiety is not too plentiful it should run so pitifully to waste, andthat men and women should weep hot tears and break their hearts overbran-stuffing and wax. 

Amidst the hooraying multitude that Saturday April morning was oneman at least, Zachariah Coleman by name, who did not hooray, and didnot lift his hat even when the Sacred Majesty appeared on the hotelsteps. He was a smallish, thin-faced, lean creature in workman'sclothes; his complexion was white, blanched by office air, and hishands were black with printer's ink. 

"Off with your tile, you b---y Corsican!" exclaimed a roaring voicebehind him. Zachariah turned round, and found the request came froma drayman weighing about eighteen stone; but the tile was notremoved. In an instant it was sent flying to the other side of theroad, where it was trodden on, picked up, and passed forward in theair amidst laughter and jeers, till it was finally lost. 

Zachariah was not pugnacious, and could not very well be so in thepresence of his huge antagonist; but he was no coward, and not seeingfor the moment that his hat had hopelessly gone, he turned roundsavagely, and laying hold of the drayman, said:

"You ruffian, give it me back; if I am a Corsican, are you anEnglishman?"

"Take that for your b---y beaver, " said the other, and dealt him ablow with the fist right in his face, which staggered and stupefiedhim, covering him with blood. 

The bystanders, observing the disparity between the two men, instantly took Zachariah's side, and called out "Shame, shame!" Nordid they confine themselves to ejaculations, for a young fellow ofabout eight and twenty, well dressed, with a bottle-green coat ofbroadcloth, buttoned close, stepped up to the drayman. 

"Knock my tile off, beer-barrel. "

The drayman instantly responded by a clutch at it, but before hecould touch it he had an awful cut across the lips, delivered withsuch scientific accuracy from the left shoulder that it was clear itcame from a disciple of Jackson or Tom Cribb. The crowd now becameintensely delighted and excited, and a cry of "A ring, a ring!" wasraised. The drayman, blind with rage, let out with his right armwith force enough to fell an ox, but the stroke was most artisticallyparried, and the response was another fearful gash over the righteye. By this time the patriot had had enough, and declined tocontinue the contest. His foe, too, seemed to have no desire for anyfurther display of his powers, and retired smilingly, edging his wayto the pavement, where he found poor Zachariah almost helpless. 

"Holloa, my republican friend, d---n it, that's a nasty lick you'vegot, and from one of the people too; that makes it harder to bear, eh? Never mind, he's worse off than you are. "

Zachariah thanked him as well as he could for defending him. 

"Not a word; haven't got a scratch myself. Come along with me;" andhe dragged him along Piccadilly into a public-house in SwallowStreet, where apparently he was well known. Water was called for;Zachariah was sponged, the wound strapped up, some brandy given him, and the stranger, ordering a hackney coach, told the driver to takethe gentleman home. 

"Wait a bit, " he called, as the coach drove off. "You may feelfaint; I'll go home with you, " and in a moment he was by Zachariah'sside. The coach found its way slowly through the streets to somelodgings in Clerkenwell. It was well the stranger did go, for hiscompanion on arrival was hardly able to crawl upstairs to give acoherent account to his wife of what had happened. 

Zachariah Coleman, working man, printer, was in April 1814 aboutthirty years old. He was employed in a jobbing office in the city, where he was compositor and pressman as well. He had been married inJanuary 1814 to a woman a year younger than himself, who attended themeeting-house at Hackney, whither he went on the Sunday. He was aDissenter in religion, and a fierce Radical in politics, as many ofthe Dissenters in that day were. He was not a ranter or revivalist, but what was called a moderate Calvinist; that is to say, he held toCalvinism as his undoubted creed, but when it came to the push inactual practice he modified it. In this respect he was inconsistent;but who is there who is not? His theology probably had no more gapsin it than that of the latest and most enlightened preacher whodenies miracles and affirms the Universal Benevolence. His presentbiographer, from intimate acquaintance with the class to whichZachariah belonged, takes this opportunity to protest against thegeneral assumption that the Calvinists of that day, or of any day, arrived at their belief by putting out their eyes and acceptingblindly the authority of St. Paul or anybody else. It may bequestioned, indeed, whether any religious body has ever stood sodistinctly upon the understanding and has used its intellect withsuch rigorous activity, as the Puritans, from whom Zachariah was agenuine descendant. Even if Calvinism had been carved on tables ofstone and handed down from heaven by the Almighty Hand, it would nothave lived if it had not have found to agree more or less with thefacts, and it was because it was a deduction from what nobody canhelp seeing that it was so vital, the Epistle to the Romans servingas the inspired confirmation of an experience. Zachariah was a greatreader of all kinds of books--a lover especially of Bunyan andMilton; as logical in his politics as in his religion; and hedefended the execution of Charles the First on the ground that thepeople had just as much right to put a king to death as a judge hadto order the execution of any other criminal. 

The courtship between Zachariah and the lady who became his wife hadbeen short, for there could be no mistake, as they had known oneanother so long. She was black-haired, with a perfectly oval face, always dressed with the most scrupulous neatness, and with a certainplain tightness which Zachariah admired. She had exquisitely whiteand perfect teeth, a pale, clear complexion, and the reputation ofbeing a most sensible woman. She was not a beauty, but she was good-looking; the weak points in her face being her eyes, which were mereinexpressive optic organs, and her mouth, which, when shut, seemedtoo much shut, just as if it were compressed by an effort of the willor by a spring. These, however, Zachariah thought minor matters, if, indeed, he ever noticed them. "The great thing was, that she was"--sometimes this and sometimes that--and so it was settled. Unfortunately in marriage it is so difficult to be sure of what thegreat thing is, and what the little thing is, the little thingbecoming so frightfully big afterwards! Theologically, Mrs. Zachariah was as strict as her husband, and more so, as far asoutward observance went, for her strictness was not tempered by thosesecular interests which to him were so dear. She read little ornothing--nothing, indeed, on week-days, and even the MorningChronicle, which Zachariah occasionally borrowed, was folded up whenhe had done with it and put under the tea-caddy till it was returned. On Sundays she took up a book in the afternoon, but she carefullyprepared herself for the operation as though it were a sacramentalservice. When the dinner-things were washed up, when the hearth wasswept and the kettle on the fire, having put on her best Sundaydress, it was her custom to go to the window, always to the window, never to the fire--where she would open Boston's Fourfold State andhold it up in front of her with both hands. This, however, did notlast long, for on the arrival of the milkman the volume was replaced, and it was necessary to make preparations for tea. 

The hackney coach drove up to the house in Rosoman Street whereZachariah dwelt on the first floor. He was too weak to go upstairsby himself, and he and his friend therefore walked into the frontroom together. It was in complete order, although it was so early inthe morning. Everything was dusted; even the lower fire-bar had nota speck of ashes on it, and on the hob already was a saucepan inwhich Mrs. Coleman proposed to cook the one o'clock dinner. On thewalls were portraits of Sir Francis Burdett, Major Cartwright, andthe mezzotint engraving of Sadler's Bunyan. Two black silhouettes--one of Zachariah and the other of his wife--were suspended on eachside of the mantelpiece. 

Mrs. Coleman was busily engaged in the bedroom, but hearing thefootsteps, she immediately entered. She was slightly taken aback atseeing Zachariah in such a plight, and uttered a little scream, butthe bottle-green stranger, making her a profound bow, arrested her. 

"Pardon me, my dear madam, there is nothing seriously the matter. Your husband has had the misfortune to be the victim of a mostblackguardly assault; but I am sure that, under your care, he will beall right in a day or two; and, with your permission, I take myleave. "

Mrs. Coleman was irritated. The first emotion was not sympathy. Absolutely the first was annoyance at being seen without propernotice by such a fine-looking gentleman. She had, however, no realcause for vexation under this head. She had tied a whitehandkerchief over her hair, fastening it under her chin, as hermanner was when doing her morning's work, and she had on her whiteapron; but she was trim and faultless, and the white handkerchief didbut set off her black hair and marble complexion. Her secondemotion, too, was not sympathy. Zachariah was at home at the wrongtime. Her ordinary household arrangements were upset. He mightpossibly be ill, and then there would be a mess and confusion. Thethought of sickness was intolerable to her, because it "puteverything out. " Rising up at the back of these two emotions came, haltingly, a third when she looked her husband in the face. Shecould not help it, and she did really pity him. 

"I am sure it is very kind of you, " she replied. 

Zachariah had as yet spoken no word, nor had she moved towards him. The stranger was departing. 

"Stop!" cried Zachariah, "you have not told me your name. I am toofaint to say how much I owe you for your protection and kindness. "

"Nonsense. My name is Maitland--Major Maitland, 1A Albany. Good-bye. "

He was at the top of the stairs, when he turned round, and looking atMrs. Coleman, observed musingly, "I think I'll send my doctor, and, if you will permit me, will call in a day or two. "

She thanked him; he took her hand, politely pressed it to his lips, and rode off in the coach which had been waiting for him. 

"What has happened, my dear? Tell me all about it, " she inquired asshe went back into the parlour, with just the least colour on hercheek, and perceptibly a little happier than she was five minutesbefore. She did nothing more than put her hand on his shoulder, buthe brightened immediately. He told her the tale, and when it wasover desired to lie down and to have some tea. 

Emotion number two returned to Mrs. Coleman immediately. Tea at thattime, the things having been all cleared away and washed up! She didnot, however, like openly to object, but she did go so far as tosuggest that perhaps cold water would be better, as there might beinflammation. Zachariah, although he was accustomed to give way, begged for tea; and it was made ready, but not with water boiledthere. She would not again put the copper kettle on the fire, as itwas just cleaned, but she asked to be allowed to use that whichbelonged to the neighbour downstairs who kept the shop. The tea-things were replaced when Zachariah had finished, and his wifereturned to her duties, leaving him sitting in the straight-backedWindsor-chair, looking into the grate and feeling very miserable. 

In the afternoon Rosoman Street was startled to see a grand carriagestop at Zachariah's door, and out stepped the grand doctor, who, after some little hesitation and inquiry, made his way upstairs. Having examined our friend, he pronounced him free from all mortal oreven serious injury--it was a case of contusion and shaken nerves, which required a little alterative medicine, and on the day after to-morrow the patient, although bruised and sore in the mouth, might goback to work. 

The next morning he was better, but nevertheless he was depressed. It was now three months since his wedding-day, and the pomp andbeauty of the sunrise, gold and scarlet bars with intermediate lakesof softest blue, had been obscured by leaden clouds, which showed nobreak and let loose a cold drizzling rain. How was it? He oftenasked himself that question, but could obtain no satisfactory answer. Had anything changed? Was his wife anything which he did not knowher to be three months ago? Certainly not. He could not accuse herof passing herself off upon him with false pretences. What she hadalways represented herself to be she was now. There she stoodprecisely as she stood twelve months ago, when he asked her to becomehis wife, and he thought when she said "yes" that no man was moreblessed than he. It was, he feared, true he did not love her, norshe him; but why could not they have found that out before? What acruel destiny was this which drew a veil before his eyes and led himblindfold over the precipice! He at first thought, when his joybegan to ebb in February or March, that it would rise again, and thathe would see matters in a different light; but the spring was here, and the tide had not turned. It never would turn now, and he becameat last aware of the sad truth--the saddest a man can know--that hehad missed the great delight of existence. His chance had come, andhad gone. Henceforth all that was said and sung about love and homewould find no echo in him. He was paralysed, dead in half of hissoul, and would have to exist with the other half as well he could. He had done no wrong: he had done his best; he had not sold himselfto the flesh or the devil, and, Calvinist as he was, he was temptedat times to question the justice of such a punishment. If he put hisfinger in the fire and got burnt, he was able to bow to the wisdomwhich taught him in that plain way that he was not to put his fingerin the fire. But wherein lay the beneficence of visiting a simplemistake--one which he could not avoid--with a curse worse than theJewish curse of excommunication--"the anathema wherewith Joshuacursed Jericho; the curse which Elisha laid upon the children; allthe curses which are written in the law. Cursed be he by day, andcursed be he by night: cursed be he in sleeping, and cursed be he inwaking: cursed in going out, and cursed in coming in. " Neither thewretched victim nor the world at large was any better for such avisitation, for it was neither remedial nor monitory. Ah, so it is!The murderer is hung at Newgate, and if he himself is not improved bythe process, perhaps a few wicked people are frightened; but men andwomen are put to a worse death every day by slow strangulation whichendures for a lifetime, and, as far as we can see, no lesson islearned by anybody, and no good is done. 

Zachariah, however, did not give way to despair, for he was not a manto despair. His religion was a part of himself. He had immortalitybefore him, in which he thanked God there was no marrying nor givingin marriage. This doctrine, however, did not live in him as theother dogmas of his creed, for it was not one in which his intellecthad such a share. On the other hand, predestination was dear to him. God knew him as closely as He knew the angel next His throne, and hadmarked out his course with as much concern as that of the seraph. What God's purposes were he did not know. He took a sort of sullenpride in not knowing, and he marched along, footsore and wounded, inobedience to the orders of his great Chief. Only thirty years old, and only three months a husband, he had already learned renunciation. There was to be no joy in life? Then he would be satisfied if itwere tolerable, and he strove to dismiss all his dreams and do hisbest with what lay before him. Oh my hero! Perhaps somewhere orother--let us hope it is true--a book is kept in which human worth isduly appraised, and in that book, if such a volume there be, we shallfind that the divinest heroism is not that of the man who, holdinglife cheap, puts his back against a wall, and is shot by Governmentsoldiers, assured that he will live ever afterwards as a martyr andsaint: a diviner heroism is that of the poor printer, who, in dingy, smoky Rosoman Street, Clerkenwell, with forty years before him, determined to live through them, as far as he could, without amurmur, although there was to be no pleasure in them. A divinerheroism is this, but divinest of all, is that of him who can in thesedays do what Zachariah did, and without Zachariah's faith. 

The next evening, just as Zachariah and his wife were sitting down totea, there was a tap at the door, and in walked Major Maitland. Hewas now in full afternoon costume, and, if not dandyish, wasundeniably well dressed. Making a profound bow to Mrs. Coleman, headvanced to the fireplace and instantly shook hands with Zachariah. 

"Well, my republican, you are better, although the beery loyalist hasleft his mark upon you. "

"Certainly, much better; but where I should have been, sir, if it hadnot been for you, I don't know. "

"Ah, well; it was an absolute pleasure to me to teach the blackguardthat cheering a Bourbon costs something. My God, though, a man mustbe a fool who has to be taught that! I wonder what it HAS cost us. Why, I see you've got my friend, Major Cartwright, up there. "

Zachariah and his wife started a moment at what they considered theprofane introduction of God's name; but it was not exactly swearing, and Major Maitland's relationship to them was remarkable. They weretherefore silent. 

"A true friend of the people, " continued Maitland, "is MajorCartwright; but he does not go quite far enough to please me. "

"As for the people so-called, " quoth Zachariah, "I doubt whether theyare worth saving. Look at the mob we saw the day before yesterday. I think not of the people. But there is a people, even in these daysof Ahab, whose feet may yet be on the necks of their enemies. "

"Why, you are an aristocrat, " said Maitland, smiling; "only you wantto abolish the present aristocracy and give us another. You must notjudge us by what you saw in Piccadilly, and while you are stillsmarting from that smasher on your eye. London, I grant you, is not, and never was, a fair specimen. But, even in London, you must not bedeceived. You don't know its real temper; and then, as to not beingworth saving--why, the worse men are the more they want saving. However, we are both agreed about this--crew, Liverpool, the PrinceRegent, and his friends. " A strong word was about to escape before"crew, " but the Major saw that he was in a house where it would beout of place. "I wish you'd join our Friends of the People. We wanttwo or three determined fellows like you. We are all safe. "

"What are the 'Friends of the People'?"

"Oh, it's a club of--a--good fellows who meet twice a week for alittle talk about affairs. Come with me next Friday and see. "

Zachariah hesitated a moment, and then consented. 

"All right; I'll fetch you. " He was going away, and picked up fromthe table a book he had brought with him. 

"By the way, you will not be at work till to-morrow. I'll leave youthis to amuse you. It has not been out long. Thirteen thousandcopies were sold the first day. It is the Corsair--Byron's Corsair. My God, it IS poetry and no mistake! Not exactly, perhaps, in yourline; but you are a man of sense, and if that doesn't make your heartleap in you I'm much mistaken. Lord Byron is a neighbour of mine inthe Albany. I know him by sight. I've waited a whole livelongmorning at my window to see him go out. So much the more fool you, you'll say. Ah, well, wait till you have read the Corsair. "

The Major shook hands. Mrs. Coleman, who had been totally silentduring the interview, excepting when she asked him if he would joinin a cup of tea--an offer most gracefully declined--followed him tothe top of the stairs. As before, he kissed her hand, made her aprofound bow, and was off. When she came back into the room thefaint flush on the cheek was repeated, and there was the same unusuallittle rippling overflow of kindness to her husband. 

In the evening Zachariah took up the book. Byron was not, indeed, inhis line. He took no interest in him, although, like every otherEnglishman, he had heard much about him. He had passed on his way toAlbemarle Street the entrance to the Albany. Byron was lying thereasleep, but Zachariah, although he knew he was within fifty yards ofhim, felt no emotion whatever. This was remarkable, for Byron'sinfluence, even in 1814, was singular, beyond that of allpredecessors and successors, in the wideness of its range. He wasread by everybody. Men and women who were accessible to no otherpoetry were accessible to his, and old sea-captains, merchants, tradesmen, clerks, tailors, milliners, as well as the best judges inthe land repeated his verses by the page. 

Mrs. Coleman, having cleared away the tea-things, sat knitting tillhalf-past six. It was prayer-meeting night, and she never missedgoing. Zachariah generally accompanied her, but he was not quitepresentable, and stayed at home. He went on with the Corsair, and ashe read his heart warmed, and he unconsciously found himselfdeclaiming several of the most glowing and eloquent lines aloud. Hewas by nature a poet; essentially so, for he loved everything whichlifted him above what is commonplace. Isaiah, Milton, a storm, arevolution, a great passion--with these he was at home; and hiseducation, mainly on the Old Testament, contributed greatly to thedevelopment both of the strength and weakness of his character. Forsuch as he are weak as well as strong; weak in the absence of theinnumerable little sympathies and worldlinesses which make lifedelightful, and but too apt to despise and tread upon those gentleflowers which are as really here as the sun and the stars, and arenearer to us. Zachariah found in the Corsair exactly what answeredto his own inmost self, down to its very depths. The lofty style, the scorn of what is mean and base, the courage--root of all virtue--that dares and evermore dares in the very last extremity, the love ofthe illimitable, of freedom, and the cadences like the fall of waveson a sea-shore were attractive to him beyond measure. More thanthis, there was Love. His own love was a failure, and yet it wasimpossible for him to indulge for a moment his imagination elsewhere. The difference between him and his wife might have risen to absoluteaversion, and yet no wandering fancy would ever have been encouragedtowards any woman living. But when he came to Medora's song:

"Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells, Lonely and lost to light for evermore, Save when to thine my heart responsive swells, Then trembles into silence as before. "

and more particularly the second verse:

"There, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp Burns the slow flame, eternal--but unseen;Which not the darkness of despair can damp, Though vain its ray as it had never been. "

love again asserted itself. It was not love for a person; perhaps itwas hardly love so much as the capacity for love. Whatever it maybe, henceforth this is what love will be in him, and it will be fullymaintained, though it knows no actual object. It will manifestitself in suppressed force, seeking for exit in a thousanddirections; sometimes grotesque perhaps, but always force. It willgive energy to expression, vitality to his admiration of thebeautiful, devotion to his worship, enthusiasm to his zeal forfreedom. More than this, it will NOT make his private lifeunbearable by contrast; rather the reverse. The vision of Medorawill not intensify the shadow over Rosoman Street, Clerkenwell, butwill soften it. 

CHAPTER II--OUTSIDE PIKE STREET

On the Friday evening the Major called for Zachariah. He had not yetreturned, but his wife was at home. The tea-things were ready, thekettle was on the hob, and she sat knitting at the window. Hervisitor knocked at the door; she rose, and he entered. This time hewas a little less formal, for after making his bow he shook her hand. She, too, was not quite so stiff, and begged him to be seated. 

"Upon my word, madam, " he began, "if I were as well looked after asMr. Coleman, I doubt if I should be so anxious as he is to change theexisting order of things. You would think there is some excuse forme if you were to see the misery and privation of my lodgings. Nobody cares a straw, and as for dust and dirt, they would drive youdistracted. "

Mrs. Zachariah smiled, and shifted one of her little white-stockingedfeet over the other. She had on the neatest of sandals, with blackribbons, which crossed over the instep. It was one of Zachariah'sweak points, she considered, that he did not seem to caresufficiently for cleanliness, and when he came in he would sometimesput his black hand, before he had washed, on the white tea-cloth, oron the back of a chair, and leave behind him a patch of printer'sink. It was bad enough to be obliged always to wipe the door-handles. 

"I do my best; but as for dirt, you cannot be so badly off in theAlbany as we are in Clerkenwell. Clerkenwell is very disagreeable, but we are obliged to live here. "

"If Clerkenwell is so bad, all the more honour to you for yourtriumph. "

"Oh, I don't know about honour; my husband says it is simply mynature. "

"Nature! All the better. I could never live with anybody who wasalways trying and trying and struggling. I believe in Nature. Don'tyou?"

This was an abstract inquiry beyond Mrs. Zachariah's scope. "It issome people's nature to like to be tidy, " she contented herself withobserving; "and others do not care for it. "

"Oh, perhaps it is because I am a soldier, and accustomed to order, that I care for it above everything. "

Mrs. Zachariah started for a moment. She reflected. She hadforgotten it--that she was talking to an officer in His Majesty'sservice. 

"Have you seen much fighting, sir?"

"Oh, well, for the matter of that, have had my share. I was atTalavera, and suffer a good deal now in damp weather, from havingslept so much in the open air. "

"Dear me, that is very hard! My husband is rheumatic, and findsTarver's embrocation do him more good than anything. Will you try itif I give you some?"

"With profound gratitude. " Mrs. Coleman filled an empty bottle, tooka piece of folded brown paper out of the fireplace cupboard, untied acoil of twine, made up a compact little parcel, and gave it to theMajor. 

"A thousand thanks. If faith now can really cure, I shall be well ina week. "

Mrs. Zachariah smiled again. 

"Are you Dissenters?" he asked abruptly. 

"Yes. Independents. "

"I am not surprised. Ever since Cromwell's days you have always beenon the side of liberty; but are you strict--I don't know exactly whatto call it--go to the prayer-meetings--and so on?"

"We are both members of the church, and Mr. Coleman is a deacon, "replied Mrs. Zachariah, with a gravity not hitherto observable. 

She looked out of the window, and saw him coming down the street. She placed the kettle nearer the fire, put the tea in the teapot, andsat down again. He came upstairs, went straight into his bedroom, cleaned himself as much as possible, changed his coat, and entered. The Major, being pressed, consented to take tea, and Mrs. Zachariahwas a cheerful and even talkative hostess, to the surprise of atleast one member of the company. She sat next to her husband, andthe Major sat opposite. Three silver spoons and silver sugar-tongshad been put on the table. Ordinarily the spoons were pewter. Zachariah, fond of sugar, was in the habit of taking it with hisfingers--a practice to which Mrs. Zachariah strongly objected, andwith some reason. It was dirty, and as his hands were none of thewhitest, the neighbouring lumps became soiled, and acquired a flavourwhich did not add to their sweetness. She had told him of it a scoreof times; but he did not amend, and seemed to think her particularityrather a vice than a virtue. So it is that, as love gilds alldefects, lack of love sees nothing but defect in what is trulyestimable. Notwithstanding the sugar-tongs, Zachariah--excusable, perhaps, this time, considering the warmth of the speech he wasmaking against the late war--pushed them aside, and helped himselfafter the usual fashion. A cloud came over Mrs. Zachariah's face;she compressed her lips in downright anger, pushed the tongs towardshim with a rattle, and trod on his foot at the same time. Hisoration came to an end; he looked round, became confused, and wassuddenly silent; but the Major gallantly came to the rescue byjumping up to prevent Mrs. Zachariah from moving in order to put morewater on the tea. 

"Excuse me, pray;" but as he had risen somewhat suddenly to reach thekettle, he caught the table-cloth on his knee, and in a moment hiscup and saucer and the plate were on the floor in twenty pieces, andthe tea running all over the carpet. Zachariah looked at his wife, and expected to see her half frantic. But no; though it was her bestchina, she stopped the Major's apologies, and assured him, withsomething almost like laughter, that it was not of the slightestconsequence. "Tea doesn't stain; I hope it has not gone on yourcoat;" and producing a duster from the cupboard, the evil, save theloss of the crockery, was remedied in a couple of minutes. 

At half-past seven o'clock the Major and Zachariah departed. Theywalked across the top of Hatton Garden, and so onwards till they cameto Red Lion Street. Entering a low passage at the side of a smallpublic-house, they went up some stairs, and found themselves oppositea door which was locked. The Major gave three taps and then paused. A moment afterwards he tapped again twice; the lock was turned, andhe was admitted. Zachariah found himself in a spacious kind of loft. There was a table running down the middle, and round it were seatedabout a dozen men, most of whom were smoking and drinking beer. Theywelcomed the Major with rappings, and he moved towards the emptychair at the head of the board. 

"You're late, chairman, " said one. 

"Been to fetch a new comrade. "

"Is that the cove? He looks all right. Here's your health, guv'nor, and d---n all tyrants. " With that he took a pull at the beer. 

"Swear him, " said the Major. 

A disagreeable-looking man with a big round nose, small red eyes, unshaven face, and slightly unsteady voice, rose, laid down his pipe, and beckoned to Zachariah, who advanced towards him. 

The Secretary--for he it was--produced a memorandum-book, and beganwith a stutter:

"In the sacred name of--"

"Stop!" cried Zachariah, "I don't swear. "

"That will do, " shouted the Major across a hubbub which arose--"religious. I'll answer for him: let him sign; that's enough. "

"You ARE answerable, " growled the Secretary "if he's a d---d spywe'll have his blood, that's all, and yours too, Major. " The Majortook no notice, and Zachariah put his name in the book, the roll ofthe Red Lion Friends of the People. 

"Business, Mr. Secretary--the last minutes. "

The minutes were read, and an adjourned debate was then renewed on amotion to organise public meetings to petition in favour ofParliamentary Reform. The reader must understand that politics inthose days were somewhat different from the politics of fifty orsixty years later. Bread was thirteenpence a quartern loaf; thenational debt, with a much smaller population, was what it is now;everything was taxed, and wages were very low. But what was mostgalling was the fact that the misery, the taxes, and the debt hadbeen accumulated, not by the will of the people, but by a corruptHouse of Commons, the property of borough-mongers, for the sake ofsupporting the Bourbons directly, but indirectly and chiefly theHouse of Hanover and the hated aristocracy. There was also ascandalous list of jobs and pensions. Years afterwards, when theGovernment was forced to look into abuses, the Reverend ThomasThurlow, to take one example amongst others, was awarded, ascompensation for the loss of his two offices, Patentee of Bankruptsand Keeper of Hanaper, the modest allowance annually until his deathof 11, 380 pounds 14s. 6d. The men and women of that time, althoughthere were scarcely any newspapers, were not fools, and there was nota Nottingham weaver who put a morsel of bread in his hungry belly whodid not know that two morsels might have gone there if there were noimpost on foreign corn to maintain rents, and if there were nointerest to pay on money borrowed to keep these sacred kings andlords safe in their palaces and parks. Opinion at the Red LionFriends of the People Club was much divided. Some were fordemonstrations and agitation, whilst others were for physical force. The discussion went on irregularly amidst much tumult. 

"How long would they have waited over the water if they had donenothing but jaw? They met together and tore down the Bastile, andthat's what we must do. "

"That may be true, " said a small white-faced man who neither smokednor drank, "but what followed? You don't do anything really tillyou've reasoned it out. "

"It's my belief, parson, " retorted the other, "that you are in a d---d funk. This is not the place for Methodists. "

"Order, order!" shouted the chairman. 

"I am not a Methodist, " quietly replied the other; "unless you meanby Methodist a man who fears God and loves his Saviour. I am notashamed to own that, and I am none the worse for it as far as I know. As for being a coward, we shall see. "

The Secretary meanwhile had gone on with his beer. Despite hisnotorious failing, he had been chosen for the post because in hissober moments he was quick with his pen. He was not a working man;nay, it was said he had been at Oxford. His present profession wasthat of attorney's clerk. He got up and began a harangue aboutBrutus. 

"There's one way of dealing with tyrants--the old way, Mr. Chairman. Death to them all, say I; the short cut; none of your palaver; what'sthe use of palavering?"

He was a little shaky, took hold of the rail of his chair, and as hesat down broke his pipe. 

Some slight applause followed; but the majority were either againsthim, or thought it better to be silent. 

The discussion continued irregularly, and Zachariah noticed thatabout half-a-dozen of those present took no part in it. At about teno'clock the chairman declared the meeting at an end; and it was quitetime he did so, for the smoke and the drink had done their work. 

As Zachariah came out, a man stood by his side whom he had scarcelynoticed during the evening. He was evidently a shoemaker. There wasa smell of leather about him, and his hands and face were grimy. Hehad a slightly turned-up nose, smallish eyes, half hidden under veryblack eyebrows, and his lips were thin and straight. His voice wasexceedingly high-pitched, and had something creaking in it like thesound of an ill-greased axle. He spoke with emphasis, but not quitelike an Englishman, was fond of alliteration, and often, in themiddle of a sentence, paused to search for a word which pleased him. Having found it, the remainder of the sentence was poised and castfrom him like a dart. His style was a curious mixture of foreignimperfection and rhetoric--a rhetoric, however, by no means affected. It might have been so in another person, but it was not so in him. 

"Going east?" said he. 

"Yes. "

"If you want company, I'll walk with you. What do you think of theFriends?"

Zachariah, it will be borne in mind, although he was a Democrat, hadnever really seen the world. He belonged to a religious sect. Hebelieved in the people, it is true, but it was a people ofCromwellian Independents. He purposely avoided the company of menwho used profane language, and never in his life entered a tavern. He did not know what the masses really were; for although he workedwith his hands, printers were rather a superior set of fellows, andhis was an old-established shop which took the best of its class. When brought actually into contact with swearers and drunkards aspatriots and reformers he was more than a little shocked. 

"Not much, " quoth he. 

"Not worse than our virtuous substitute for a sovereign?"

"No, certainly. "

"You object to giving them votes, but is not the opinion of thesilliest as good as that of Lord Sidmouth?"

"That's no reason for giving them votes. "

"I should like to behold the experiment of a new form ofmisgovernment. If we are to be eternally enslaved to fools andswindlers, why not a change? We have had regal misrule andaristocratic swindling long enough. "

"Seriously, my friend, " he continued, "study that immortal charter, the Declaration of the Rights of Man. "

He stopped in the street, and with an oratorical air repeated thewell-known lines, "Men are born and always continue free, and equalin respect of their rights. . . . Every citizen has a right, eitherby himself or by his representative, to a free voice in determiningthe necessity of public contributions, the appropriation of them, andtheir amount, mode of assessment, and duration. " He knew them byheart. "It is the truth, " he continued: "you must come to that, unless you believe in the Divine appointment of dynasties. There isno logical repose between Lord Liverpool and the Declaration. Whatis the real difference between him and you? None but a question ofdegree. He does not believe in absolute monarchy, and stays at thispoint. You go a little lower. You are both alike. How dare yousay, 'My brother, I am more honest and more religious than you; payme half-a-crown and I will spend it for your welfare'? You cannottell me that. You know I should have a RIGHT to reject you. Irefuse to be coerced. I prefer freedom to--felicity. "

Zachariah was puzzled. He was not one of those persons who can seeno escape from an argument and yet are not convinced; one of thosehappy creatures to whom the operations of the intellect are a joke--who, if they are shown that the three angles of a triangle are equalto two right angles, decline to disprove it, but act as if they werebut one. To Zachariah the appeal "Where will you stop?" wasgenerally successful. If his understanding told him he could notstop, he went on. And yet it so often happens that if we do go on weare dissatisfied; we cannot doubt each successive step, but we doubtthe conclusion. We arrive serenely at the end, and lo! it is anabsurdity which common sense, as we call it, demolishes with scoffsand laughter. 

They had walked down to Holborn in order to avoid the ratherdangerous quarter of Gray's Inn Lane. Presently they were overtakenby the Secretary, staggering under more liquor. He did not recognisethem, and rolled on. The shoemaker instantly detached himself fromZachariah and followed the drunken official. He was about to turninto a public-house, when his friend came up to him softly, abstracted a book which was sticking out of his pocket, laid hold ofhim by the arm, and marched off with him across the street andthrough Great Turnstile. 

Sunday came, and Zachariah and his wife attended the services at PikeStreet Meeting-house, conducted by that worthy servant of God, theReverend Thomas Bradshaw. He was at that time preaching a series ofsermons on the Gospel Covenant, and he enlarged upon the distinctionbetween those with whom the covenant was made and those with whomthere was none, save of judgment. The poorest and the weakest, ifthey were sons of God, were more blessed than the strongest who werenot. These were nothing: "they should go out like the smoke of acandle with an ill favour; whereas the weak and simple ones areupholden, and go from strength to strength, and increase with theincreasings of God. " Zachariah was rather confused by what hadhappened during the week, and his mind, especially during the longprayer, wandered a good deal much to his discomfort. 

CHAPTER III--THE THEATRE

Major Maitland was very fond of the theatre, and as he had grown fondof Zachariah, and frequently called at his house, sometimes onbusiness and sometimes for pleasure, he often asked his friend toaccompany him. But for a long time he held out. The theatre anddancing in 1814 were an abomination to the Independents. Since 1814they have advanced, and consequently they not only go to plays anddance like other Christians, but the freer, less prejudiced, and moreenlightened encourage the ballet, spend their holidays in Paris, andstudy French character there. Zachariah, however, had a side open toliterature, and though he had never seen a play acted, he read plays. He read Shakespeare, and had often thought how wonderful one of hisdramas must be on the stage. So it fell out that at last he yielded, and it was arranged that Mrs. And Mr. Coleman should go with theMajor to Drury Lane to see the great Edmund Kean in "Othello. " Theday was fixed, and Mrs. Coleman was busy for a long time beforehandin furbishing up and altering her wedding-dress, so that she mightmake a decent figure. She was all excitement, and as happy as shecould well be. For months Zachariah had not known her to be socommunicative. She seemed to take an interest in politics; shediscussed with him the report that Bonaparte was mad, and Zachariah, on his part, told her what had happened to him during the day, andwhat he had read in the newspapers. The Prince Regent had been toOxford, and verses had been composed in his honour. Mr. Bosanquethad recited to the Prince an ode, or something of the kind, and hadventured, after dilating on the enormous services rendered by kingsin general to the community during the last twenty years, to warnthem:

"But ye yourselves must bow: your praise be givenTo Him, the Lord of lords, your King in heaven. "

And Mrs. Zachariah, with a smile and unwonted wit, wondered whetherMr. Bosanquet would not be prosecuted for such treasonablesentiments. Zachariah hardly knew what to make of his wife's gaiety, but he was glad. He thought that perhaps he was answerable for hersilence and coldness, and he determined at all costs to try andamend, and, however weary he might be when he came home at night, that he would speak and get her to speak too. 

The eventful evening arrived. Zachariah was to get away as early ashe could; the Major was to call at about six. After Zachariah hadwashed and dressed, they were to take a hackney coach together. Atthe appointed hour the Major appeared, and found Mrs. Zachariahalready in her best clothes and tea ready. She was charming--finished from the uttermost hair on her head to the sole of herslipper--and the dove-coloured, somewhat Quakerish tint of herwedding-gown suited her admirably. Quarter-past six came, but therewas no Zachariah, and she thought she would make the tea, as he wasnever long over his meals. Half-past six, and he was not there. Thetwo now sat down, and began to listen to every sound. The coach wasordered at a quarter to seven. 

"What shall we do?" said the Major. "I cannot send you on and waitfor him. "

"No. How vexing it is! It is just like--" and she stopped. 

"We must stay where we are, I suppose; it is rather a pity to missbeing there when Kean first comes on. "

She was in a fretful agony of impatience. She rose and looked out ofthe window, thought she heard somebody on the stairs, went outside onthe landing, returned, walked up and down, and mentally cursed herhusband, not profanely--she dared not do that--but with curses nonethe less intense. Poor man! he had been kept by a job he had tofinish. She might have thought this possible, and, in fact, didthink it possible; but it made no difference in the hatred which shepermitted to rise against him. At last her animosity relaxed, andshe began to regard him with more composure, and even with pleasure. 

"Had you not better go and leave me here, so that we may follow? Ido not know what has happened, and I am sure he would be so sorry ifyou were to be disappointed. "

She turned her eyes anxiously towards the Major. 

"That will never do. You know nothing about the theatre. No! no!"

She paused and stamped her little foot, and looked again out of thewindow. 

The coachman knocked at the door, and when she went down asked herhow long he had to wait. 

She came back, and throwing herself on a chair, fairly gave way toher mortification, and cried out, "It is too bad--too bad!--it is, really. "

"I'll tell you what, " replied the Major. "Do you mind coming withme? We will leave one of the tickets which I have bought, and we canadd a message that he is to follow, and that we will keep his placefor him. Put on your bonnet at once, and I will scribble a line tohim. "

Mrs. Zachariah did not see any other course open; her wrath once moredisappeared, and in another moment she was busy before the looking-glass. The note was written, and pinned to the ticket, both beingstuck on the mantelpiece in a conspicuous place, so that Zachariahmight see them directly he arrived. In exuberant spirits she addedin her own hand, "Make as much haste as you can, my dear, " andsubscribed her initials. It was a tremendously hot afternoon and, what with the fire and the weather and the tea, the air was veryoppressive. She threw the bottom sash open a little wider therefore, and the two rolled off to Drury Lane. As the door slammed behindthem, the draught caught the ticket and note, and in a moment theywere in the flames and consumed. 

Ten minutes afterwards in came Zachariah. He had run all the way, and was dripping with perspiration. He rushed upstairs, but therewas nobody. He stared round him, looked at the plates, saw that twohad been there, rushed down again, and asked the woman in the shop:

"Has Mrs. Coleman left any message?"

"No. She went off with that gentleman that comes here now and then;but she never said nothing to me, " and Zachariah thought he sawsomething like a grin on her face. 

It may be as well to say that he never dreamed of any real injurydone to him by his wife, and, in truth, the Major was incapable ofdoing him any. He was gay, unorthodox, a man who went about in theworld, romantic, republican, but he never would have condescended toseduce a woman, and least of all a woman belonging to a friend. Hepaid women whom he admired all kinds of attentions, but they werenothing more than the gallantry of the age. Although they werenothing, however, to him, they were a good deal more than nothing toMrs. Zachariah. The symbolism of an act varies much, and what may bemere sport to one is sin in another. The Major's easy manners andvery free courtesy were innocent so far as he was concerned; but whenhis rigid, religious companion in the hackney coach felt them sweet, and was better pleased with them than she had ever been with herhusband's caresses, she sinned, and she knew that she sinned. 

What curiously composite creatures we are! Zachariah for a momentwas half pleased, for she had now clearly wronged him. The nextmoment, however, he was wretched. He took up the teapot; it wasempty; the tea-caddy was locked up. It was a mere trifle, but, as hesaid to himself, the merest trifles are important if they aresignificant. He brooded, therefore, over the empty teapot and lockedtea-caddy for fully five minutes. She had not only gone without him, but had forgotten him. At the end of the five minutes teapot andtea-caddy had swollen to enormous dimensions and had become the basisof large generalisations. "I would rather, " he exclaimed, "becondemned to be led out and hung if I knew one human soul would loveme for a week beforehand and honour me afterwards, than live half acentury and be nothing to any living creature. " Presently, however, it occurred to him that, although in the abstract this might be trueyet at that particular moment he was a fool; and he made the best ofhis way to Drury Lane. He managed to find his way into the galleryjust as Kean came on the stage in the second scene of the first act. Far down below him, through the misty air, he thought he could seehis wife and the Major; but he was in an instant arrested by theplay. It was all new to him; the huge building, the thousands ofexcited, eager faces, the lights, and the scenery. He had notlistened, moreover, to a dozen sentences from the great actor beforehe had forgotten himself and was in Venice, absorbed in the fortunesof the Moor. What a blessing is this for which we have to thank theplaywright and his interpreters, to be able to step out of the dingy, dreary London streets, with all their wretched corrosive cares, andat least for three hours to be swayed by nobler passions. For threehours the little petty self, with all its mean surroundings, withdraws: we breathe a different atmosphere, we are jealous, glad, weep, laugh with Shakespeare's jealousy, gladness, tears, andlaughter! What priggishness, too, is that which objects toShakespeare on a stage because no acting can realise the ideal formedby solitary reading! Are we really sure of it? Are we really surethat Garrick or Kean or Siddons, with all their genius and study, fall short of a lazy dream in an arm-chair! Kean had not only athousand things to tell Zachariah--meanings in innumerable passageswhich had before been overlooked--but he gave the character ofOthello such vivid distinctness that it might almost be called acreation. He was exactly the kind of actor, moreover, to impresshim. He was great, grand, passionate, overwhelming with a likeemotion the apprentice and the critic. Everybody after listening toa play or reading a book uses it when he comes to himself again tofill his own pitcher, and the Cyprus tragedy lent itself to Zachariahas an illustration of his own Clerkenwell sorrows and as a gospel forthem, although his were so different from those of the Moor. Why didhe so easily suspect Desdemona? Is it not improbable that a man withany faith in woman, and such a woman, should proceed to murder onsuch evidence? If Othello had reflected for a moment, he would haveseen that everything might have been explained. Why did he notquestion, sift, examine, before taking such tremendous revenge?--andfor the moment the story seemed unnatural. But then he consideredagain that men and women, if they do not murder one another, doactually, in everyday life, for no reason whatever, come to wrongconclusions about each other; utterly and to the end of their linesmisconstrue and lose each other. Nay, it seems to be a kind ofluxury to them to believe that those who could and would love themare false to them. We make haste to doubt the divinest fidelity; wedrive the dagger into each other, and we smother the Desdemona whowould have been the light of life to us, not because of any deadlydifference or grievous injury, but because we idly and wilfullyreject. 

The tale, evermore is:

 "Of one whose hand, Like the base Indian, threw a pearl awayRicher than all his tribe. "

So said Zachariah to himself as he came out into Drury Lane andwalked eastwards. His wife and the Major were back before him. TheMajor did not wait but returned at once to Albany Street, leavingMrs. Coleman to sit up for her husband. He was not hurrying himself, and could not free himself from the crowd so easily as those who leftfrom below. The consequence was that he was a full half-hour behindher, and she was not particularly pleased at having been kept so longout of her bed. When she let him in all that she said was, "Oh, hereyou are at last, " and immediately retired. Strange to say, sheforgot all about family worship--never before omitted, however lateit might be. If she had taken the trouble to ask him whether he hadseen her message and the ticket so much might have been cleared up. Of course he, too, ought to have spoken to her; it was the naturalthing to do, and it was extraordinary that he did not. But he lether go; she knelt down by her bed, prayed her prayer to her God, andin five minutes was asleep. Zachariah ten minutes afterwards prayedhis prayer to HIS God, and lay down, but not to sleep. No sooner washis head on his pillow than the play was before his eyes, andOthello, Desdemona, and Iago moved and spoke again for hours. Thencame the thoughts with which he had left the theatre and therevulsion on reaching home. Burning with excitement at what was adiscovery to him, he had entered his house with even an enthusiasmfor his wife, and an impatient desire to try upon her the experimentwhich he thought would reveal so much to him and make him wealthy forever. But when she met him he was struck dumb. He was shut up againin his old prison, and what was so hopeful three hours before was allvanity. So he struggled through the short night, and, as soon as hecould, rose and went out. This was a frequent practice, and his wifewas not surprised when she woke to find he had gone. She was in thebest of spirits again, and when he returned, after offering him theusual morning greeting, she inquired at once in what part of thetheatre he was, and why he had not used the ticket. 

"We waited for you till the last moment; we should have been too lateif we had stayed an instant longer, and I made sure you would comedirectly. "

"Ticket--what ticket? I saw no ticket?"

"We left it on the mantelpiece, and there was a message with it. "

His face brightened, but he said nothing. A rush of blood rose tohis head; he moved towards her and kissed her. 

"What a wretch you must have thought me!" she said half laughingly, as she instantly smoothed her hair again, which he had ruffled. "Butwhat has become of the ticket?"

"Fell in the fire most likely; the window was open when I came in, and the draught blew the picture over the mantelpiece nearly off itshook. "

The breakfast was the happiest meal they had had for months. Zachariah did his best to overcome his natural indisposition to talk. Except when he was very much excited, he always found conversationwith his wife too difficult on any save the most commonplace topics, although he was eloquent enough in company which suited him. Shelistened to him, recalling with great pleasure the events of thepreceding evening. She was even affectionate--affectionate for her--and playfully patted his shoulder as he went out, warning him not tobe so late again. What was the cause of her gaiety? Was shethinking improperly of the Major? No. If she had gone withZachariah alone to the theatre would she have been so cheerful? No. Did she really think she loved her husband better? Yes. The humanheart, even the heart of Mrs. Coleman, is beyond our analysis. 

CHAPTER IV--A FRIEND OF THE PEOPLE

The Friends of the People continued their meetings, and Zachariahattended regularly, although, after about three months' experience, he began to doubt whether any advance was being made. The immediatesubject of discussion now was a projected meeting in Spitalfields, and each branch of the Society was to organise its own contingent. All this was perfectly harmless. There was a good deal of wild talkoccasionally; but it mostly came from Mr. Secretary, especially whenhe had had his beer. One evening he had taken more than enough, andwas decidedly staggering as he walked down Lamb's Conduit Streethomewards. Zachariah was at some distance, and in front of him, inclose converse, were his shoemaking friend, the Major, and a thirdman whom he could not recognise. The Secretary swayed himself acrossHolborn and into Chancery Lane, the others following. Presently theycame up to him, passed him, and turned off to the left, leaving himto continue his troubled voyage southwards. The night air, however, was a little too much for him, and when he got to Fleet Street he wasunder the necessity of supporting himself against a wall. He becamemore and more seditious as he became more and more muddled, so thatat last he attracted the attention of a constable who laid hold ofhim and locked him up for the night. In the morning he was very muchsurprised to find himself in a cell, feeling very miserable, chargedwith being drunk and disorderly, and, what was ten times worse, withuttering blasphemy against the Prince Regent. It may as well bementioned here that the greatest precautions had been taken toprevent any knowledge by the authorities of the proceedings of theFriends of the People. The Habeas Corpus Act was not yet suspended, but the times were exceedingly dangerous. The Friends, therefore, never left in a body nor by the same door. Watch was always keptwith the utmost strictness, not only on the stairs, but from a windowwhich commanded the street. No written summons was ever sent toattend any meeting, ordinary or extraordinary. Mr. Secretary, therefore, was much disconcerted when he found that his pockets wereemptied of all his official documents. He languished in his celltill about twelve o'clock, very sick and very anxious, when he wasput into a cab, and, to his great surprise, instead of being taken toa police court, was carried to Whitehall. There he was introduced toan elderly gentleman, who sat at the head of a long table coveredwith green cloth. A younger man, apparently a clerk, sat at asmaller table by the fire and wrote, seeming to take no noticewhatever of what was going on. Mr. Secretary expected to hearsomething about transportation, and to be denounced as an enemy ofthe human race; but he was pleasantly disappointed. 

"Sorry to see a respectable person like you in such a position. "

Mr. Secretary wondered how the gentleman knew he was respectable; butwas silent. He was not now in an eloquent or seditious humour. 

"You may imagine that we know you, or we should not have taken thetrouble to bring you here. We should merely have had you committedfor trial. "

The Secretary thought of his empty pockets. In truth it was theMajor who had emptied them before he crossed Holborn; but of coursehe suspected the constable. 

"You must be aware that you have exposed yourself to heavy penalties. I prefer, however, to think of you as a well-meaning but misguidedperson. What good do you think you can do? I can assure you thatthe Government are fully aware of the distress which prevails, andwill do all they can to alleviate it. If you have any grievances, why not seek their redress by legitimate and constitutional means?"

The Secretary was flattered. He had never been brought face to facewith one of the governing classes before. He looked round;everything was so quiet, so pacific; there were no fetters northumbscrews; the sun was lighting up the park; children were playingin it, and the necessity for a revolution was not on that particularspot quite apparent. 

A messenger now entered carrying some sandwiches and a littledecanter of wine on a tray, covered with the whitest of cloths. 

"It struck me, " continued the official, taking a sandwich and pouringout a glass of wine, "when I heard of your arrest, that I should likemyself to have a talk with you. We really are most loth to proceedto extremities. And you have, I understand, a wife and children. Ineed not tell you what we could do with you if we liked. Now, justconsider, my friend. I don't want you to give up one singleprinciple; but is it worth your while to be sent to jail and to haveyour home broken up merely because you want to achieve your object inthe wrong way, and in a foolish way? Keep your principles; we do notobject; but don't go out into the road with them. And you, as anintelligent man, must see that you will not get what you desire byviolence as soon as you will by lawful methods. Is the differencebetween us worth such a price as you will have to pay?"

The Secretary hesitated; he could not speak; he was very faint andnervous. 

"Ah, you've had nothing to eat, I dare say. "

The bell was rung, and was answered immediately. 

"Bring some bread and cheese and beer. "

The bread and cheese and beer were brought. 

"Sit down there and have something; I will go on with my work, and wewill finish our talk afterwards. "

The Secretary could not eat much bread and cheese, but he drank thebeer greedily. 

When he had finished the clerk left the room. The Commissioner--forhe was one of the Commissioners of His Majesty's Treasury--followedhim to the door, closed it, not without satisfying himself that theconstable was at his post outside, returned to his seat, opened hisdrawer, saw that a pistol and five guineas were there, and thenbegan:

"Now, look here, my dear sir, let me speak plainly with you and cometo an understanding. We have made inquiries about you; we believeyou to be a good sort of fellow, and we are not going to prosecuteyou. We do hope, however, that, should you hear anything which is--well--really treasonable, you will let us know. Treason, I am sure, is as dreadful to you as it is to me. The Government, as I saidbefore, are most desirous of helping those who really deserve it; andto prove this, as I understand you are out of work, just accept thatlittle trifle. "

The guineas were handed to Mr. Secretary, who looked at themdoubtfully. With the beer his conscience had returned, and he brokeout:

"If you want me to be a d---d spy, d---d if I do!" The Commissionerwas not in the least disconcerted. "Spy, my man!--who mentioned theword? The money was offered because you haven't got a sixpence. Haven't I told you you are not required to give up a singleprinciple? Have I asked you to denounce a single companion? All Ihave requested you to do, as an honest citizen, is to give me a hintif you hear of anything which would be as perilous to you as to me. "

The Secretary after his brief explosion felt flaccid. He was subjectto violent oscillations, and he looked at the five guineas again. Hewas very weak--weak naturally, and weaker through a long course ofalcohol. He was, therefore, prone to obscure, crooked, sillydevices, at any rate when he was sober. Half drunk he was very bold;but when he had no liquor inside him he could NOT do what wasstraight. He had not strength sufficient, if two courses were open, to cast aside the one for which there were the fewer and lessconclusive reasons, and to take the proper path, as if no other werebefore him. A sane, strong person is not the prey of reasons: aperson like Mr. Secretary can never free himself from them, and afterhe has arrived at some kind of determination is still uncertain andharks back. With the roar of the flames of the Cities of the Plainin his ears, he stops, and is half afraid that it was his duty afterall to stay and try and put them out. The Secretary, therefore, pondered again. The money was given on no condition that was worthanything. For aught he knew, the Commissioner had his books andpapers already. He could take the guineas and be just as free as hewas before. He could even give a part of it to the funds of theFriends. There obtruded, moreover, visions of Newgate, and his handsslowly crept to the coins. 

"I am a Radical, sir, and I don't mind who knows it. "

"Nothing penal in that. Every man has a right to his own politicalcreed. "

The fingers crept closer and touched the gold. 

"If I thought you wanted to bribe me, I'd rot before I had anythingto do with you. "

The Commissioner smiled. There was no necessity to say anythingmore, for the guineas were disappearing and finally, though slowly, chinked down into Mr. Secretary's pocket. 

The Commissioner held out his hand. 

The Secretary before he took it looked loftier than ever. 

"I hope you understand me, sir, clearly. "

"I DO understand you clearly. "

The Secretary shook the hand; the Commissioner went with him to thedoor. 

"Show this gentleman downstairs. "

The constable, without a look of surprise, went downstairs, and Mr. Secretary found himself in the street. 

Mr. Commissioner drank another glass of wine, and then pencilledsomething in a little memorandum book, which he put under the pistol. The drawer had two locks, and he carefully locked both with twolittle keys attached to a ribbon which he wore round his neck. 

CHAPTER V--THE HORIZON WIDENS

Jean Caillaud, shoemaker, whom we have met before, commonly calledJohn Kaylow, friend of the Major and member of the Society of theFriends of the People, was by birth a Frenchman. He had originallycome to this country in 1795, bringing with him a daughter, Pauline, about four or five years old. Why he came nobody knew, nor didanybody know who was the mother of the child. He soon obtainedplenty of employment, for he was an admirable workman, and learned tospeak English well. Pauline naturally spoke both English and French. Her education was accomplished with some difficulty, though it wasnot such a task as it might have been, because Jean's occupation kepthim at home; his house being in one of the streets in thatcomplication of little alleys and thoroughfares to most Londonersutterly unknown; within the sound of St. Bride's nevertheless, andlying about a hundred yards north of Fleet Street. If the explorergoes up a court nearly opposite Bouverie Street, he will emerge froma covered ditch into one that is opened, about six feet wide. Presently the ditch ends in another and wider ditch running east andwest. The western one turns northward, and then westward again, roofs itself over, squeezes itself till it becomes little less than arectangular pipe, and finally discharges itself under an oil andcolourman's house in Fetter Lane. The eastern arm, strange to say, suddenly expands, and one side of it, for no earthly reason, is setback with an open space in front of it, partitioned by low palings. Immediately beyond, as if in a fit of sudden contrition for suchextravagance, the passage or gutter contracts itself to its verynarrowest and, diving under a printing-office shows itself in ShoeLane. The houses in these trenches were not by any means of theworst kind. In the aforesaid expansion they were even genteel, or atany rate aspired to be so, and each had its own brass knocker andkept its front-door shut with decent sobriety and reticence. On thetop floor of one of these tenements lodged Jean Caillaud and Pauline. They had three rooms between them; one was Jean's bedchamber, onePauline's, and one was workroom and living-room, where Jean madeball-slippers and light goods--this being his branch of the trade--and Pauline helped him. The workroom faced the north, and wasexactly on a level with an innumerable multitude of red chimney-potspouring forth stinking smoke which, for the six winter months, generally darkened the air during the whole day. But occasionallyNature resumed her rights, and it was possible to feel that sky, stars, sun, and moon still existed, and were not blotted out by theobscurations of what is called civilised life. There came, occasionally, wild nights in October or November, with a gale fromthe south-west and then, when almost everybody had gone to bed andthe fires were out, the clouds, illuminated by the moon, rushedacross the heavens, and the Great Bear hung over the dismal waste ofsmutty tiles with the same solemnity with which it hangs over themountains, the sea, or the desert. Early in the morning, too, insummer, between three and four o'clock in June, there were sights tobe seen worth seeing. The distance was clear for miles, and theheights of Highgate were visible, proclaiming the gospel of a beyondand beyond even to Kent's Court, and that its immediate surroundingswere mercifully not infinite. The light made even the nearest bit ofsoot-grimed, twisted, rotten brickwork beautiful, and occasionally, but at very rare intervals, the odour of London was vanquished, and agenuine breath from the Brixton fields was able to find its wayuncontaminated across the river. Jean and Pauline were, on thewhole, fond of the court. They often thought they would prefer thecountry, and talked about it; but it is very much to be doubted, ifthey had been placed in Devonshire, whether they would not haveturned back uneasily after a time to their garret. They both likedthe excitement of the city, and the feeling that they were so near toeverything that was stirring in men's minds. The long stretch oflonely sea-shore is all very well, very beautiful, and, maybe, veryinstructive to many people; but to most persons half-an-hour'srational conversation is much more profitable. Pauline was not aparticularly beautiful girl. Her hair was black, and, although therewas a great deal of it, it was coarse and untidy. Her complexion wassallow--not as clear as it might be--and underneath the cheek-bonesthere were slight depressions. She had grown up without anattachment, so far as her father knew, and indeed so far as she knew. She had one redeeming virtue--redeeming especially to Jean, who waswith her alone so much. She had an intellect, and it was one whichsought for constant expression; consequently she was never dull. Ifshe was dull, she was ill. She had none of that horrible mentalconstriction which makes some English women so insupportably tedious. The last thing she read, the last thing she thought, came out withvivacity and force, and she did not need the stimulus of a greatexcitement to reveal what was in her. Living as she did at work sideby side with her father all day, she knew all his thoughts and readall his books. Neither of them ever went to church. They were notatheists, nor had they entirely pushed aside the religious questionswhich torment men's minds. They believed in what they called aSupreme Being, whom they thought to be just and good; but they wentno further. They were revolutionary, and when Jean joined theFriends of the People, he and the Major and one other man became akind of interior secret committee, which really directed the affairsof the branch. Companions they had none, except the Major and one ortwo compatriots; but they were drawn to Zachariah, and Zachariah wasdrawn to them, very soon after he became a member of the Society. The first time he went to Kent's Court with Jean was one night aftera meeting. The two walked home together, and Zachariah turned in foran hour, as it was but ten o'clock. There had been a grandthanksgiving at St. Paul's that day. The Prince Regent had returnedthanks to Almighty God for the restoration of peace. The Houses ofParliament were there, with the Foreign Ambassadors, the CityCorporation, the Duke of Wellington, Field-Marshal Blucher, peeresses, and society generally. The Royal Dukes, Sussex, Kent, York, and Gloucester, were each drawn by six horses and escorted by aseparate party of the Guards. It took eight horses to drag thePrince himself to divine service, and he, too, was encompassed bysoldiers. Arrived at the cathedral, he was marshalled to a kind ofpew surmounted by a lofty crimson-and-gold canopy. There he satalone, worshipped his Creator, and listened to a sermon by the Bishopof Chester. Neither Jean nor Pauline troubled themselves to go out, and indeed it would not have been of much use if they had tried; forit was by no means certain that Almighty God, who had been so kind asto get rid of Napoleon, would not permit a row in the streets. Consequently, every avenue which led to the line of the processionwas strictly blocked. They heard the music from a distance, andalthough they both hated Bonaparte, it had not a pleasant sound intheir ears. It was the sound of triumph over Frenchmen, and, furthermore, with all their dislike to the tyrant, they were proud ofhis genius. 

Walking towards Clerkenwell that evening, the streets being clear, save for a number of drunken men and women, who were testifying tothe orthodoxy of their religious and political faith by rolling aboutthe kennel in various stages of intoxication, Jean pressed Zachariahto go upstairs with him. Pauline had prepared supper for herself andher father, and a very frugal meal it was, for neither of them coulddrink beer nor spirits, and they could not afford wine. Pauline andZachariah were duly introduced, and Zachariah looked around him. Theroom was not dirty, but it was extremely unlike his own. Shoe-makingimplements and unfinished jobs lay here and there without being "putaway. " An old sofa served as a seat, and on it were a pair of lasts, a bit of a French newspaper, and a plateful of small onions andlettuce, which could not find a place on the little table. Zachariah, upstairs in Rosoman Street, had often felt just as if hewere in his Sunday clothes and new boots. He never could make outwhat was the reason for it. There are some houses in which we arealways uncomfortable. Our freedom is fettered, and we can no moretake our ease in them than in a glass and china shop. We breathewith a sense of oppression, and the surroundings are like repellantchevaux de frise. Zachariah had no such feelings here. There wasdisorder, it is true; but, on the other hand, there was no polishedtea-caddy to stare at him and claim equal rights against him, defyinghim to disturb it. He was asked to sit upon the sofa, and in sodoing upset the plateful of salad upon the floor. Pauline smiled, was down upon her knees in an instant, before he could prevent her, picked up the vegetables and put them back again. To tell the truth, they were rather dirty; and she, therefore, washed them in a hand-basin. Zachariah asked her if she had been out that day. 

"I?--to go with the Lord Mayor and bless the good God for giving usback Louis Bourbon? No Mr. Coleman; if the good God did give usLouis back again, I wouldn't bless Him for it, and I don't think Hehad much to do with it. So there were two reasons why I didn't go. "

Zachariah was a little puzzled, a little shocked, and a little out ofhis element. 

"I thought you might have gone to see the procession and hear themusic. "

"I hate processions. Whenever I see one, and am squeezed andtrampled on just because those fine people may ride by, I amhumiliated and miserable. As for the music, I hate that too. It isall alike, and might as well be done by machinery. Come, you areeating nothing. What conspiracy have you and my father hatched to-night?"

"Conspiracy!" said Jean. "Who are the conspirators? Not we. Theconspirators are those thieves who have been to St. Paul's. "

"To give thanks, " said Pauline. "If I were up there in the sky, shouldn't I laugh at them. How comical it is! Did they give thanksfor Austerlitz or Jena?"

"That's about the worst of it, " replied Jean. "It is one vast plotto make the people believe lies. I shouldn't so much mind theirrobbing the country of its money to keep themselves comfortable, butwhat is the meaning of their Te Deums? I tell you again, "--and herepeated the words with much emphasis--"it is a vast plot to make menbelieve a lie. I abhor them for that ten times more than for takingmy money to replace Louis. "

"Oh, " resumed Pauline, "IF I were only up in the sky for an hour, Iwould have thundered and lightened on them just as they got to thetop of Ludgate Hill, and scattered a score or so of them. I wonderif they would have thanked Providence for their escape? O father, such a joke! The Major told me the other day of an old gentleman heknew who was riding along in his carriage. A fireball fell andkilled the coachman. The old gentleman, talking about it afterwards, said that "PROVIDENTIALLY it struck the box-seat. "

Zachariah, although a firm believer in his faith, and not a coward, was tempted to be silent. He was heavy and slow in action, and thiskind of company was strange to him. Furthermore, Pauline was not anopen enemy, and notwithstanding her little blasphemies, she wasattractive. But then he remembered with shame that he was ordered totestify to the truth wherever he might be, and unable to findanything of his own by which he could express himself, a text of theBible came into his mind, and, half to himself, he repeated it aloud:

"I form the light and create darkness: I make peace and create evil;I the Lord do all these things. "

"What is that?" said Jean. "Repeat it. "

Zachariah slowly repeated it. He had intended to add to it somethingwhich might satisfy his conscience and rebuke Pauline, but he couldnot. 

"Whence is that?" said Jean. 

"From the Bible; give me one and I will show it to you. "

There was no English Bible in the house. It was a book not muchused; but Pauline presently produced a French version, and Jean readthe passage--"Qui forme la lumiere, et qui cree les tenebres; quifait la paix, et qui cree l'adversite; c'est moi, l'Eternel, qui faistoutes les choses la. "

Pauline bent over her father and read it again. 

"Qui cree l'adversite, " she said. "Do you believe that?"

"If it is there I do, " said Zachariah. 

"Well, I don't. "

"What's adversity to hell fire? If He made hell-fire, why notadversity? Besides, if He did not, who did?"

"Don't know a bit, and don't mean to bother myself about it. "

"Right!" broke in Jean--"right, my child; bother--that is a goodword. Don't bother yourself about anything when--bothering will notbenefit. There is so much in the world which will--bear abotheration out of which some profit will arise. Now, then, clearthe room, and let Zachariah see your art. "

The plates and dishes were all put in a heap and the table pushedaside. Pauline retired for a few moments, and presently came back ina short dress of black velvet, which reached about half-way down fromthe knee to the ankle. It was trimmed with red; she had stuck a redartificial flower in her hair, and had on a pair of red stockingswith dancing slippers, probably of her own make. Over her shoulderswas a light gauzy shawl. Her father took his station in a corner, and motioned to Zachariah to compress himself into another. By dintof some little management and piling up the chairs an unoccupiedspace of about twelve feet square was obtained. Pauline begandancing, her father accompanying her with an oboe. It was a verycurious performance. It was nothing like ordinary opera-dancing, andequally unlike any movement ever seen at a ball. It was a series ofgraceful evolutions with the shawl which was flung, now on oneshoulder and now on the other, each movement exquisitely resolvingitself, with the most perfect ease, into the one following, anddesigned apparently to show the capacity of a beautiful figure forpoetic expression. Wave fell into wave along every line of her body, and occasionally a posture was arrested, to pass away in an instantinto some new combination. There was no definite character in thedance beyond mere beauty. It was melody for melody's sake. Aremarkable change, too, came over the face of the performer. Shelooked serious; but it was not a seriousness produced by any strain. It was rather the calm which is found on the face of the statue of agoddess. In none of her attitudes was there a trace ofcoquettishness, although some were most attractive. One inparticular was so. She held a corner of the shawl high above herwith her right hand, and her right foot was advanced so as to showher whole frame extended excepting the neck; the head being bentdownward and sideways. 

Suddenly Jean ceased; Pauline threw the shawl over both hershoulders, made a profound curtsey, and retired; but in five minutesshe was back again in her ordinary clothes. Zachariah was in soreconfusion. He had never seen anything of the kind before. 

He had been brought up in a school which would have considered suchan exhibition as the work of the devil. He was distressed too tofind that the old Adam was still so strong within him that hedetected a secret pleasure in what he had seen. He would have likedto have got up and denounced Jean and Pauline, but somehow he couldnot. His great great grandfather would have done it, beyond a doubt, but Zachariah sat still. 

"Did you ever perform in public?" he asked. 

"No. I was taught when I was very young; but I have never dancedexcept to please father and his friends. "

This was a relief, and some kind of an excuse. He felt not quitesuch a reprobate; but again he reflected that when he was looking ather he did not know that she was not in a theatre every night in theweek. He expected that Jean would offer some further explanation ofthe unusual accomplishment which his daughter had acquired; but hewas silent, and Zachariah rose to depart, for it was eleven o'clock. Jean apparently was a little restless at the absence of approval onZachariah's part, and at last he said abruptly:

"What do you think of her?"

Zachariah hesitated, and Pauline came to the rescue. "Father, what ashame! Don't put him in such an awkward position. "

"It was very wonderful, " stammered Zachariah, "but we are not used tothat kind of thing. "

"Who are the 'we'?" said Pauline. "Ah, of course you are Puritans. I am a--what do you call it?--a daughter, no, that isn't it--a childof the devil. I won't have that though. My father isn't the devil. Even YOU wouldn't say that, Mr. Coleman. Ah, I have no business tojoke, you look so solemn; you think my tricks are satanic; but whatwas it in your book, 'C'est moi, l'Eternel, qui fais toutes leschoses la'?" and as Zachariah advanced to the doors he made him a bowwith a grace which no lady of quality could have surpassed. 

He walked home with many unusual thoughts. It was the first time hehad ever been in the company of a woman of any liveliness oftemperament, and with an intellect which was on equal terms with thatof a man. In his own Calvinistic Dissenting society the pious womenwho were members of the church took little or no interest in themental life of their husband. They read no books, knew nothing ofpolitics, were astonishingly ignorant, and lived in their householdduties. To be with a woman who could stand up against him was a newexperience. Here was a girl to whom every thought her fatherpossessed was familiar!

But there was another experience. From his youth upwards he had beentrained with every weapon in the chapel armoury, and yet he now foundhimself as powerless as the merest novice to prevent the very sinfuloccupation of dwelling upon every attitude of Pauline, and outliningevery one of her limbs. Do what he might, her image was for everbefore his eyes, and reconstructed itself after every attempt toabolish it, just as a reflected image in a pool slowly but inevitablygathers itself together again after each disturbance of the water. When he got home, he found, to his surprise, that his wife was stillsitting up. She had been to the weekly prayer-meeting, and was notin a very pleasant temper. She was not spiteful, but unusuallyfrigid. She felt herself to be better than her husband, and sheasked him if he could not arrange in future that his politicalmeetings might not interfere with his religious duties. 

"Your absence, too, was noticed, and Mrs. Carver asked me how it wasthat Mr. Coleman could let me go home alone. She offered to tell Mr. Carver to come home with me; but I refused. "

Delightfully generous of Mrs. Carver! That was the sort of kindnessfor which she and many of her Pike Street friends were sodistinguished; and Mrs. Coleman not only felt it deeply, but was gladof the opportunity of letting Mr. Coleman know how good the Carverswere. 

It was late, but Mrs. Coleman produced the Bible. Zachariah openedit rather mechanically. They were going regularly through it atfamily worship, and had got into Numbers. The portion for thatevening was part of the 26th chapter: "And these are they that werenumbered of the Levites after their families: of Gershon, the familyof the Gershonites: of Kohath, the family of the Kohathites: ofMerari, the family of the Merarites, " &c. , &c. Zachariah, havingread about a dozen verses, knelt down and prayed; but, alas, even inhis prayer he saw Pauline's red stockings. 

The next morning his wife was more pleasant, and even talkative--talkative, that is to say, for her. Something had struck her. 

"My dear, " quoth she, as they sat at breakfast, "what a pity it isthat the Major is not a converted character!"

Zachariah could not but think so too. 

"I have been wondering if we could get him to attend our chapel. Whoknows?--some word might go to his heart which might be as the seedsown on good ground. "

"Have you tried to convert him yourself?"

"Oh no, Zachariah! I don't think that would be quite proper. "

She screwed up her lips a little, and then, looking down at her kneesvery demurely, smoothed her apron. 

"Why not, my dear? Surely it is our duty to testify to the beliefthat is in us. Poor Christiana, left alone, says, as you willremember, 'O neighbour, knew you but as much as I do, I doubt not butthat you would go with me. '"

"Ah, yes, that was all very well then. " She again smoothed herapron. "Besides, you know, " she added suddenly, "there were nopublic means of grace in the City of Destruction. Have YOU saidanything to the Major?"

"No. "

She did not push her advantage, and the unpleasant fact again stoodbefore Zachariah's eyes, as it had stood a hundred times before themlately, that when he had been with sinners he had been just what theywere, barring the use of profane language. What had he done for hismaster with the Major, with Jean, and with Pauline?--and the awfulfigure of the Crucified seemed to rise before him and rebuke him. Hewas wretched: he had resolved over and over again to break outagainst those who belonged to the world, to abjure them and all theirworks. Somehow or other, though, he had not done it. 

"Suppose, " said Mrs. Zachariah, "we were to ask the Major here onSunday afternoon to tea, and to chapel afterwards. "

"Certainly. " He was rather pleased with the proposition. He wouldbe able to bear witness in this way at any rate to the truth. 

"Perhaps we might at the same time ask Jean Caillaud, his friend. Would to God"--his wife started--"would to God, " he exclaimedfervently, "that these men could be brought into the Church ofChrist!"

"To be sure. Ask Mr. Caillaud, then, too. "

"If we do, we must ask his daughter also; he would not go out withouther. "

"I was not aware he had a daughter. You never told me anything abouther. "

"I never saw her till the other evening. "

"I don't know anything of her. She is a foreigner too. I hope sheis a respectable young person. "

"I know very little; but she is more English than foreign. Jean hasbeen here a good many years, and she came over when she was quiteyoung. I think she must come. "

"Very well. " And so it was settled. 

Zachariah that night vowed to his Redeemer that, come what might, hewould never again give Him occasion to look at him with averted faceand ask if he was ashamed of Him. The text ran in his ears:"Whosoever therefore shall be ashamed of me and of My words in thisadulterous and sinful generation, of him also shall the Son of man beashamed, when He cometh in the glory of His Father with the holyangels. "

CHAPTER VI--TEA A LA MODE

Sunday afternoon came. It was the strangest party. Pauline, onbeing introduced to Mrs. Coleman, made a profound curtsey, which Mrs. Coleman returned by an inclination of her head, as if she consentedto recognise Pauline, but to go no further. Tea was served early, aschapel began at half-past six. Mrs. Coleman, although it was Sunday, was very busy. She had made hot buttered toast, and she had boughtsome muffins, but had appeased her conscience by telling the boy thatshe would not pay for them till Monday. The milk was always obtainedon the same terms. She also purchased some water-cresses; but thewater-cress man demanded prompt cash settlement, and she was in astrait. At last the desire for the water-cresses prevailed, and shesaid:

"How much?"

"Three-halfpence. "

"Now, mind I give you twopence for yourself--mind I give it you. Ido not approve of buying and selling on Sunday. We will settle aboutthe other ha'porth another time. "

"All right, ma'am; if you like it that way, it's no odds to me;" andMrs. Coleman went her way upstairs really believing that she hadprevented the commission of a crime. 

Let those of us cast the stone who can take oath that in their ownmorality there is no casuistry. Probably ours is worse than hers, because hers was traditional and ours is self-manufactured. 

Everything being at last in order, Mrs. Coleman, looking rather warm, but still very neat and very charming, sat at the head of the table, with her back to the fireplace; the Major was on her right, Jean onher left, Pauline next to him, and opposite to her Zachariah. Zachariah and his wife believed in asking a blessing on their food;but, curiously enough, in 1814, even amongst the strictest sort, ithad come to be the custom not to ask it at breakfast or tea, but onlyat dinner; although breakfast and tea in those days certainly neededa blessing as much as dinner, for they were substantial meals. Anexception was made in favour of public tea-meetings. At a publictea-meeting a blessing was always asked and a hymn was always sung. 

For some time nothing remarkable was said. The weather was very hot, and Mrs. Coleman complained. It had been necessary to keep up a firefor the sake of the kettle. The Major promptly responded to herconfession of faintness by opening the window wider, by getting ashawl to put over the back of her chair; and these little attentionsshe rewarded by smiles and particular watchfulness over his plate andcup. At last he and Jean fell to talking about the jubilee which wasto take place on the first of the next month to celebrate thecentenary of the "accession of the illustrious family of Brunswick tothe throne"--so ran the public notice. There was to be a granddisplay in the parks, a sham naval action on the Serpentine, and aballoon ascent. 

"Are you going, Caillaud?" said the Major. "It will be a holiday. "

"We, " cried Pauline--"we! I should think not. WE go to rejoice overyour House of Brunswick; and it is to be the anniversary of yourbattle of the Nile too! WE go! No, no. "

"What's your objection to the House of Brunswick? And as for thebattle of the Nile, you are no friend to Napoleon. " So replied theMajor, who always took a pleasure in exciting Pauline. 

"The House of Brunswick! Why should we thank God for them; thank Godfor the stupidest race that ever sat upon a throne; thank God forstupidity--and in a king, Major? God, the Maker of the sun andstars--to call upon the nation to bless Him for your Prince Regent. As for the Nile, I am, as you say, no friend to Napoleon, but I amFrench. It is horrible to me to think--I saw him the other day--thatyour Brunswick Prince is in London and Napoleon is in Elba. "

"God, after all, " said the Major, laughing, "is not so hostile tostupidity, then; as you suppose. "

"Ah! don't plague me, Major; that's what you are always trying to do. I'm not going to thank the Supreme for the Brunswicks. I don'tbelieve He wanted them here. "

Pauline's religion was full of the most lamentable inconsistencies, which the Major was very fond of exposing, but without much effect, and her faith was restored after every assault with wonderfulcelerity. By way of excuse for her we may be permitted to say that aperfectly consistent, unassailable creed, in which conclusion followsfrom premiss in unimpeachable order, is impossible. We cannotconstruct such a creed about any man or woman we know, and least ofall about the universe. We acknowledge opposites which we have nopower to bring together; and Pauline, although she knew nothing ofphilosophy, may not have been completely wrong with her Supreme whohated the Brunswicks and nevertheless sanctioned Carlton House. 

Pauline surprised Mrs. Zachariah considerably. A woman, and moreparticularly a young woman, even supposing her to be quite orthodox, who behaved in that style amongst the members of Pike Street, wouldhave been like a wild seagull in a farmyard of peaceful, clucking, brown-speckled fowls. All the chapel maidens and matrons, of course, were serious; but their seriousness was decent and in order. Mrs. Coleman was therefore scandalised, nervous, and dumb. Jean, as hismanner was when his daughter expressed herself strongly, was alsosilent. His love for her was a consuming, hungry fire. It utterlyextinguished all trace, not merely of selfishness, but of self, inhim, and he was perfectly content, when Pauline spoke well, to remainquiet, and not allow a word of his to disturb the effect which hethought she ought to produce. 

The Major, as a man of the world, thought the conversation wasbecoming a little too metaphysical, and asked Mrs. Coleman gaily ifshe would like to see the fete. 

"Really, I hardly know what to say. I suppose"--and this was saidwith a peculiar acidity--"there is nothing wrong in it? Zachariah, my dear, would you like to go?"

Zachariah did not reply. His thoughts were elsewhere. But at lastthe spirit moved in him:

"Miss Pauline, your Supreme Being won't help you very far. There isno light save in God's Holy Word. God hath concluded them all inunbelief that He might have mercy upon all. As by one man'sdisobedience many were made sinners, so by the obedience of One shallmany be made righteous. That is the explanation; that is the gospel. God allows all this wickedness that His own glory may be manifestedthereby, and His own love in sending Jesus Christ to save us: that, as sin hath reigned unto death, even so might grace reign throughrighteousness unto eternal life by Jesus Christ our Lord. Do you askme why does God wink at the crimes of kings and murderers? What ifGod, willing to show His wrath, and to make His power known, enduredwith much long-suffering the vessels of wrath fitted to destruction, and that He might make known the riches of His glory on the vesselsof mercy which He had afore prepared unto glory, even us whom He hadcalled? Miss Pauline, the mere light of human reason will never saveyou or give you peace. Unless you believe God's Word you are lost;lost here and hereafter; lost HERE even, for until you believe it youwander in a fog of ever deepening confusion. All is dark andinexplicable. "

Being very much excited, he used largely the words of St. Paul, andnot his own. How clear it all seemed to him, how indisputable!Childish association and years of unquestioning repetition gave anabsolute certainty to what was almost unmeaning to other people. 

Mrs. Zachariah, although she had expressed a strong desire for theMajor's conversion, and was the only other representative of thechapel present, was very fidgety and uncomfortable during thisspeech. She had an exquisite art, which she sometimes practised, ofdropping her husband, or rather bringing him down. So, when therewas a pause, everybody being moved at least by his earnestness, shesaid:

"My dear, will you take any more tea?"

He was looking on the table-cloth, with his head on his hands, anddid not answer. 

"Major Maitland, may I give you some more tea?"

"No, thank you. " The Major too was impressed--more impressed thanthe lady who sat next to him, and she felt rebuffed and annoyed. ToPauline, Zachariah had spoken Hebrew; but his passion was human, andher heart leapt out to meet him, although she knew not what answer tomake. Her father was in the same position; but the Major's case wasa little different. He had certainly at some time or other read theEpistle to the Romans, and some expressions were not entirelyunfamiliar to him. 

"'Vessels of wrath fitted to destruction!'--a strong and noblephrase. Who are your vessels of wrath, Coleman?"

Caillaud and Pauline saw a little light, but it was speedily eclipsedagain. 

"The unregenerate. "

"Who are they?"

"Those whom God has not called. "

"Castlereagh, Liverpool, Sidmouth, and the rest of the gang, forexample?"

Zachariah felt that the moment had come. 

"Yes, yes; but not only they. More than they. God help me if I denythe Cross of Christ--all of us into whose hearts God's grace has notbeen poured--we, you, all of us, if we have not been born of theSpirit and redeemed by the sacrifice of His Son. "

Zachariah put in the "us" and the "we, " it will be observed. It wasa concession to blunt the sharpness of that dreadful dividing-line. 

"We? Not yourself, Caillaud, and Pauline?"

He could not face the question. Something within him said that heought to have gone further; that he ought to have singled out theMajor, Caillaud, and Pauline; held them fast, looked straight intotheir eyes, and told them each one there and then that they were inthe bonds of iniquity, sold unto Satan, and in danger of hell-fire. But, alas! he was at least a century and a half too late. Hestruggled, wrestled, self against self, and failed, not through wantof courage, but because he wanted a deeper conviction. The systemwas still the same, even to its smallest details, but the applicationhad become difficult. The application, indeed, was a good deal leftto the sinner himself. That was the difference. Phrases had beeninvented or discovered which served to express modern hesitation tobring the accepted doctrine into actual, direct, week-day practice. It was in that way that it was gradually bled into impotence. One ofthese phrases came into his mind. It was from his favourite author:

"'Who art thou that judgest?' It is not for me, Major Maitland. "

Ah, but, Zachariah, do you not remember that Paul is not speaking ofthose who deny the Lord, but of the weak in faith; of differences ineating and drinking, and the observation of days? Whether heremembered it or not, he could say no more. Caillaud, the Major, Pauline, condemned to the everlasting consequences of the wrath ofthe Almighty! He could not pronounce such a sentence, and yet hisconscience whispered that just for want of the last nail in a sureplace what he had built would come tumbling to the ground. Duringthe conversation the time had stolen away, and, to their horror, Zachariah and his wife discovered that it was a quarter-past six. Hehastily informed his guests that he had hoped they would attend himto his chapel. Would they go? The Major consented. He had nothingparticular on hand, but Caillaud and Pauline refused. Zachariah wasparticularly urgent that these two should accompany him, but theywere steadfast, for all set religious performances were hateful tothem. 

"No, Coleman, no more; I know what it all means. "

"And I, " added Pauline, "cannot sit still with so many respectablepeople; I never could. I have been to church, and always feltimpelled to do something peculiar in it which would have made themturn me out. I cannot, too, endure preaching. I cannot toleratethat man up in the pulpit looking down over all the people--so wiseand so self-satisfied. I want to pull him out and say. 'Here, you, sir, come here and let me see if you can tell me two or three thingsI want to know. ' Then, Mr. Coleman, I am never well in a greatbuilding, especially in a church; I have such a weight upon my headas if the roof were resting on it. "

He looked mournfully at her, but there was no time to remonstrate. Mrs. Zachariah was ready, in her Sunday best of sober bluish cloud-colour. Although it was her Sunday best, there was not a singlethread of finery on it, and there was not a single crease nor spot. She bade Caillaud and Pauline good-bye with much cheerfulness, andtripped downstairs. The Major had preceded her, but Zachariahlingered for a moment with the other two. 

"Come, my dear, make haste, we shall be so late. "

"Go on with the Major; I shall catch you in a moment; I walk fasterthan you. I must close the window a trifle, and take two or three ofthe coals off the fire. "

Caillaud and Pauline lingered too. The three were infinitely nearerto one another than they knew. Zachariah thought he was so far, andyet he was so close. The man rose up behind the Calvinist, andreached out arms to touch and embrace his friends. 

"Good-bye, Caillaud; good-bye, Pauline! May God in His mercy blessand save you. God bless you!"

Caillaud looked steadfastly at him for a moment. And then, in hishalf-forgotten French fashion, threw his arms round his neck, and thetwo remained for a moment locked together, Pauline standing byherself apart. She came forward, took Zachariah's hand, when it wasfree, in both her own, held her head back a little, as if forclearness of survey, and said slowly, "God bless you, Mr. Coleman. "She then went downstairs. Her father followed her, and Zachariahwent after his wife and the Major, whom, however, he did not overtaketill he reached the chapel door, where they were both waiting forhim. 

CHAPTER VII--JEPHTHAH

The Reverend Thomas Bradshaw, of Pike Street Meeting-House, was not adescendant from Bradshaw the regicide, but claimed that he belongedto the same family. He was in 1814 about fifty years old, andminister of one of the most important churches in the eastern part ofLondon. He was tall and spare, and showed his height in the pulpit, for he always spoke without a note, and used a small Bible, which heheld close to his eyes. He was a good classical scholar, and heunderstood Hebrew, too, as well as few men in that day understood it. He had a commanding figure, ruled his church like a despot; had acrowded congregation, of which the larger portion was masculine; andbelieved in predestination and the final perseverance of the saints. He was rather unequal in his discourses, for he had a tendency tomoodiness, and, at times, even to hypochondria. When this temper wasupon him he was combative or melancholy; and sometimes, to thedisgust of many who came from all parts of London to listen to him, he did not preach in the proper sense of the word, but read achapter, made a comment or two upon it, caused a hymn to be sung, andthen dismissed his congregation with the briefest of prayers. Although he took no active part in politics, he was republicanthrough and through, and never hesitated for a moment in thosedegenerate days to say what he thought about any scandal. In thisrespect he differed from his fellow-ministers, who, under thepretence of increasing zeal for religion, had daily fewer and fewerpoints of contact with the world outside. Mr. Bradshaw had beenmarried when he was about thirty; but his wife died in giving birthto a daughter, who also died, --and for twenty years he had been awidower, with no thought of changing his condition. He wasunderstood to have peculiar opinions about second marriages, althoughhe kept them very much to himself. One thing, however, was known, that for a twelvemonth after the death of his wife he was away fromEngland, and that he came back an altered man to his people inBedfordshire, where at that time he was settled. His discourses wereremarkably strong, and of a kind seldom, or indeed never, heard now. They taxed the whole mental powers of his audience, and were utterlyunlike the simple stuff which became fashionable with theEvangelistic movement. Many of them, taken down by some of hishearers, survive in manuscript to the present day. They will not, asa rule, bear printing, because the assumption on which they rest isnot now assumed; but if it be granted, they are unanswerable; and itis curious that even now and then, although they are never for amoment anything else than a strict deduction from what we in thelatter half of the century consider unproven or even false, theyexpress themselves in the same terms as the newest philosophy. Occasionally too, more particularly when he sets himself the task ofgetting into the interior of a Bible character, he is intenselydramatic, and what are shadows to the careless reader become livinghuman beings, with the reddest of blood visible under their skin. 

On this particular evening Mr. Bradshaw took the story of Jephthah'sdaughter: --"The Spirit of the Lord came upon Jephthah. " Here is anabstract of his discourse. "It WAS the Spirit of the Lord, notwithstanding what happened. I beg you also to note that there isa mistranslation in our version. The Hebrew has it, 'Then it shallbe, that WHOSOEVER'--not WHATSOEVER--'cometh forth of the doors of myhouse to meet me, when I return in peace from the children of Ammon, shall surely be the Lord's, and I will offer HIM'--not IT--'up for aburnt-offering. ' Nevertheless I believe my text--it WAS the Spiritof the Lord. This Hebrew soldier was the son of a harlot. He wasdriven by his brethren out of his father's house. Ammon made warupon Israel, and in their distress the elders of Israel went to fetchJephthah. Mark, my friends, God's election. The children of thelawful wife are passed by, and the child of the harlot is chosen. Jephthah forgets his grievances and becomes captain of the host. Ammon is over against them. Jephthah's rash vow--this is sometimescalled. I say it is not a rash vow. It may be rash to those whohave never been brought to extremity by the children of Ammon--tothose who have not cared whether Ammon or Christ wins. Men and womensitting here in comfortable pews"--this was said with a kind ofsnarl--"may talk of Jephthah's rash vow. God be with them, what dothey know of the struggles of such a soul? It does not say sodirectly in the Bible, but we are led to infer it, that Jephthah wassuccessful because of his vow. 'The Lord delivered them into hishands. ' He would not have done it if He had been displeased with the'rash vow'" (another snarl). "He smote them from Aroer even tillthou come to Minnith. Ah, but what follows? The Omnipotent andOmniscient might have ordered it, surely, that a slave might have metJephthah. Why, in His mercy, did He not do it? Who are we that weshould question what He did? But if we may not inquire too closelyinto His designs, it is permitted us, my friends, when His reasonaccords with ours, to try and show it. Jephthah had played for agreat stake. Ought the Almighty--let us speak it with reverence--tohave let him off with an ox, or even with a serf? I say that if weare to conquer Ammon we must pay for it, and we ought to pay for it. Yes, and perhaps God wanted the girl--who can tell? Jephthah comesback in triumph. Let me read the passage to you: --'Behold hisdaughter came out to meet him with timbrels and with dances: AND SHEWAS HIS ONLY CHILD: BESIDE HER HE HAD NEITHER SON NOR DAUGHTER. Andit came to pass, when he saw her, that he rent his clothes, and said, Alas, my daughter! thou hast brought me very low, and thou art one ofthem that trouble me: for I have opened my mouth unto the Lord, andI cannot go back. ' Now, you read poetry, I dare say--what you callpoetry. I say in all of it--all, at least, I have seen--nothingcomes up to that. 'SHE WAS HIS ONLY CHILD: BESIDE HER HE HADNEITHER SON NOR DAUGHTER. '"--(Mr. Bradshaw's voice broke a little ashe went over the words again with great deliberation and infinitepathos. )--"The inspired writer leaves the fact just as it stands, andis content. Inspiration itself can do nothing to make it moretouching than it is in its own bare nakedness. There is no thoughtin Jephthah of recantation, nor in the maiden of revolt, butnevertheless he has his own sorrow. HE IS BROUGHT VERY LOW. Goddoes not rebuke him for his grief. He knows well enough, my dearfriends, the nature which He took upon Himself--nay, are we not thebreath of His nostrils, created in His image? He does not anywhere, therefore, I say, forbid that we should even break our hearts overthose we love and lose. She asks for two months by herself upon themountains before her death. What a time for him! At the end of thetwo months God held him still to his vow; he did not shrink; shesubmitted, and was slain. But you will want me to tell you inconclusion where the gospel is in all this. Gospel! I say that theblessed gospel is in the Old Testament as well as in the New. I saythat the Word of God is one, and that His message is here this nightfor you and me, as distinctly as it is at the end of the sacredvolume. Observe, as I have told you before, that Jephthah is the sonof the harlot. He hath mercy on whom He will have mercy. He callsthem His people who are not His people; and He calls her belovedwhich was not beloved. God at any rate is no stickler for hereditaryrights. Moreover, it does not follow because you, my hearers, haveGod-fearing parents, that God has elected you. He may have chosen, instead of you, instead of me, the wretchedest creature outside, whose rags we will not touch. But to what did God elect Jephthah?To a respectable, easy, decent existence, with money at interest, regular meals, sleep after them, and unbroken rest at night? Heelected him to that tremendous oath and that tremendous penalty. Heelected him to the agony he endured while she was away upon thehills! That is God's election; an election to the cross and to thecry, 'Eli, Eli, lama Sabachthani. ' 'Yes, ' you will say, 'but Heelected him to the victory over Ammon. ' Doubtless He did; but whatcared Jephthah for his victory over Ammon when she came to meet him, or, indeed, for the rest of his life? What is a victory, what aretriumphal arches and the praise of all creation to a lonely man? Besure, if God elects you, He elects you to suffering. Whom He lovethHe chasteneth, and His stripes are not play-work. Ammon will not beconquered unless your heart be well nigh broken. I tell you, too, asChrist's minister, that you are not to direct your course accordingto your own desires. You are not to say, -'I will give up this andthat so that I may be saved. ' Did not St. Paul wish himself accursedfrom Christ for his brethren? If God should command you to go downto the bottomless pit in fulfilment of His blessed designs, it isyour place to go. Out with self--I was about to say this damnedself; and if Israel calls, if Christ calls, take not a sheep or ox--that is easy enough--but take your choicest possession, take your ownheart, your own blood, your very self, to the altar. "

During the sermon the Major was much excited. Apart altogether fromthe effect of the actual words spoken, Mr: Bradshaw had a singularand contagious power over men. The three, Mrs. Coleman, the Major, and Zachariah, came out together. Mrs. Zachariah stayed behind inthe lobby for some female friend to whom she wished to speak about aSunday-school tea-meeting which was to take place that week. Theother two stood aside, ill at ease, amongst the crowd pressing outinto the street. Presently Mrs. Coleman found her friend, whom sheat once informed that Major Maitland and her husband were waiting forher, and that therefore she had not a moment to spare. That littletriumph accomplished, she had nothing of importance to say about thetea-meeting, and rejoined her party with great good-humour. Shewalked between the Major and Zachariah, and at once asked the Majorhow he "enjoyed the service. " The phrase was very unpleasant toZachariah, but he was silent. 

"Well, ma'am, " said the Major, "Mr. Bradshaw is a very remarkableman. It is a long time since any speaker stirred me as he did. Heis a born orator, if ever there was one. "

"I could have wished, " said Zachariah, "as you are not often inchapel, that his sermon had been founded on some passage in the NewTestament which would have given him the opportunity of more simplyexpounding the gospel of Christ. "

"He could not have been better, I should think. He went to my heart, though it is rather a difficult passage in the case of a man abouttown like me; and I tell you what, Coleman, he made me determine Iwould read the Bible again. What a story that is!"

"Major, I thank God if you will read it; and not for the stories init, save as all are part of one story--the story of God's redeemingmercy. "

The Major made no reply, for the word was unwinged. 

Mrs. Zachariah was silent, but when they came to their door both sheand her husband pressed him to come in. He refused, however; hewould stroll homeward, he said, and have a smoke as he went. 

"He touched me, Coleman, he did. I thought, between you and me"--andhe spoke softly--"I had not now got such a tender place; I thought itwas all healed over long ago. I cannot come in. You'll excuse me. Yes, I'll just wander back to Piccadilly. I could not talk. "

They parted, and Zachariah and his wife went upstairs. Their supperwas soon ready. 

"Jane, " he said slowly, "I did not receive much assistance from youin my endeavours to bring our friends to a knowledge of the truth. Ithought that, as you desired the attempt, you would have helped me alittle. "

"There is a reason for everything; and, what is more, I do notconsider it right to take upon myself what belongs to a minister. Itmay do more harm than good. "

"Take upon yourself what belongs to a minister! My dear Jane, isnobody but a minister to bear witness for the Master?"

"Of course I did not mean to say that; you know I did not. Why doyou catch at my words? Perhaps, if you had not been quite soforward, Mr. Caillaud and his daughter might have gone to chapel. "

After supper, and when he was alone, Zachariah sat for some timewithout moving. He presently rose and opened the Bible again, whichlay on the table--the Bible which belonged to his father--and turnedto the fly-leaf on which was written the family history. There wasthe record of his father's marriage, dated on the day of the event. There was the record of his own birth. There was the record of hismother's death, still in his father's writing, but in an alteredhand, the letters not so distinct, and the strokes crooked and formedwith difficulty. There was the record of Zachariah's own marriage. A cloud of shapeless, inarticulate sentiment obscured the man's eyesand brain. He could not define what he felt, but he did feel. Hecould not bear it, and he shut the book, opening it again at thetwenty-second Psalm--the one which the disciples of Jesus called tomind on the night of the crucifixion. It was one which Mr. Bradshawoften read, and Zachariah had noted in it a few corrections made inthe translation:

"My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me? Our fathers trusted inThee; they trusted, and Thou didst deliver them. . . . Be not farfrom me; for trouble is near; for there is none to help. . . . BeThou not far from me, O Lord: O my strength, haste Thee to help me.. . . Save me from the lion's mouth: and from the horns of the wildoxen Thou hast answered me. "

"From the horns of the wild oxen"--that correction had often beenprecious to Zachariah. When at the point of being pinned to theground--so he understood it--help had arisen; risen up from theearth, and might again arise. It was upon the first part of the texthe dwelt now. It came upon him with fearful distinctness that he wasalone--that he could never hope for sympathy from his wife as long ashe lived. Mr. Bradshaw's words that evening recurred to him. God'spurpose in choosing to smite Jephthah in that way was partlyintelligible, and, after all, Jephthah was elected to redeem hiscountry too. But what could be God's purpose in electing one of hisservants to indifference and absence of affection where he had aright to expect it? Could anybody be better for not being loved?Even Zachariah could not think it possible. But Mr. Bradshaw's wordsagain recurred. Who was he that he should question God's designs?It might be part of the Divine design that he, Zachariah Coleman, should not be made better by anything. It might be part of thatdesign, part of a fulfilment of a plan devised by the Infinite One, that he should be broken, nay, perhaps not saved. Mr. Bradshaw'sdoctrine that night was nothing new. Zachariah had believed from hischildhood, or had thought he believed, that the potter had power overthe clay--of the same lump to make one vessel unto honour and anotherunto dishonour; and that the thing formed unto dishonour could notreply and say to him that formed it: 'Why hast thou made me thus?'Nevertheless, to believe it generally was one thing; to believe it asa truth for him was another. Darkness, the darkness as of thecrucifixion night, seemed over and around him. Poor wretch! hethought he was struggling with his weakness; but he was in realitystruggling against his own strength. WHY had God so decreed? Dowhat he could, that fatal WHY, the protest of his reason, asserteditself; and yet he cursed himself for permitting it, believing it tobe a sin. He walked about his room for some relief. He looked outof the window. It was getting late; the sky was clearing, as it doesin London at that hour, and he saw the stars. There was nothing tohelp him there. They mocked him rather with their imperturbable, obstinate stillness. At last he turned round, fell upon his knees, and poured out himself before his Maker, entreating Him for light. He rose from the ground, looked again out of the window, and thefirst flush of the morning was just visible. Light was coming to theworld in obedience to the Divine command, but not to him. He wasexhausted, and crept into his bedroom, undressing without candle, andwithout a sound. For a few minutes he thought he should never sleepagain, save in his grave; but an unseen Hand presently touched him, and he knew nothing till he was awakened by the broad day streamingover him. 

CHAPTER VIII--UNCONVENTIONAL JUSTICE

In December, 1814, a steamboat was set in motion on the LimehouseCanal, the Lord Mayor and other distinguished persons being on board. In the same month Joanna Southcott died. She had announced that onthe 19th October she was to be delivered of the Prince of Peace, although she was then sixty years old. Thousands of persons believedher, and a cradle was made. The Prince of Peace did not arrive, andin a little more than two months poor Joanna had departed, the causeof her departure having being certified as dropsy. Death did notdiminish the number of her disciples, for they took refuge in thehope of her resurrection. "The arm of the Lord is not shortened, "they truly affirmed; and even to this day there are people who arewaiting for the fulfilment of Joanna's prophecies and the appearanceof the "second Shiloh. " Zachariah had been frequently twitted injoke by his profane companions in the printing-office upon hissupposed belief in the delusion. It was their delight to assume thatall the "pious ones, " as they called them, were alike; and on themorning of the 30th of December, the day after Joanna expired, theywere more than usually tormenting. Zachariah did not remonstrate. In his conscientious eagerness to bear witness for his Master, he hadoften tried his hand upon his mates; but he had never had thesmallest success, and had now desisted. Moreover, his thoughts werethat morning with his comrades, the Friends of the People. He hummedto himself the lines from Lara:

"Within that land was many a malcontent, Who cursed the tyranny to which he bent;That soil full many a wringing despot saw, Who worked his wantonness in form of law:Long war without and frequent broil withinHad made a path for blood and giant sin. "

The last meeting had been unusually exciting. Differences of opinionhad arisen as to future procedure, many of the members, the Secretaryincluded, advocating action; but what they understood by it is verydifficult to say. A special call had been made for that night, andZachariah was in a difficulty. His native sternness and detestationof kings and their ministers would have led him almost to any length;but he had a sober head on his shoulders. So had the Major, and sohad Caillaud. Consequently they held back, and insisted, beforestirring a step towards actual revolution, that there should be somefair chance of support and success. The Major in particular warnedthem of the necessity of drill; and plainly told them also that, notonly were the middle classes all against them, but their own classwas hostile. This was perfectly true, although it was a truth sounpleasant that he had to endure some very strong language, and evenhints of treason. No wonder: for it is undoubtedly very bitter tobe obliged to believe that the men whom we want to help do notthemselves wish to be helped. To work hard for those who will thankus, to head a majority against oppressors, is a brave thing; but farmore honour is due to the Maitlands, Caillauds, Colemans, and othersof that stamp who strove for thirty years from the outbreak of theFrench revolution onwards, not merely to rend the chains of theprisoners, but had to achieve the more difficult task of convincingthem that they would be happier if they were free. These heroes areforgotten, or nearly so. Who remembers the poor creatures who met inthe early mornings on the Lancashire moors or were shot by theyeomanry? They sleep in graves over which stands no tombstone, orprobably their bodies have been carted away to make room for arailway which has been driven through their resting-place. They sawthe truth before those whom the world delights to honour as itspolitical redeemers; but they have perished utterly from ourrecollection, and will never be mentioned in history. Will thereever be a great Day of Assize when a just judgment shall bepronounced; when all the impostors who have been crowned for whatthey did not deserve will be stripped, and the Divine word will beheard calling upon the faithful to inherit the kingdom, --who, when "Iwas an hungered gave me meat, when I was thirsty gave me drink; whenI was a stranger took me in; when I was naked visited me; when I wasin prison came unto me?" Never! It was a dream of an enthusiasticGalilean youth, and let us not desire that it may ever come true. Let us rather gladly consent to be crushed into indistinguishabledust, with no hope of record: rejoicing only if some infinitesimalportion of the good work may be achieved by our obliteration, andcontent to be remembered only in that anthem which in the future itwill be ordained shall be sung in our religious services in honour ofall holy apostles and martyrs who have left no name. 

The night before the special meeting a gentleman in a blue cloak, andwith a cigar in his mouth, sauntered past the entrance to Carter'sRents, where Mr. Secretary lived. It was getting late, but he wasevidently not in a hurry, and seemed to enjoy the coolness of theair, for presently he turned and walked past the entrance again. Hetook out his watch--it was a quarter to eleven o'clock--and he cursedMr. Secretary and the beer-shops which had probably detained him. Aconstable came by, but never showed himself in the least degreeinquisitive; although it was odd that anybody should select Carter'sRents for a stroll. Presently Mr. Secretary came in sight, a trifle, but not much, the worse for liquor. It was odd, also, that he tookno notice of the blue cloak and cigar, but went straight to his ownlodging. The other, after a few moments followed; and it was a thirdtime odd that he should find the door unbolted and go upstairs. Allthis, we say, would have been strange to a spectator, but it was notso to these three persons. Presently the one first named foundhimself in Mr. Secretary's somewhat squalid room. He then stooddisclosed as the assistant whom the Secretary had first seen atWhitehall sitting in the Commissioner's Office. This was not thesecond nor third interview which had taken place since then. 

"Well, Mr. Hardy, what do you want here to-night?"

"Well, my friend, you know, I suppose. How goes the game?"

"D---m me if I DO know. If you think I am going to split, you arevery much mistaken. "

"Split! Who wants you to split? Why, there's nothing to splitabout. I can tell you just as much as you can tell me. "

"Why do you come here then?"

"For the pleasure of seeing you, and to--" Mr. Hardy put his handcarelessly in his pocket, a movement which was followed by a metallicjingle--"and just to--to--explain one or two little matters. "

The Secretary observed that he was very tired. 

"Are you? I believe I am tired too. "

Mr. Hardy took out a little case-bottle with brandy in it, and theSecretary, without saying a word, produced two mugs and a jug ofwater. The brandy was mixed by Mr. Hardy; but his share of thespirit differed from that assigned to his friend. 

"Split!" he continued; "no, I should think not. But we want you tohelp us. The Major and one or two more had better be kept out ofharm's way for a little while; and we propose not to hurt them, butto take care of them a bit, you understand? And if, the next time, he and the others will be there--we have been looking for the Majorfor three or four days, but he is not to be found in his oldquarters--we will just give them a call. When will you have yournext meeting? They will be all handy then. "

"You can find that out without my help. It's to-morrow. "

"Ah! I suppose you've had a stormy discussion. I hope your moderatecounsels prevailed. "

Mr. Secretary winked and gave his head a twist on one side, as if hemeant thereby to say: "You don't catch me. "

"It's a pity, " continued Mr. Hardy, taking no notice, "that some menare always for rushing into extremities. Why don't they try andredress their grievances, if they have any, in the legitimate waywhich you yourself propose--by petition?"

It so happened that a couple of hours before, Mr. Secretary havingbeen somewhat noisy and insubordinate, the Major had been obliged torule him out of order and request his silence. The insult--for so heconsidered it--was rankling in him. 

"Because, " he replied, "we have amongst us two or three d---dconceited, stuck-up fools, who think they are going to ride over us. By God, they are mistaken though! They are the chaps who do all themischief. Not that I'd say anything against them--no, notwithstanding I stand up against them. "

"Do all the mischief--yes, you've just hit it. I do believe that ifit were not for these fellows the others would be quiet enough. "

The Secretary took a little more brandy and water. The sense ofwrong within him was like an open wound, and the brandy inflamed it. He also began to think that it would not be a bad thing for him if hecould seclude the Major, Caillaud, and Zachariah for a season. Zachariah in particular he mortally hated. 

"What some of these fine folks would like to do, you see, Mr. Hardy, is to persuade us poor devils to get up the row, while they DIRECTit. DIRECT it, that's their word; but we're not going to behumbugged. "

"Too wide awake, I should say. "

"I should say so too. We are to be told off for the Bank of England, and they are to show it to us at the other end of Cheapside. "

"Bank of England, " said Mr. Hardy, laughing; "that's a joke. Youmight run your heads a long while against that before you get in. You don't drink your brandy and water. "

The Secretary took another gulp. "And he's a military man--amilitary man--a military man. " He was getting rather stupid now, andrepeated the phrase each of the three times with increasingunsteadiness, but also with increasing contempt. 

Mr. Hardy took our his watch. It was getting on towards midnight. "Good-bye; glad to see you all right, " and he turned to leave. Therewas a jingling of coin again, and when he had left Mr. Secretary tookup the five sovereigns which had found their way to the table and putthem in his pocket. His visitor picked his way downstairs. Theconstable was still pacing up and down Carter's Rents, but again didnot seem to observe him, and he walked meditatively to Jermyn Street. He was at his office by half-past nine, and his chief was only half-an-hour later. 

The Major had thought it prudent to change his address; and, furthermore, it was the object of the Government to make his arrest, with that of his colleagues, at the place of meeting, not only tosave trouble, but because it would look better. Mr. Hardy had foundout, therefore, all he wanted to know, and was enabled to confirm hisopinion that the Major was the head of the conspiracy. 

But underneath Mr. Secretary's mine was a deeper mine; for as theMajor sat at breakfast the next morning a note came for him, themessenger leaving directly he delivered it to the servant. It wasvery brief:- "No meeting to-night. Warn all except the Secretary, who has already been acquainted. " There was no signature, and he didnot know the handwriting. He reflected for a little while, and thendetermined to consult Caillaud and Coleman, who were his informalCabinet. He had no difficulty in finding Coleman, but the Caillaudswere not at home, and it was agreed that postponement could do noharm. A message was therefore left at Caillaud's house, and one wassent to every one of the members, but two or three could not bediscovered. 

Meanwhile Mr. Secretary, who, strange to say, had NOT beenacquainted, had been a little overcome by Mr. Hardy's brandy on thetop of the beer he had taken beforehand, and woke in the morning verymiserable. Finding the five guineas in his pocket, he was tempted toa public-house hard by, in order that he might cool his stomach andraise his spirits with a draught or two of ale. He remained there alittle too long, and on reaching home was obliged to go to bed again. He awoke about six, and then it came into his still somewhat confusedbrain that he had to attend the meeting. At half-past seven heaccordingly took his departure. Meanwhile the Major and Zachariahhad determined to post themselves in Red Lion Street, to interceptthose of their comrades with whom they had not been able tocommunicate, and also to see what was going to happen. At a quarterto eight the Secretary turned out of Holborn, and when he came alittle nearer, Zachariah saw that at a distance of fifty yards therewas a constable following him. He came on slowly until he wasabreast of a narrow court, when suddenly there was a pistol-shot, andhe was dead on the pavement. Zachariah's first impulse was to rushforward, but he saw the constable running, followed by others, and hediscerned in an instant that to attempt to assist would lead to hisown arrest and do no good. He managed, however, to reach the Major, and for two or three moments they stood stock-still on the edge ofthe pavement struck with amazement. Presently a woman passed themwith a thick veil over her face. 

"Home, " she said; "don't stay here like fools. Pack up your thingsand be off. You'll be in prison to-morrow morning. "

"Be off!" gasped Zachariah; "be off!--where?"

"Anywhere!" and she had gone. 

The constables, after putting the corpse in a hackney coach, proceeded to the room; but it was dark and empty. They had nodirections to do anything more that night, and returned to BowStreet. The next morning, however, as soon as it was light, aSecretary of State's warrant, backed by sufficient force, waspresented at the lodgings of Caillaud and Zachariah. The birds hadflown, and not a soul could tell what had become of them. InZachariah's street, which was rather a Radical quarter, the officialinquiries were not answered politely, and one of the constablesreceived on the top of his head an old pail with slops in it. Theminutest investigation failed to discover to whom the pail belonged. 

CHAPTER IX--A STRAIN ON THE CABLE

Bow Street was completely at fault, and never discovered the secretof that assassination. It was clear that neither the Major norColeman were the murderers, as they had been noticed at some distancefrom the spot where the Secretary fell by several persons whodescribed them accurately. Nor was Caillaud suspected, as theconstable testified that he passed him on the opposite side of thestreet, as he followed the Secretary. The only conclusion, accordingto Bow Street, which was free from all doubt was, that whoever didthe deed was a committee consisting of a single member. A reward of500 pounds did not bring forward anybody who knew anything about thebusiness. As for Caillaud, his daughter and the Major, the nextmorning saw them far on the way to Dover, and eventually they arrivedat Paris in safety. Zachariah, when he reached home, found his wifegone. A note lay for him there, probably from the same hand whichwarned the Major, telling him not to lose an instant, but to join inIslington one of the mails to Manchester. His wife would start thatnight from St. Martin's le Grand by a coach which went by anotherroad. He was always prompt, and in five minutes he was out of thehouse. The fare was carefully folded by his unknown friend in theletter. He just managed as directed, to secure a place, not by theregular Manchester mail, but by one which went through Barnet andstopped to take up passengers at the "Angel. " He climbed upon theroof, and presently was travelling rapidly through Holloway andHighgate. He found, to his relief, that nobody had heard of themurder, and he was left pretty much to his own reflections. Hisfirst thoughts were an attempt to unravel the mystery. Why was it sosudden? Why had no word not hint of what was intended reached him?He could not guess. In those days the clubs were so beset with spiesthat frequently the most important resolutions were taken by one man, who confided in nobody. It was winter, but fortunately Zachariah waswell wrapped up. He journeyed on, hour after hour, in a state ofmazed bewilderment, one thought tumbling over another, and whenmorning broke over the flats he had not advanced a single step in thedetermination of his future path. Nothing is more painful to a manof any energy than the inability to put things in order in himself--to place before himself what he has to do, and arrange the means fordoing it. To be the passive victim of a rushing stream ofdisconnected impressions is torture, especially if the emergency beurgent. So when the sun came up Zachariah began to be ashamed ofhimself that the night had passed in these idiotic moonings, whichhad left him just where he was, and he tried to settle what he was todo when he reached Manchester. He did not know a soul; but he couldconjecture why he was advised to go thither. It was a disaffectedtown, and Friends of the People were very strong there. His firstduty was to get a lodging, his second to get work, and his third tofind out a minister of God under whom he could worship. He put thislast, not because it was the least important, but because he had themost time to decide upon it. At about ten o'clock at night he cameto his journey's end, and to his joy saw his wife waiting for him. They went at once to a small inn hard by, and Mrs. Coleman began tooverwhelm him with interrogation; but he quietly suggested that not asyllable should be spoken till they had had some rest, and that theyshould swallow their supper and go to bed. In the morning Zachariahrose and looked out of the window. He saw nothing but a smallbackyard in which some miserable, scraggy fowls were crouching undera cart to protect themselves from the rain, which was falling heavilythrough the dim, smoky air. His spirits sank. He had no fear ofapprehension or prosecution, but the prospect before him wasdepressing. Although he was a poor man, he had not been accustomedto oscillations of fortune, and he was in an utterly strange place, with five pounds in his pocket, and nothing to do. 

He was, however, resolved not to yield, and thought it best to beginwith his wife before she could begin with him. 

"Now, my dear, tell me what has happened, who sent you here, and whatkind of a journey you have had?"

"Mr. Bradshaw came about seven o'clock, and told me the Governmentwas about to suppress the Friends of the People; that you did notknow it; that I must go to Manchester; that you would come after me;and that a message would be left for you. He took me to the coach, and paid for me. "

"Mr. Bradshaw! Did he tell you anything more?"

"No; except that he did not think we should be pursued, and that hewould send our things after us when he knew where we were. "

"You have not heard anything more, then?"

"No. "

"You haven't heard that the Secretary was shot?"

"Shot! Oh dear! Zachariah, what will become of us?"

Her husband then told her what he knew, she listening with greateagerness and in silence. 

"Oh, Zachariah, what will become of us?" she broke out again. 

"There is no reason to worry yourself, Jane; it is perfectly easy forme to prove my innocence. It is better for us, however, to stay herefor a time. The Government won't go any further with us; they willsearch for the murderer--that's all. "

"Why, then, are we sent here and the others are let alone? I supposethe Major is not here?"

"I cannot say. "

"To think I should ever come to this! I haven't got a rag with mebeyond what I have on. I haven't got any clean things; a nice sortof creature I am to go out of doors. And it all had nothing to dowith us. "

"Nothing to do with us! My dear Jane, do you mean that we are not tohelp other people, but sit at home and enjoy ourselves? Besides, ifyou thought it wrong, why did you not say so before?"

"How was I to know what you were doing? You never told me anything;you never do. One thing I do know is that we shall starve and Isuppose I shall have to go about and beg. I haven't even anotherpair of shoes or stockings to my feet. "

Zachariah pondered for a moment. His first impulse was somethingvery different; but at last he rose, went up to his wife, kissed hersoftly on the forehead, and said:

"Never mind, my dear; courage, you will have your clothes next week. Come with me and look out for a lodging. "

Mrs. Zachariah, however, shook herself free--not violently, but stilldecidedly--from his caresses. 

"Most likely seized by the Government. Look for a lodging! That'sjust like you! How can I go out in this pouring rain?"

Zachariah lately, at any rate, had ceased to expect much affection inhis wife for him; but he thought she was sensible, and equal to anycomplexity of circumstances, or even to disaster. He thought this, not on any positive evidence; but he concluded, somewhat absurdly, that her coldness meant common sense and capacity for facing troublecourageously and with deliberation. He had now to find out hismistake, and to learn that the absence of emotion neither proves, noris even a ground for suspecting, any good whatever of a person; that, on the contrary, it is a ground for suspecting weakness, and possiblyimbecility. 

Mrs. Coleman refused to go out, and after breakfast Zachariah went byhimself, having first inquired what was a likely quarter. As hewandered along much that had been before him again and again oncemore recurred to him. He had been overtaken by calamity, and he hadnot heard from his wife one single expression of sympathy, nor had hereceived one single idea which could help him. She had thought ofnothing but herself, and even of herself not reasonably. She was notthe helpmeet which he felt he had a right to expect. He could haveendured any defect, so it seemed, if only he could have had love; hecould have endured the want of love if only he could have had acounsellor. But he had neither, and he rebelled, questioning thejustice of his lot. Then he fell into the old familiar controversywith himself, and it was curiously characteristic of him, that, as hepaced those dismal Manchester pavements, all their gloom disappearedas he re-argued the universal problem of which his case was anexample. He admitted the unquestionable right of the Almighty todamn three parts of creation to eternal hell if so He willed; whynot, then, one sinner like Zachariah Coleman to a weary pilgrimagefor thirty or forty years? He rebuked himself when he found that hehad all his life assented so easily to the doctrine of God's absoluteauthority in the election and disposal of the creatures He had made, and yet that he revolted when God touched him, and awarded him apunishment which, in comparison with the eternal loss of Hispresence, was as nothing. At last--and here, through his religion, he came down to the only consolation possible for him--he said tohimself, "Thus hath He decreed; it is foolish to struggle against Hisordinances; we can but submit. " "A poor gospel, " says his critic. Poor!--yes, it may be; but it is the gospel according to Job, and anyother is a mere mirage. "Doth the hawk fly by thy wisdom and stretchher wings towards the south?" Confess ignorance and the folly ofinsurrection, and there is a chance that even the irremediable willbe somewhat mitigated. Poor!--yes; but it is genuine; and this atleast must be said for Puritanism, that of all the theologies andphilosophies it is the most honest in its recognition of the facts;the most real, if we penetrate to the heart of it, in the remedywhich it offers. 

He found two small furnished rooms which would answer his purposetill his own furniture should arrive, and he and his wife tookpossession that same morning. He then wrote to his landlord inLondon--a man whom he knew he could trust--and directed him to sendhis goods. For the present, although he had no fear whatever of anyprosecution, he thought fit to adopt a feigned name, with which weneed not trouble ourselves. In the afternoon he sallied out to seekemployment. The weather had cleared, but Mrs. Coleman still refusedto accompany him, and she occupied herself moodily with setting theplace to rights, as she called it, although, as it happened, it wasparticularly neat and clean. There was not so much printing done inManchester then as now, and Zachariah had no success. He came homeabout seven o'clock, weary and disheartened. His wife was one ofthose women who under misfortune show all that is worst in them, asmany women in misfortune show all that is best. 

"You might have been sure you would get nothing to do here. If, asyou say, there is no danger, why did you not stay in London?"

"You know all about it, my dear; we were warned to come. "

"Yes, but why in such a hurry? Why didn't you stop to think?"

"It is all very well to say so now, but there were only a few minutesin which to decide. Besides, when I got home I found you gone. "

Mrs. Zachariah conveniently took no notice of the last part of thisremark, which, of course, settled the whole question, but continued:

"Ah, well, I suppose it's all right; but I'm sure we shall starve--Iam convinced we shall. Oh! I wish my poor dear mother were alive! Ihave no home to go to. What WILL become of us?"

He lost his patience a little. 

"Jane, " he said, "what is our religion worth if it does not supportus in times like these? Does it not teach us to bow to God's will?Surely we, who have had such advantages, ought to behave under ourtrials better than those who have been brought up like heathens. Godwill not leave us. Don't you remember Mr. Bradshaw's sermon upon thepassage through the Red Sea. When the Israelites were brought downto the very shore with nothing but destruction before them, a way wasopened. What did Mr. Bradshaw bid us observe? The Egyptians wereclose behind--so close that the Israelites saw them; the sea was infront. The road was not made till the enemy was upon them, and thenthe waters were divided and became a wall unto them on their righthand and on their left; the very waters, Mr. Bradshaw remarked, whichbefore were their terror. God, too, might have sent them a differentway; no doubt He might, but He chose THAT way. "

"Zachariah, I heard Mr. Bradshaw as well as yourself; I am a memberof the church just as much as you are, and I don't think it becomingof you to preach to me as if you were a minister. " Her voice roseand became shriller as she went on. "I will not stand it. Who areyou that you should talk to me so?--bad enough to bring me down hereto die, without treating me as if I were an unconverted character. Oh! if I had but a home to go to!" and she covered her face with herapron and became hysterical. 

What a revelation! By this time he had looked often into the soul ofthe woman whom he had chosen--the woman with whom he was to be forever in this world--and had discovered that there was nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing which answered anything in himself with asmile of recognition; but he now looked again, and found somethingworse than emptiness. He found lurking in the obscure darkness areptile with cruel fangs which at any moment might turn upon him whenhe was at his weakest and least able to defend himself. He had thatin him by nature which would have prompted him to desperate deeds. He could have flung himself from her with a curse, or even havekilled himself in order to escape from his difficulty. But whateverthere was in him originally had been changed. Upon the wild stem hadbeen grafted a nobler slip, which drew all its sap from the old root, but had civilised and sweetened its acrid juices. He leaned over hiswife, caressed her, gave her water, and restored her. 

"God knows, " he said, "I did not mean to preach to you. God inheaven knows I need that somebody should preach to me. " He kneltdown before her as she remained leaning back in the chair, and herepeated the Lord's Prayer: "Give us this day our daily bread. Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass againstus. " But will it be believed that as he rose from his knees, beforehe had actually straightened his limbs, two lines from the "Corsair"flashed into his mind, not particularly apposite, but there theywere:

"She rose--she sprung--she clung to his embraceTill his heart heaved beneath her hidden face?"

Whence had they descended? He was troubled at their suddenintrusion, and he went silently to the window, moodily gazing intothe street. His wife, left to herself, recovered, and preparedsupper. There was no reconciliation, at least on her side. She wasnot capable of reconciliation. Her temper exhausted itselfgradually. With her the storm never broke up nobly and withmagnificent forgetfulness into clear spaces of azure, with thesinging of birds and with hot sunshine turning into diamonds everyremaining drop of the deluge which had threatened ruin; the changewas always rather to a uniformly obscured sky and a cold drizzlewhich lasted all day. 

The next morning he renewed his quest. He was away all day long, buthe had no success. He was now getting very anxious. He wasexpecting his furniture, which he had directed to be sent to the innwhere they had first stayed, and he would have to pay for thecarriage. His landlord had insisted on a week's rent beforehand, sothat, putting aside the sum for the carrier, he had now two poundsleft. He thought of appealing to his friends; but he had a greathorror of asking for charity, and could not bring himself to do it. 

The third, fourth, and fifth day passed, with no result. On theseventh day he found that his goods had come; but he decided not tomove, as it meant expense. He took away a chest of clothes, andremained where he was. By way of recoil from the older doctrine thatsuffering does men good, it has been said that it does no good. Bothstatements are true, and both untrue. Many it merely brutalises. Half the crime of the world is caused by suffering, and half itsvirtues are due to happiness. Nevertheless suffering, actualpersonal suffering, is the mother of innumerable beneficialexperiences, and unless we are so weak that we yield and break, itextracts from us genuine answers to many questions which, without it, we either do not put to ourselves, or, if they are asked, are turnedaside with traditional replies. A man who is strong and survives canhardly pace the pavements of a city for days searching foremployment, his pocket every day becoming lighter, without feeling inafter life that he is richer by something which all the universitiesin the world could not have given him. The most dramatic of poetscannot imagine, even afar off, what such a man feels and thinks, especially if his temperament be nervous and foreboding. Howforeign, hard, repellent, are the streets in which he is a stranger, alone amidst a crowd of people all intent upon their own occupation, whilst he has none! At noon, when business is at its height, he, with nothing to do, sits down on a seat in an open place, or, may be, on the doorstep of an empty house, unties the little parcel he hasbrought with him, and eats his dry bread. He casts up in his mindthe shops he has visited; he reflects that he has taken all the morepromising first, and that not more than two or three are left. Hethinks of the vast waste of the city all round him; its miles ofhouses; and he has a more vivid sense of abandonment than if he wereon a plank in the middle of the Atlantic. Towards the end of theafternoon the pressure in the offices and banks increases; the clerkshurry hither and thither; he has no share whatever in the excitement;he is an intrusion. He lingers about aimlessly, and presently thegreat tide turns outwards and flows towards the suburbs. Everyvehicle which passes him is crowded with happy folk who have earnedtheir living and are going home. He has earned nothing. Let anybodywho wants to test the strength of the stalk of carle hemp in him tryit by the wringing strain of a day thus spent! How humiliating arethe repulses he encounters! Most employers to whom a request is madefor something to do prefer to treat it as a petition for aims, andanswer accordingly. They understand what is wanted before a word isspoken, and bawl out "No! Shut the door after you. " One man to whomZachariah applied was opening his letters. For a moment he did notpay the slightest attention, but as Zachariah continued waiting, heshouted with an oath, "What do you stand staring there for? Be off!"There was once a time when Zachariah would have stood up against thewretch; but he could not do it now, and he retreated in silence. Nevertheless, when he got out into the Street he felt as if he couldhave rushed back and gripped the brute's throat till he had squeezedthe soul out of his carcass. Those of us who have cravedunsuccessfully for permission to do what the Maker of us all hasfitted us to do alone understand how revolutions are generated. Talkabout the atrocities of the Revolution! All the atrocities of thedemocracy heaped together ever since the world began would not equal, if we had any gauge by which to measure them, the atrocitiesperpetrated in a week upon the poor, simply because they are poor;and the marvel rather is, not that there is every now and then aSeptember massacre at which all the world shrieks, but that suchhorrors are so infrequent. Again, I say, let no man judge communistor anarchist TILL HE HAS ASKED FOR LEAVE TO WORK, and a "Damn youreyes!" has rung in his ears. 

Zachariah had some self-respect; he was cared for by God, and inGod's Book was a registered decree concerning him. These men treatedhim as if he were not a person, an individual soul, but as an atom ofa mass to be swept out anywhere, into the gutter--into the river. Hewas staggered for a time. Hundreds and thousands of human beingsswarmed past him, and he could not help saying to himself as helooked up to the grey sky, "Is it true, then? Does God really knowanything about me? Are we not born by the million every week, likespawn, and crushed out of existence like spawn? Is not humanity thecommonest and cheapest thing in the world?" But as yet his faith wasunshaken, and he repelled the doubt as a temptation of Satan. Blessed is the man who can assign promptly everything which is not inharmony with himself to a devil, and so get rid of it. The pitifulcase is that of the distracted mortal who knows not what is thedegree of authority which his thoughts and impulses possess; who isconstantly bewildered by contrary messages, and has no evidence as totheir authenticity. Zachariah had his rule still; the suggestion inthe street was tried by it; found to be false; was labelledaccordingly, and he was relieved. 

The dread of the real, obvious danger was not so horrible as a vague, shapeless fear which haunted him. It was a coward enemy, for itseized him when he was most tired and most depressed. What is thatnameless terror? Is it a momentary revelation of the infinite abysswhich surrounds us; from the sight of which we are mercifullyprotected by a painted vapour, by an illusion that unspeakabledarkness which we all of us know to exist, but which wehypocritically deny, and determine never to confess to one another?Here again, however, Zachariah had his advantage over others. He hadhis precedent. He remembered that quagmire in the immortal Progressinto which, if even a good man falls, he can find no bottom; heremembered that gloom so profound "that ofttimes, when he lifted uphis foot to set forward, he knew not where or upon what he should setit next;" he remembered the flame and smoke, the sparks and hideousnoises, the things that cared not for Christian's sword, so that hewas forced to betake himself to another weapon called All-prayer; heremembered how that Christian "was so confounded that he did not knowhis own voice;" he remembered the voice of a man as going before, saying, "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death Iwill fear none ill, for Thou art with me. " Lastly, he rememberedthat by-and-by the day broke, and Christian cried, "He hath turnedthe shadow of death into the morning. " He remembered all this; hecould connect his trouble with the trouble of others; he could giveit a place in the dispensation of things, and could therefore lifthimself above it. 

He had now been in Manchester a fortnight, and his little store haddwindled down to five shillings. It was Saturday night. On theSunday, as his last chance, he meant to write to Mr. Bradshaw. Hewent out on the Sunday morning, and had persuaded his wife toaccompany him. They entered the first place of worship they saw. Itwas a Methodist chapel, and the preacher was Arminian in the extreme. It was the first time Zachariah had ever been present at a Methodistservice. The congregation sang with much fervour, and during theprayer, which was very long, they broke in upon it with ejaculationsof their own, such as "Hear him, O Lord!"--"Lord have mercy on us!"

The preacher spoke a broad Lancashire dialect, and was very dramatic. He pictured God's efforts to save a soul. Under the pulpit ledge wasthe imaginary bottomless pit of this world--not of the next. Heleaned over and pretended to be drawing the soul up with a cord. "Hecomes, he comes!" he cried; "God be praised he is safe!" and helanded him on the Bible. The congregation gave a great groan ofrelief. "There he is on the Rock of Ages! No, no, he slips; theDevil has him!" The preacher tried to rescue him: "He is gone--gone!" and he bent over the pulpit in agony. The people almostshrieked. "Gone--gone!" he said again with most moving pathos, andwas still for a moment. Then gathering himself up, he solemnlyrepeated the terrible verses: "For it is impossible for those whowere once enlightened, and have tasted of the heavenly gift, and weremade partakers of the Holy Ghost, and have tasted the good word ofGod, and the powers of the world to come, if they shall fall away, torenew them again unto repentance; seeing they crucify to themselvesthe Son of God afresh, and put Him to an open shame. " Zachariah knewthat text well. Round it had raged the polemics of ages. Mr. Bradshaw had never referred to it but once, and all the elder membersof his congregation were eager in the extreme to hear what he had tosay about it. He boldly declared that it had nothing to do with theelect. He was compelled to do so. Following his master Calvin, hemade it apply to outsiders. The elect, says Calvin, are beyond therisk of fatal fall. But "I deny, " he goes on to say, that "there isany reason why God may not bestow even on the reprobate a taste ofHis favour; may irradiate their minds with some scintillations of Hislight; may touch them with some sense of His goodness; may somehowengrave His word on their minds. " Horrible, most horrible, wescream, that the Almighty should thus play with those whom He meansto destroy; but let us once more remember that these men did not idlybelieve in such cruelty. They were forced into their belief by thedemands of their understanding, and their assent was more meritoriousthan the weak protests of so-called enlightenment. Zachariah, pondering absently on what he had heard, was passing out of thechapel when a hand was gently laid on his shoulder. 

"Ah, friend, what are you doing here?"

He turned round and recognised William Ogden, who had been sent bythe Hampden Club in Manchester some six months before as a delegateto the Friends of the People in London. The two walked some distancetogether, and Zachariah gave him the history of the last three weeks. With the murder he was, of course, acquainted. Ogden was aletterpress printer, and when he heard that Zachariah was in suchstraits, he said that he thought he might perhaps find him a job forthe present, and told him to come to his office on the followingmorning. Zachariah's heart rejoiced that his bread would not fail, but he characteristically rejoiced even more at this signal proofthat his trust in his God was justified. When he reached home heproposed to his wife that they should at once kneel down and thankGod for His mercy. 

"Of course, Zachariah; but you are not yet sure you will getanything. I will take off my things directly. "

"Need you wait to take off your things, my dear?"

"Really, Zachariah, you do make such strange remarks sometimes. Ineed not wait; but I am sure it will be more becoming, and it willgive you an opportunity to think over what you are going to say. "

Accordingly Mrs. Coleman retired for about five minutes. On herreturn she observed that it was the time for regular family prayer, and she produced the Bible. Zachariah had indeed had the opportunityto think, and he had thought very rapidly. The mere opening of thesacred Book, however, always acted as a spell, and when its heavylids fell down on either side the room cleared itself of allhaunting, intrusive evil spirits. He read the seventeenth chapter ofExodus, the story of the water brought out of the rock; and hethanked the Almighty with great earnestness for the favour shown him, never once expressing a doubt that he would not be successful. Hewas not mistaken, for Ogden had a place for him, just as good andjust as permanent as the one he had left in London. 

CHAPTER X--DISINTEGRATION BY DEGREES

We must now advance a little more rapidly. It was in the beginningof 1815 that Zachariah found himself settled in Manchester. Thateventful year passed without any external change, so far as he wasconcerned. He became a member of the Hampden Club, to which Ogdenand Bamford belonged; but he heard nothing of Maitland nor ofCaillaud. He had a letter now and then from Mr. Bradshaw and it wasa sore trial to him that nobody could be found in Manchester to takethe place of that worthy man of God. He could not attach himselfdefinitely to any church in the town, and the habit grew upon him ofwandering into this or the other chapel as his fancy led him. Hiscomrades often met on Sunday evenings. At first he would not go; buthe was afterwards persuaded to do so. The reasons which induced himto alter his mind were, in the first place, the piety, methodisticmost of it, which was then mixed up with politics; and secondly, agrowing fierceness of temper, which made the cause of the people areligion. From 1816 downwards it may be questioned whether he wouldnot have felt himself more akin with any of his democratic friends, who were really in earnest over the great struggle, than with a sleekhalf Tory professor of the gospel, however orthodox he might havebeen. In 1816 the situation of the working classes had become almostintolerable. Towards the end of the year wheat rose to a quarter, and incendiarism was common all over England. A sense of insecurityand terror took possession of everybody. Secret outrages, especiallyfires by night, chill the courage of the bravest, as those know wellenough who have lived in an agricultural county, when, just beforegoing to bed, great lights are seen on the horizon; when men andwomen collect on bridges or on hill tops, asking "Where is it?" andwhen fire-engines tearing through the streets arrive useless at theirjourney's end because the hose has been cut. One evening in November1816, Zachariah was walking home to his lodgings. A special meetingof the club had been called for the following Sunday to consider aproposal made for a march of the unemployed upon London. Threepersons passed him--two men and a woman--who turned round and lookedat him and then went on. He did not recognise them, but he noticedthat they stopped opposite a window, and as he came up they looked athim again. He could not be mistaken; they were the Major, Caillaud, and his daughter. The most joyous recognition followed, andZachariah insisted on their going home with him. It often happensthat we become increasingly intimate with one another even when weare shut out from all intercourse. Zachariah had not seen the Majornor Caillaud nor Pauline for two years, and not a single thought hadbeen interchanged. Nevertheless he was much nearer and dearer tothem than he was before. He had unconsciously moved on a linerapidly sweeping round into parallelism with theirs. Therelationship between himself and his wife during those two years hadbecome, not openly hostile, it is true, but it was neutral. Long agohe had given up the habit of talking to her about politics, the thingwhich lay nearest to his heart just then. The pumping effort ofbringing out a single sentence in her presence on any abstract topicwas incredible, and so he learned at last to come home, though hisheart and mind were full to bursting, and say nothing more to herthan that he had seen her friend Mrs. Sykes, or bought his tea at adifferent shop. On the other hand, the revolutionary literature ofthe time, and more particularly Byron, increasingly interested him. The very wildness and remoteness of Byron's romance was just whatsuited him. It is all very well for the happy and well-to-do to talkscornfully of poetic sentimentality. Those to whom a natural outletfor their affection is denied know better. They instinctively turnto books which are the farthest removed from commonplace and are in asense unreal. Not to the prosperous man, a dweller in beautifulscenery, well married to an intelligent wife, is Byron precious, butto the poor wretch, say some City clerk, with an aspiration beyondhis desk, who has two rooms in Camberwell and who before he knew whathe was doing made a marriage--well--which was a mistake, but who isable to turn to that island in the summer sea, where dwells Kaled, his mistress--Kaled, the Dark Page disguised as a man, who watchesher beloved dying:

"Who nothing fears, nor feels, nor heeds, nor sees, Save that damp brow which rests upon his knees;Save that pale aspect, where the eye, though dim, Held all the light that shone on earth for him. "

When they came indoors, and Mrs. Zachariah heard on the stairs thetramp of other feet besides those of her husband, she preparedherself to be put out of temper. Not that she could ever be reallysurprised. She was not one of those persons who keep a house orderlyfor the sake of appearances. She would have been just the same ifshe had been living alone, shipwrecked on a solitary island in thePacific. She was the born natural enemy of dirt, dust, untidiness, and of every kind of irregularity, as the cat is the born naturalenemy of the mouse. The sight of dirt, in fact, gave her a quietkind of delight, because she foresaw the pleasure of annihilating it. Irregularity was just as hateful to her. She could not sit still ifone ornament on the mantelpiece looked one way and the other anotherway, and she would have risen from her deathbed, if she could havedone so, to put a chair straight. She was not, therefore, aggrievedin expectancy because she was not fit to be seen. It was ratherbecause she resented any interruption of domestic order of which shehad not been previously forewarned. As it happened, however theMajor came first, and striding into the room, he shook her hand withconsiderable fervour and kissed it gallantly. Her gathering ill-temper disappeared with the promptitude of a flash. It was a muddynight; the Major had not carefully wiped his boots, and the footmarkswere all over the floor. She saw them, but they were nothing. 

"My dear Mrs. Coleman, how are you? What a blessing to be here againin your comfortable quarters. "

"Really, Major Maitland, it is very good of you to say so. I am veryglad to see you again. Where have you been? I thought we had lostyou for ever. "

Caillaud and his daughter had followed. They bowed to her formally, and she begged them to be seated. 

"Then, my dear madam, " continued the Major, laughing, "you must havethought me dead. You might have known that if I had not been dead Imust have come back. "

She coloured just a trifle, but made no reply further than to inviteall the company to have supper. 

Zachariah was somewhat surprised. He did not know what sort of asupper it could be; but he was silent. She asked Pauline to take offher bonnet, and then proceeded to lay the cloth. For five minutes, or perhaps ten minutes, she disappeared, and then there came, notonly bread and cheese, but cold ham, a plentiful supply of beer, and, more wonderful still, a small cold beefsteak pie. Everything wasproduced as easily as if it had been the ordinary fare, and Zachariahwas astonished at his wife's equality to the emergency. Whence sheobtained the ham and beefsteak pie he could not conjecture. Sheapologised for having nothing hot; would have had something better ifshe had known, etc. , etc. , and then sat down at the head of thetable. The Major sat on her right, Pauline next to him, and oppositeto Pauline, Caillaud and Zachariah. Their hostess immediately beganto ask questions about the events of that fatal night when they allleft London. 

The Major, however, interposed, and said that it would perhaps bebetter if nothing was said upon that subject. 

"A dismal topic, " he observed; "talking about it can do no good, andI for one don't want to be upset by thinking about it just before Igo to bed. "

"At least, " said Zachariah, "you can tell us why you are inManchester?"

"Certainly, " replied the Major. "In the first place, Paris is notquite so pleasant as it used to be; London, too, is not attractive;and we thought that, on the whole, Manchester was to be preferred. Moreover, a good deal will have to be done during the nexttwelvemonth, and Manchester will do it. You will hear all about itwhen your club meets next time. "

"You've been in Paris?" said Mrs. Zachariah. "Isn't it very wicked?"

"Well, that depends on what you call wicked. "

"Surely there cannot be two opinions on that point. "

"It does seem so; and yet when you live abroad you find that thingswhich are made a great deal of here are not thought so much of there;and, what is very curious, they think other things very wrong thereof which we take no account here. "

"Is that because they are not Christians?"

"Oh dear no; I am speaking of good Christian people; at least so Itake them to be. And really, when you come to consider it, we all ofus make a great fuss about our own little bit of virtue, andundervalue the rest--I cannot tell upon whose authority. "

"But are they not, Major, dreadfully immoral in France?"

Pauline leaned over her plate and looked Mrs. Coleman straight in theface. 

"Mrs. Coleman, you are English; you--"

Her father put up his hand; he foresaw what was coming, and that uponthis subject Pauline would have defied all the rules of hospitality. So he replied calmly, but with the calm of suppressed force:

"Mrs. Coleman, as my daughter says, you are English; you areexcusable. I will not dispute with you, but I will tell you a littlestory. "

"Will you not take some more beer, Mr. Caillaud, before you begin?"

"No, thank you, madam, I have finished. "

Caillaud pushed away his plate, on which three parts of what wasgiven him, including all the ham, remained untouched, and began--hisGallicisms and broken English have been corrected in the version nowbefore the reader:

"In 1790 a young man named Dupin was living in Paris, in the house ofhis father, who was a banker there. The Dupins were rich, and theson kept a mistress, a girl named Victorine. Dupin the younger haddeveloped into one of the worst of men. He was strictly correct inall his dealings, sober, guilty of none of the riotous excesses whichoften distinguish youth at that age, and most attentive to business;but he was utterly self-regarding, hard, and emotionless. What couldhave induced Victorine to love him I do not know; but love him shedid, and her love instead of being a folly, was her glory. If lovewere always to be in proportion to desert, measured out in strictestand justest huckstering conformity therewith, what a poor thing itwould be! The love at least of a woman is as the love of the SupremeHimself, and just as magnificent. Victorine was faithful to Dupin;and poor and handsome as she was, never wronged him by a loose look. Well, Dupin's father said his son must marry, and the son saw howreasonable and how necessary the proposal was. He did marry, and hecut himself adrift from Victorine without the least compunction, allowing her a small sum weekly, insufficient to keep her. There wasno scene when they parted, for his determination was communicated toher by letter. Three months afterwards she had a child of whom hewas the father. Did she quietly take the money and say nothing? Didshe tear up the letter in a frenzy and return him the fragments? Shedid neither. She wrote to him and told him that she would not touchhis gold. She would never forget him, but she could not be beholdento him now for a crust of bread. She had done no wrong hitherto--soshe said, Mrs. Coleman; I only repeat her words--they are not mine. But to live on him after he had left her would be a mortal crime. Sothey separated, a victim she--both victims, I may say--to this cursedthing we call Society. One of the conditions on which the money wasto have been given was, that she should never again recognise him inany way whatever. This half of the bargain she faithfully observed. For some months she was alone, trying to keep herself and her child, but at last she was taken up by a working stone-mason named Legouve. In 1793 came the Terror, and the Dupins were denounced and throwninto the Luxembourg. Legouve was one of the Committee of PublicSafety. It came to the recollection of the younger Dupin as he layexpecting death that he had heard that the girl Victorine had gone tolive with Legouve, and a ray of light dawned on him in his dungeon. He commissioned his wife to call on Victorine and implore her to helpthem. She did so. Ah, that was a wonderful sight--so like theRevolution! Madame Dupin, in her silks and satins, had often passedthe ragged Victorine in the streets, and, of course, had never takenthe slightest notice of her. Now Madame was kneeling to her!Respectability was in the dust before that which was not by any meansrespectable; the legitimate before the illegitimate! Oh, it was, Isay, a wonderful sight in Victorine's wretched garret! She wastouched with pity, and, furthermore, the memory of her old days withDupin and her love for him revived. Legouve was frightfully jealous, and she knew that if she pleaded Dupin's cause before him she wouldmake matters worse. A sudden thought struck her. She went toCouthon and demanded an audience. 

"'Couthon, ' she said, 'are the Dupins to die?'

"'Yes, to-morrow. '

"'Dupin the younger is the father of my child. '

"'And he has deserted you, and you hate him. He shall die. '

"'Pardon me, I do not hate him. '

"'Ah, you love him still; but that is no reason why he should bespared, my pretty one. We must do our duty. They are plottersagainst the Republic, and must go. '

"'Couthon, they must live. Consider; shall that man ascend thescaffold with the thought in his heart that I could have rescued him, and that I did not; that I have had my revenge? Besides, what willbe said?--that the Republic uses justice to satisfy privatevengeance. All the women in my quarter know who I am. '

"'That is a fancy. '

"'Fancy! Is it a fancy to murder Dupin's wife--murder all that isgood in her--murder the belief in her for ever that there is such athing as generosity? You do not wish to kill the soul? That is theway with tyrants, but not with the Republic. '

"Thus Victorine strove with Couthon, and he at last yielded. Dupinand his father were released that night, and before daybreak theywere all out of Paris and safe. In the morning Legouve found thatthey were liberated, and on asking Couthon the reason, was answeredwith a smile that they had an eloquent advocate. Victorine hadwarned Couthon not to mention her name, and he kept his promise; butLegouve conjectured but too truly. He went home, and in a furiousrage taxed Victorine with infidelity to him, in favour of the man whohad abandoned her. He would not listen to her, and thrust her fromhim with curses. I say nothing more about her history. I will onlysay this, that Pauline is that child who was born to her after Dupinleft her. I say it because I am so proud that Pauline has had such amother!"

"Pauline her daughter!" said Zachariah. "I thought she was yourdaughter. "

"She is my daughter: I became her father. "

Everybody was silent. 

"Ah, you say nothing, " said Caillaud; "I am not surprised. You areastonished. Well may you be so that such a creature should ever havelived. What would Jesus Christ have said to her?"

The company soon afterwards rose to go. 

"Good-bye, Mrs. Coleman, " said the Major in his careless way; "I amglad to find Manchester does not disagree with you. At least, Ishould think it does not. "

"Oh no, Major Maitland, I like it quite as well as London. Mind, youpromise to come again SOON--very soon. "

The Major had gone downstairs first. She had followed him to thefirst landing, and then returned to bid Pauline and Caillaud good-bye. She stood like a statue while Pauline put on her hat. 

"Good-night, madam, " said Caillaud, slightly bowing. 

"Good-night, madam, " said Pauline, not bowing in the least. 

"Good-night, " she replied, without relaxing her rigidity. 

As soon as they were in the street Pauline said, "Father, I abhorthat woman. If she lives she will kill her husband. "

Mrs. Coleman, on the other hand, at the same moment said, "Zachariah, Pauline and Caillaud cannot come to this house again. "

"Why not?"

"Why not, Zachariah? I am astonished at you! The child of a womanwho lived in open sin!"

He made no reply. Years ago not a doubt would have crossed his mind. That a member of Mr. Bradshaw's church could receive such people asCaillaud and Pauline would have seemed impossible. Nevertheless, neither Caillaud nor Pauline were now repugnant to him; nor did hefeel that any soundless gulf separated them from him, although, sofar as he knew his opinions had undergone no change. 

Mrs. Coleman forbore to pursue the subject, for her thoughts went offupon another theme, and she was inwardly wondering whether the Majorwould ever invite her to the theatre again. Just as she was going tosleep, the figure of the Major hovering before her eyes, she suddenlybethought herself that Pauline, if not handsome, was attractive. Shestarted, and lay awake for an hour. When she rose in the morning thesame thought again presented itself, to dwell with her henceforwards, and to gnaw her continually like vitriol. 

CHAPTER XI--POLITICS AND PAULINE

Soon after this visit debates arose in Zachariah's club whichafterwards ended in the famous march of the Blanketeers, as they werecalled. Matters were becoming very serious, and the Government wasthoroughly alarmed, as well it might be, at the discontent which wasmanifest all over the country. The Prince Regent was insulted as hewent to open Parliament, and the windows of his carriage were broken. It was thought, and with some reason, that the army could not betrusted. One thing is certain, that the reformers found their wayinto the barracks at Knightsbridge and had lunch there at the expenseof the soldiers, who discussed Hone's pamphlets and roared withlaughter over the Political Litany. The Prince Regent communicatedto both Houses certain papers, and recommended that they should atonce be taken into consideration. They contained evidence, so theroyal message asserted, of treasonable combinations "to alienate theaffections of His Majesty's subjects from His Majesty's person andGovernment, " &c. Secret committees were appointed to consider themboth by Lords and Commons, and in about a fortnight they made theirreports. The text was the Spitalfields meeting of the preceding 2ndof December. A mob had made it an excuse to march through the cityand plunder some shops. Some of the charges brought against theclubs by the Lords' Committee do not now seem so very appalling. Onewas, that they were agitating for universal suffrage and annualParliaments--"projects, " say the Committee, "which evidently involve, not any qualified or partial change but a total subversion of theBritish constitution. " Another charge was the advocacy of "parochialpartnership in land, on the principle that the landholders are notproprietors in chief; that they are but stewards of the public; thatthe land is the people's farm; that landed monopoly is contrary tothe spirit of Christianity and destructive of the independence andmorality of mankind. " The Reform party in Parliament endeavoured toprove that the country was in no real danger, and that the singularlyharsh measures proposed were altogether unnecessary. That was true. There was nothing to be feared, because there was no organisation;but nevertheless, especially in the manufacturing towns, thesuffering was fearful and the hatred of the Government most bitter. What is so lamentable in the history of those times is theundisciplined wildness and feebleness of the attempts made by thepeople to better themselves. Nothing is more saddening than thespectacle of a huge mass of humanity goaded, writhing, starving, andyet so ignorant that it cannot choose capable leaders, cannot obeythem if perchance it gets them, and does not even know how to nameits wrongs. The governing classes are apt to mistake the absurdityof the manner in which a popular demand expresses itself forabsurdity of the demand itself; but in truth the absurdity of theexpression makes the demand more noteworthy and terrible. Bamford, when he came to London in the beginning of 1817, records theimpression which the clubs made upon him. He went to several andfound them all alike; "each man with his porter-pot before him and apipe in his mouth; many speaking at once, more talkers than thinkers;more speakers than listeners. Presently 'Order' would be called, andcomparative silence would ensue; a speaker, stranger or citizen, would be announced with much courtesy and compliment. 'Hear, hear, hear' would follow, with clapping of hands and knocking of knuckleson the tables, till the half-pints danced; then a speech, withcompliments to some brother orator or popular statesman; next aresolution in favour of Parliamentary Reform, and a speech to secondit; an amendment on some minor point would follow; a seconding ofthat; a breach of order by some individual of warm temperament; halfa dozen would rise to set him right; a dozen to put them down; andthe vociferation and gesticulation would become loud andconfounding. "

The Manchester clubs had set their hearts upon an expedition toLondon--thousands strong; each man with a blanket to protect him anda petition in his hand. The discussion on this project was long andeager. The Major, Caillaud and Zachariah steadfastly opposed it; notbecause of its hardihood, but because of its folly. They wereoutvoted; but they conceived themselves loyally bound to make it asuccess. Zachariah and Caillaud were not of much use inorganisation, and the whole burden fell upon the Major. Externallygay, and to most persons justifying the charge of frivolity, he wasreally nothing of the kind when he had once settled down to the workhe was born to do. His levity was the mere idle sport of a mindunattached and seeking its own proper object. He was like a cat, which will play with a ball or its own tail in the sunshine, but if amouse or a bird crosses its path will fasten on it with suddenferocity. He wrought like a slave during the two months before theeventful 10th March 1817, and well nigh broke his heart over thebusiness. Everything had to be done subterraneously; for though theHabeas Corpus Act was not yet suspended, preparations for what lookedlike war were perilous. But this was not the greatest difficulty. He pleaded for dictatorial powers, and at once found he had madehimself suspected thereby. He was told bluntly that working men didnot mean to exchange one despot for another, and that they were justas good as he was. Any other man would have thrown up his commissionin disgust, but not so Major Maitland. He persevered unflaggingly, although a sub-committee had been appointed to act with him and checkhis proceedings. The secretary of this very sub-committee, who wasalso treasurer, was one of the causes of the failure of theenterprise, for when the march began neither he nor the funds withwhich he had been entrusted could be found. After the club meetingsin the evening there was often an adjournment to Caillaud's lodgings, where the Major, Zachariah, Caillaud, and Pauline sat up till closeupon midnight. One evening there was an informal conference of thiskind prior to the club meeting on the following night. The Major wasnot present, for he was engaged in making some arrangements for thecommissariat on the march. He had always insisted on it that theywere indispensable, and he had been bitterly opposed the week beforeby some of his brethren, who were in favour of extempore foragingwhich looked very much like plunder. He carried his point, notwithstanding some sarcastic abuse and insinuations of half-heartedness, which had touched also Caillaud and Zachariah, whosupported him. Zachariah was much depressed. 

"Mr. Coleman, you are dull, " said Pauline. "What is the matter?"

"Dull!--that's not exactly the word. I was thinking of to-morrow. "

"Ah! I thought so. Well?"

Zachariah hesitated a little. "Is it worth all the trouble?" at lasthe said, an old familiar doubt recurring to him--"Is it worth all thetrouble to save them? What are they?--and, after all, what can we dofor them? Suppose we succeed, and a hundred thousand creatures likethose who blackguarded us last week get votes, and get their taxesreduced, and get all they want, what then?"

Pauline broke in with all the eagerness of a woman who is struck withan idea--"Stop, stop, Mr. Coleman. Here is the mistake you make. Grant it all--grant your achievement is ridiculously small--is it notworth the sacrifice of two or three like you and me to accomplish it?That is our error. We think ourselves of such mighty importance. The question is, whether we are of such importance, and whether theprogress of the world one inch will not be cheaply purchased by theannihilation of a score of us. You believe in what you callsalvation. You would struggle and die to save a soul; but in realityyou can never save a man; you must be content to struggle and die tosave a little bit of him--to prevent one habit from descending to hischildren. You won't save him wholly, but you may arrest thepropagation of an evil trick, and so improve a trifle--just a trifle--whole generations to come. Besides, I don't believe what you willdo is nothing. 'Give a hundred thousand blackguard creatures votes'--well, that is something. You are disappointed they do not at oncebecome converted and all go to chapel. That is not the way of theSupreme. Your hundred thousand get votes, and perhaps are none thebetter, and die as they were before they had votes. But the Supremehas a million, or millions, of years before Him. "

Zachariah was silent. Fond of dialectic, he generally strove topresent the other side; but he felt no disposition to do so now, andhe tried rather to connect what she had said with something which healready believed. 

"True, " he said at last; "true, or true in part. What are we?--whatare we?" and so Pauline's philosophy seemed to reconcile itself withone of his favourite dogmas, but it had not quite the same meaningwhich it had for him ten years ago. 

"Besides, " said Caillaud, "we hate Liverpool and all his crew. WhenI think of that speech at the opening of Parliament I become violent. There it is; I have stuck it up over the mantelpiece:

"Deeply as I lament the pressure of these evils upon the country, Iam sensible that they are of a nature not to admit of an immediateremedy. But whilst I observe with peculiar satisfaction thefortitude with which so many privations have been borne, and theactive benevolence which has been employed to mitigate them, I ampersuaded that the great sources of our national prosperity areessentially unimpaired; and I entertain a confident expectation thatthe native energy of the country will at no distant period surmountall the difficulties in which we are involved. "

"My God, " continued Caillaud, "I could drive a knife into the heartof the man who thus talks!"

"No murder, Caillaud, " said Zachariah. 

"Well, no. What is it but a word? Let us say sacrifice. Do youcall the death of your Charles a murder? No; and the reason why youdo not is what? Not that it was decreed by a Court. There have beenmany murders decreed by Courts according to law. Was not the deathof your Jesus Christ a murder? Murder means death for base, selfishends. What said Jesus--that He came to send a sword? Of course Hedid. Every idea is a sword. What a God He was! He was the firstwho ever cared for the people--for the real people, the poor, theignorant, the fools, the weak-minded, the slaves. The Greeks andRomans thought nothing of these. I salute thee, O Thou Son of thePeople!" and Caillaud took down a little crucifix which, strange tosay, always hung in his room, and reverently inclined himself to it. "A child of the people, " he continued, "in everything, simple, foolish, wise, ragged, Divine, martyred Hero. "

Zachariah was not astonished at this melodramatic display, for heknew Caillaud well; and although this was a little more theatricalthan anything he had ever seen before, it was not out of keeping withhis friend's character. Nor was it insincere, for Caillaud was notan Englishman. Moreover, there is often more insincerity inpurposely lowering the expression beneath the thought, and denyingthe thought thereby, than in a little exaggeration. Zachariah, although he was a Briton, had no liking for that hypocrisy whichtakes a pride in reducing the extraordinary to the commonplace, andin forcing an ignoble form upon that which is highest. Theconversation went no further. At last Caillaud said:

"Come, Pauline, a tune; we have not had one for a long time. "

Pauline smiled, and went into her little room. Meanwhile her fatherremoved chairs and table, piling them one on another so as to leave aclear space. He and Zachariah crouched into the recess by thefireplace. Pauline entered in the self same short black dresstrimmed with red, with the red artificial flower, wearing the samered stockings and dancing-slippers, but without the shawl. Theperformance this time was not quite what it was when Zachariah hadseen it in London. Between herself and the corner where Zachariahand her father were seated she now had an imaginary partner, beforewhom she advanced, receded, bowed, displayed herself in the mostexquisitely graceful attitudes, never once overstepping the mark, andyet showing every limb and line to the utmost advantage. Zachariah, as before, followed every movement with eager--shall we say withhungry eyes? He was so unused to exhibitions of this kind that theirgrace was not, as it should have been, their only charm; for, as webefore observed, in his chapel circle even ordinary dancing was athing prohibited. The severity of manners to which he had beenaccustomed tended to produce an effect the very opposite to thatwhich was designed; for it can hardly be doubted that if it were thecustom in England for women to conceal the face, a glimpse of an eyeor a nose would excite unpleasant thoughts. 

The dance came to an end, and as it was getting late Zachariah rose. 

"Stop, " said Caillaud. "It is agreed that if they persist on thismarch, one or the other of us goes too. The Major will be sure togo. Which shall it be, you or me?"

"We will draw lots. "

"Good. " And Zachariah departed, Pauline laughingly making him one ofher costume curtseys. He was very awkward. He never knew how toconduct himself becomingly, or with even good manners, on commonplaceoccasions. When he was excited in argument he was completely equalto the best company, and he would have held his own on level terms ata Duke's dinner-party, provided only the conversation wereinteresting. But when he was not intellectually excited he waslubberly. He did not know what response to make to Pauline'sgraceful adieu, and retreated sheepishly. When he got home he foundhis wife waiting for him. The supper was cleared away, and, asusual, she was reading, or pretending to be reading, the Bible. 

"You have had supper, of course?" There was a peculiar tone in the"of course, " as if she meant to imply not merely that it was late, but that he had preferred to have it with somebody else. 

"I do not want any. "

"Then we had better have prayers. "

CHAPTER XII--ONE BODY AND ONE SPIRIT

Next week Zachariah found it necessary to consult with Caillaudagain. The Major was to be there. The intended meeting wasannounced to Mrs. Coleman by her husband at breakfast on the daybefore, and he informed her that he should probably be late, and thatno supper need be kept for him. 

"Why do you never meet here, Zachariah? Why must it always be atCaillaud's?"

"Did you not say that they should not come to this house again?"

"Yes; but I meant I did not want to see them as friends. On businessthere is no reason why Caillaud should not come. "

"I cannot draw the line. "

"Zachariah, do you mean to call unconverted infidels your friends?"

They were his friends--he felt they were--and they were dear to him;but he was hardly able as yet to confess it, even to himself. 

"It will not do, " he said. "Besides, Caillaud will be sure to bringhis daughter. "

"She will not be so bold as to come if she is not asked. Do _I_ gowith you anywhere except when I am asked?"

"She has always been used to go out with her father wherever he goes. She knows all his affairs, and is very useful to him. "

"So it seems. She must be VERY useful. Well, if it must be so, andit is on business, invite her too. "

"I think still it will be better at Caillaud's; there more room. There would be five of us. "

"How do you make five?"

"There is the Major. And why, by the way, do you object to Caillaudand Pauline more than the Major? He is not converted. "

"There is plenty of room here. I didn't say I didn't object to theMajor. Besides, there is a difference between French infidels andEnglish people, even if they are not church members. But I see howit is. You want to go there, and you will go. I am of no use toyou. You care nothing for me. You can talk to such dreadfulcreatures as Caillaud and that woman who lives with him, and younever talk to me. Oh, I wish Mr. Bradshaw were here, or I were backagain at home! What would Mr. Bradshaw say?"

Mrs. Coleman covered her face in her hands. Zachariah felt no pity. His anger was roused. He was able to say hard things at times, andthere was even a touch of brutality in him. 

"Whose fault is it that I do not talk to you? When did I ever getany help from you? What do you understand about what concerns me, and when have you ever tried to understand anything? Your home is nohome to me. My life is blasted, and it might have been different. The meeting shall not be here, and I will do as I please. "

He went out of the room in a rage, and downstairs into the street, going straight to his work. It is a terrible moment when the firstbitter quarrel takes place, and when hatred, even if it be hatred forthe moment only first finds expression. That moment can never berecalled! Is it ever really forgotten, or really forgiven? Some ofus can call to mind a word, just one word, spoken, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty years ago, which rings in our ears even to-day asdistinctly as when it was uttered, and forces the blood into the headas it did then. When Zachariah returned that night he and his wifespoke to each other as if nothing had happened, but they spoke onlyabout indifferent things. The next day Mrs. Coleman wonderedwhether, after all, he would repent; but the evening came and shewaited and waited in vain. The poor woman for hours and hours hadthought one thought and one thought only, until at last she couldbear it no longer. At about eight o'clock she rose, put on hercloak, and went out of doors. She made straight for Caillaud'shouse. It was cold, and the sky was clear at intervals, with massesof clouds sweeping over the nearly full moon. What she was to dowhen she got to Caillaud's had not entered her head. She came to thedoor and stopped. It had just begun to rain heavily. The sitting-room was on the ground-floor, abutting on the pavement. The blindwas drawn down, but not closely, and she could see inside. CaillaudPauline, and Zachariah were there, but not the Major. Caillaud wassitting by the fireside; her husband and Pauline were talkingearnestly across the table. Apparently both of them were muchinterested, and his face was lighted up as she never saw it when hewas with her. She was fascinated, and could not move. It was a dulllonely street and nobody was to be seen that wet night. She had noprotection from the weather but her cloak, and in ten minutes, as therain came down more heavily, she was wet through and shivering fromhead to foot--she who was usually so careful, so precise, sosingularly averse from anything like disorder. Still she watched--watched every movement of those two--every smile, every gesture; andwhen Caillaud went out of the room, perhaps to fetch something, shewatched with increasing and self-forgetting intensity. She had notheard footsteps approaching. The wind had risen; the storm was everfiercer and fiercer, and the feverish energy which poured itself intoher eyes had drained and deadened every other sense. 

"Well, my good woman, what do you want?"

She turned with a start, and it was the Major!

"Mrs. Coleman! Good God! what are you doing here? You are soaked. Why don't you come in?"

"Oh no, Major Maitland indeed I cannot. I--I had been out, and I hadjust stopped a moment. I didn't know it was going to rain. "

"But I say you are dripping. Come in and see you husband; he will gowith you. "

"Oh no, Major, please don't; please don't mention it to him; oh no, please don't; he would be very vexed. I shall be all right; I willgo on at once and dry myself. "

"You cannot go alone. I will see you as far as your house. Here, take my coat and put it over your shoulders. "

The Major took off a heavy cloak with capes, wrapped it round her, drew her arm through his, and they went to her lodgings. She forgotZachariah, Caillaud, and Pauline. When they arrived she returned thecloak and thanked him. She dared not ask him upstairs and he made nooffer to stay. 

"Please say nothing to my husband; promise you will not. He would bein such a way if he thought I had been out; but I could not help it. "

"Oh, certainly not, Mrs. Coleman, if you wish it; though I am sure hewouldn't, he couldn't be angry with you. "

She lingered as he took the coat. 

"Come inside and put it on, Major Maitland; why, it is you who aredripping now. You will not wear that over your sopped clothes. Cannot I lend you something? Won't you have something hot to drink?"

"No, thank you. I think not; it is not so bad as all that. "

He shook hands with her and had gone. 

She went upstairs into her dark room. The fire was out. She lightedno candle, but sat down just as she was, put her head on the table, and sobbed as if her heart would break. She was very seldom overcomeby emotion of this kind, and used to be proud that she had never oncein her life fainted, and was not given to hysterics. Checked at lastby a deadly shivering which came over her, she took off her wetgarments, threw them over a chair, and crept into bed, revolving inher mind the explanation which she could give to her husband. Whenshe saw him, and he inquired about her clothes, she offered sometrifling excuse, which seemed very readily to satisfy him, for hemade scarcely any reply, and was soon asleep. This time it was herturn to lie awake, and the morning found her restless, and with everysymptom of a serious illness approaching. 

CHAPTER XIII--TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS

Neither Mrs. Coleman nor her husband thought it anything worse than afeverish cold, and he went to his work. It was a club night, thenight on which the final arrangements for the march were to be made, and he did not like to be away. His wife was to lie in bed; but awoman in the house offered to wait upon her and bring what littlefood she wanted. It was settled at the club that the Major shouldaccompany the expedition and Zachariah and Caillaud having drawnlots, the lot fell upon Caillaud. A last attempt was made todissuade the majority from the undertaking; but it had been madebefore, not only by our three friends, but by other Lancashiresocieties, and had failed. The only effect its renewal had now was adisagreeable and groundless insinuation which was unendurable. Onhis return from the meeting Zachariah was alarmed. His wife was ingreat pain, and had taken next to nothing all day. Late as it was, he went for a doctor, who would give no opinion as to the nature ofthe disease then, but merely ordered her some kind of sedativemixture, which happily gave her a little sleep. Zachariah was aworking man and a poor man. Occasionally it does happen that aworking man and a poor man has nerves, and never does his povertyappear so hateful to him as when he has sickness in his house. 

The mere discomforts of poverty are bad enough--the hunger and coldof it--but worse than all is the impossibility of being decently ill, or decently dying, or of paying any attention to those who take itinto their heads to be ill or to die. A man tolerably well off canat least get his wife some help when she is laid up, and when she isnear her end can remain with her to take her last kiss and blessing. Not so the bricklayer's labourer. If his wife is in bed, he mustdepend upon charity for medicine and attendance. And although heknows he will never see her again, he is forced away to the job onwhich he is employed; for if he does not go he will lose it, and mustapply to the parish for a funeral. Happily the poor are not slow tohelp one another. The present writer has known women who have totoil hard all day long, sit up night after night with theirneighbours, and watch them with the most tender care. Zachariahfound it so in his case. A fellow-lodger, the mother of half-a-dozenchildren, a woman against whom the Colemans had conceived aprejudice, and whom they had avoided, came forward and modestly askedZachariah if she might "look after" Mrs. Coleman while he was away. He thought for a moment of sundry harsh things which he had saidabout her, and then a well-known parable came into his mind about acertain Samaritan, and he could have hugged her with joy at heroffer. 

Mrs. Carter was one of those healthy, somewhat red-faced, gaycreatures whom nothing represses. She was never melancholy withthose who were suffering; not because she had no sympathy for she wasprofoundly sympathetic--but because she was subduable. Her pulse wasquick, and her heart so sound that her blood, rich and strong--bloodwith never a taint in it--renewed every moment every fibre of herbrain. Her very presence to those who were desponding was a magneticcharm and she could put to flight legions of hypochondriacal fancieswith a cheery word. Critics said she ruled her husband; but whathusband would not rejoice in being so ruled? He came home weary andhe did not want to rule. He wanted to be directed, and he gladly sawthe reins in the hands of his "missus, " of whom he was justly proud. She conducted all the conversation; she spent his money, and evenbought him his own clothes; and although she said a sharp thing ortwo now and then, she never really quarrelled with him. The eldestof her six children was only twelve years old, and she was not overmethodical, so that her apartments were rather confused anddisorderly. She was not, however, dirty, and would not tolerate dirteven in her boys, to whom, by the way, she administered very shortand sharp corrections sometimes. If they came to the table withgrimy paws, the first intimation they had that their mother noticedit was a rap on the knuckles with the handle of a knife which sentthe bread and butter flying out of their fingers. She read no books, and, what was odd in those days, did not go to chapel or church; butshe had her "opinions, " as she called them, upon everything which wasstirring in the world, and never was behindhand in the news. She wasreally happier when she found that she had to look after Mrs. Coleman. She bustled about, taking directions from the doctor--notwithout some scepticism, for she had notions of her own on thesubject of disease--and going up and down stairs continually to seehow her patient was getting on. It was curious that although she wasa heavy woman she was so active. She was always on her legs frommorning to night, and never seemed fatigued. Indeed, when she satstill she was rather uncomfortable; and this was her weak point, forher restlessness interfered with sewing and mending, which sheabominated. 

The time for the march was close at hand. The Habeas Corpus Act hadmeanwhile been suspended and every reformer had to walk very warily. Ogden, in whose office it will be remembered that Zachariah wasengaged, had issued a handbill informing all the inhabitants ofManchester and its neighbourhood that on the 10th March a meetingwould be held near St. Peter's Church of those persons who haddetermined to carry their petitions to London. Zachariah, going tohis shop, as usual, on the morning of the 10th--a Monday--wasastonished to find that Ogden was arrested and in prison. 

We must, however, for a time, follow the fortunes of Caillaud and theMajor on that day. They were both astir at five o'clock, and joinedone another at the club. All the members were to assemble there atseven. Never was the Major more despondent. As for organisation, there was none, and every proposal he had made had been thwarted. Hesaw well enough, as a soldier, that ten times the enthusiasm at hiscommand would never carry a hundred men to London in that coldweather, and that if twenty thousand started, the number would be thedifficulty. The Yeomanry cavalry were under orders to oppose them, and what could an undisciplined mob do against a semi-military force?The end of it would be the prompt dispersion of the pilgrims and thediscredit of the cause. Nevertheless, both he and Caillaud haddetermined not to desert it. The absence of all preparations on thepart of these poor Blanketeers was, in truth, very touching, as itshowed the innocent confidence which they had in the justice of theircontention. Their avowed object was to present a petition personallyto the Prince Regent, that they might "undeceive" him; as if such athing were possible, or, being possible, would be of the slightestservice. The whole country would rise and help them; their journeywould be a triumphal procession; they were not a hostile army; thewomen would come to the doors and offer them bread and milk; theywould reach London; Lord Liverpool would resign; and they would comeback to Manchester with banners flying, having saved their country. At nine o'clock the club was in St. Peter's fields, and a kind ofplatform had been erected, from which an address was to be given. Caillaud and the Major were down below. Both of them were aghast atwhat they saw. Thousands of men were present with whom they wereunacquainted, who had been attracted by Ogden's proclamation; somewith coats; others without coats; some with sticks; some withpetitions; but most of them with blankets, which they had rolled uplike knapsacks. The Major's heart sank within him. What on earthcould he do? Nothing except accompany them and try to preventcollision with the troops. The magistrates were distracted by nodoubts whatever. They read the Riot Act, although there was no riot, nor the semblance of one, and forthwith surrounded the platform andcarried off everyone on it to prison. The crowd was then chased bythe soldiers and special constables, till all power of combinationwas at an end. About three hundred however, were collected, andfound their way to Ardwick Green. They had been joined by others onthe route, and the Major informally reviewed his men. Never, surely, was there such a regiment! never, surely, did any regiment go on suchan errand! Ragged many of them; ignorant all, fanatical, penniless, they determined, in spite of all arguments, to proceed. He pointedout that if they could be so easily scattered when they werethousands strong, every one of them would be cut down or capturedbefore they were twenty miles on the road. He was answered as beforewith contempt and suspicions of cowardice. A Methodist, half-starved, grey-haired, with black rings round his eyes and a yellowface, harangued them. 

"My friends, " he said, "we have been told to go back; that we are toofew to accomplish the task to which we have set ourselves. What saidthe Lord unto Gideon, Judges vii. : 'The people that are with theeare too many for me to give the Midianites into their hands lestIsrael vaunt themselves against me, saying, Mine own hand hath savedme. Now therefore go to, proclaim in the ears of the people, saying, Whosoever is fearful and afraid, let him return and depart early fromGilead. ' Well, twenty-two thousand went back and at last Gideon hadonly the three hundred who lapped the water. By those three hundredIsrael was saved from the Midianites. Our thousands have left us;but we shall triumph. It may be the Lord's will that more shoulddepart. It may be that there are yet too many. I say, then, in thewords of Gideon, 'Whosoever is fearful and afraid, let him return. 'Is there anybody?" (Loud shouts answered "None. ") "The Lord is withus, " continued the speaker--"the sword of the Lord and of Gideon!"Every one shouted again. 

Respectable Manchester was frightened when the Blanketeers met, andlaughed them to scorn when they were dispersed. No wonder at thelaughter. What could be more absurd? And yet, when we call to mindthe THING then on the throne; the THING that gave 180 pounds for anevening coat, and incurred enormous debts, while his people wereperishing; the THING that drank and lied and whored; the THING thatnever did nor said nor thought anything that was not utterly brutishand contemptible--when we think that the THING was a monarch, Heaven-ordained, so it was said, on which side does the absurdity reallylie? Of a truth, not only is the wisdom of this world foolishness, as it ever was, but that which to this world is foolishness isadjudged wisdom by the Eternal Arbiter. The Blanketeers shivering onArdwick Green, the weavers who afterwards drilled on the Lancashiremoors, and were hung according to law, or killed at Peterloo, areless ridiculous than those who hung or sabred them, less ridiculousthan the Crimean war and numberless dignified events in humanhistory, the united achievements of the sovereigns and ministries ofEurope. 

The route of the three hundred was towards Stockport; but when theyreached the bridge they found it occupied by the Yeomanry and a troopof the Life Guards. To attempt to force a passage was impossible;but numbers threw themselves into the river, and so crossed. Thesoldiers then withdrew into Stockport town, and the bridge was leftopen to the main body. When they got into the street on the otherside the soldiers and police dashed at them, and arrested everybodywhom they could catch. The Major was foremost in the crowd, endeavouring to preserve some sort of discipline, and one of theYeomanry, suspecting him to be a leader, rode up to him, and, leaningfrom his horse, collared him. He was unarmed; but he was a powerfulman, and wrenched himself free. The soldier drew his sword, andalthough Caillaud was close by, and attempted to parry the blow witha stick, the Major lay a dead man on the ground. The next moment, however, the soldier himself was dead--dead from a pistol-shot firedby Caillaud, who was instantly seized, handed over to a guard, andmarched off with a score of others to Manchester jail. A remnantonly of the Blanketeers escaped from Stockport, and a smaller remnantgot to Macclesfield. There there was no shelter for them, and manyof them lay in the streets all night. When the morning dawned onlytwenty went on into Staffordshire, and these shortly afterwardsseparated, and wandered back to Manchester. The sword of Gideon was, alas! not the sword of the Lord, and aching hearts in that bitterMarch weather felt that there was something worse than the cold to beborne at they struggled homewards. Others, amongst whom was ourMethodist orator, were not discouraged. It is a poor religion whichmakes no provision for disaster, and even for apparently finalfailure. The test of faith is its power under defeat, and thesesilly God-fearing souls argued to themselves that their Master's timewas not their time; that perhaps they were being punished for theirsins, and that when it pleased Him they would triumph. Essentiallyright they were, right in every particular, excepting, perhaps, thatit was not for their own sins that this sore visitation came uponthem. Visitation for sin it was certainly, but a visitation for thesins of others--such is the way of Providence, and has been eversince the world began, much to the amazement of many reflectivepersons. Thou hast laid on Him the iniquity of us all, and Jesus iscrucified rather than the Scribes and Pharisees! Yet could we reallywish it otherwise? Would it have been better in the end thatCaiaphas and the elders should have been nailed upon Calvary, andJesus die at a good old age, crowned with honour? It was not yetGod's time in 1817, but God's time was helped forward, as itgenerally is, by this anticipation of it. It is a commonplace that apremature outbreak puts back the hands of the clock and is a blunder. Nine times out of ten this is untrue, and a revolt instantaneouslyquenched in blood is not merely the precursor, but the directprogenitor of success. 

We will spend no time over the death of Major Maitland. The tragicinterest, as one of our greatest masters has said, lies not with thecorpse but with the mourners, and we turn back to Zachariah. Ogden'soffice was shut. On the night after the breakdown at Stockport anote in pencil was left at Zachariah's house, in Pauline'shandwriting. It was very short: --"Fly for your life--they will haveyou to-night--P. "

Fly for his life! But how could he fly, with his wife in bed andwith no work before him? Would it not be base to leave her? Then itoccurred to him that if he were taken and imprisoned, he would bealtogether incapable of helping her. He determined to speak to Mrs. Carter. He showed her the note, and she was troubled with nohesitation of any kind. 

"My good man, " she said, "you be off this minute. That's what you'vegot to do. Never mind your wife; I'll see after her. Expense?Lord, Mr. Coleman what's that? She don't eat much. Besides, we'llsettle all about that afterwards. "

Zachariah hesitated. 

"Now don't stand shilly-shallying and a-thinking and a-thinking, --that never did anybody any good. I can't a-bear a man as thinks andthinks when there's anything to be done as plain as the nose in hisface. Where's your bag?"

Mrs. Carter was out of the room in an instant, and in ten minutescame back with a change of clothes. 

"Now, let us know where you are; but don't send your letters here. You write to my sister; there's her address. You needn't go upthere; your wife's asleep. I'll bid her good-bye for you. Take myadvice--get out of this county somewhere, and get out of Manchesterto-night. "

"I must go upstairs to get some money, " and Zachariah stole into hisbedroom to take half a little hoard which was in a desk there. Hiswife, as Mrs. Carter had said, was asleep. He went to her bedsideand looked at her. She was pale and worn. Lying there unconscious, all the defects which had separated him from her vanished. In sleepand death the divine element of which we are compounded reappears, and we cease to hate or criticise; we can only weep or pray. Helooked and looked again. The hours of first love and courtshippassed before him; he remembered what she was to him then, and hethought that perhaps the fault, after all, might have been on hisside, and that he had perhaps not tried to understand her. Hethought of her loneliness--taken away by him into a land ofstrangers--and now he was about to desert her; he thought, too, thatshe also was one of God's children just as much as he was; perhapsmore so. The tears filled his eyes, although he was a hard, strongman not used to tears, and something rose in his throat and almostchoked him. He was about to embrace her; but he dared not disturbher. He knelt down at the foot of the bed, and in an agony besoughthis God to have mercy on him. "God have mercy on me! God have mercyon her!" That was all he could say--nothing else, although he hadbeen used to praying habitually. His face was upon her feet, as shelay stretched out there, and he softly uncovered one of them, sogently that she could not perceive it. Spotlessly white it was, andonce upon a time she was so attractive to him because she was soexquisitely scrupulous! He bent his lips over it, kissed it--shestirred, but did not wake; a great cry almost broke from him, but hestifled it and rose. There was a knock at the door, and he started. It was Mrs. Carter. 

"Come, " she said as he went out, "you have been here long enough. Poor dear man!--there, there--of course it's hard to bear--poor dearman!"--and the good creature put her hand affectionately on hisshoulder. 

"I don't know how it is, " she continued, wiping her eyes with herapron, "I can't a-bear to see a man cry. It always upsets me. Myhusband ain't done it above once or twice in his life, and, Lord, I'dsooner a cried myself all night long. Good-bye, my dear, good-bye, good-bye; God bless you! It will all come right. "

In another minute Zachariah was out of doors. It was dark, andgetting late. The cold air revived him but he could not for sometime come to any determination as to what he ought to do next. Hewas not well acquainted with the country round Manchester, and hecould not decide to what point of the compass it would be safest tobend his steps. At last he remembered that at any rate he mustescape from the town boundaries, and get a night's lodging somewhereoutside them. With the morning some light would possibly dawn uponhim. 

Pauline's warning was well-timed, for the constables made a descentupon Caillaud's lodgings as soon as they got him into jail, andthence proceeded to Coleman's. They insisted on a search, and Mrs. Carter gave them a bit of her mind, for they went into every room ofthe house, and even into Mrs. Coleman's bedroom. 

"I'll tell you what it is, Mr. Nadin, " she said, turning towards thenotorious chief constable, "if God A'mighty had to settle who was tobe hung in Manchester, it wouldn't be any of them poor Blanketeers. Wouldn't you like to strip the clothes off the bed? That would bejust in your line. "

"Hold your damned tongue!" quoth Mr. Nadin; but, nevertheless, seeinghis men grinning and a little ashamed of themselves, he ordered themback. 

Meanwhile Zachariah pursued his way north-westward unchallenged, andat last came to a roadside inn, which he thought looked safe. Hewalked in, and found half a dozen decent-looking men sitting round afire and smoking. One of them was a parson, and another was one ofthe parish overseers. It was about half-past ten, and they were notmerry, but a trifle boozy and stupid. Zachariah called for a pint ofbeer and some bread and cheese, and asked if he could have a bed. The man who served him didn't know; but would go and see. Presentlythe overseer was beckoned out of the room, and the man came backagain and informed Zachariah that there was no bed for him, and thathe had better make haste with his supper, as the house would close ateleven. In a minute or two the door opened again, and a poor, emaciated weaver entered and asked the overseer for some help. Hiswife, he said, was down with the fever; he had no work; he had had novictuals all day, and he and his family were starving. He wasevidently known to the company. 

"Ah, " said the overseer, "no work, and the fever and starving; that'swhat they always say. I'll bet a sovereign you've been after themBlanketeers. "

"It's a judgment on you, " observed the parson. "You and your like gosetting class against class; you never come near the church, and thenyou wonder God Almighty punishes you. "

"You can come on your knees to us when it suits you, and you'd burnmy rick to-morrow, " said a third. 

"There's a lot of fever amongst 'em down my way, " said another, whosevoice was rather thick, "and a damned lot of expense they are, too, for physic and funerals. It's my belief that they catch it out ofspite. "

"Aren't you going to give me nothing?" said the man. "There isn't amouthful of food in the place, and the wife may be dead before themorning. "

"Well, what do you say, parson?" said the overseer. 

"I say we've got quite enough to do to help those who deserve help, "he replied, "and that it's flying in the face of Providence tointerfere with its judgment. " With that he knocked the ashes out ofhis pipe, and took a great gulp of his brandy-and-water. 

There was an echo of assent. 

"God have mercy on me!" said the man, as he sat down on the form bythe table. Zachariah touched him gently, and pushed the plate andjug to him. He looked at Zachariah, and without saying a word, devoured it greedily. He just had time to finish, for the landlord, entering the room, roughly ordered them to turn out. Out they wentaccordingly. 

"The Lord in heaven curse them!" exclaimed Zachariah's companion whenthey were in the road. "I could have ripped 'em up, every one of'em. My wife is in bed with her wits a-wandering, and there a'nt alump of coal, nor a crumb of bread, nor a farthing in the house. "

"Hush, my friend, cursing is of no use. "

"Ah! it's all very well to talk; you've got money maybe. "

"Not much. I too have no work, no lodging, and I'm driven away fromhome. Here's half of what's left. "

"What a sinner I am!" said the other. "You wouldn't think it, tohear me go on as I did, but I am a Methodist. The last two or threedays, though, I've been like a raving madman. That's the worst ofit. Starvation has brought the devil into me. I'm not a-going totake all that though, master; I'll take some of it; and if ever Iprayed to the Throne of Grace in my life, I'll pray for you. Who areyou? Where are you going?"

Zachariah felt that he could safely trust him, and told him what hadhappened. 

"I haven't got a bit of straw myself on which to put you; but youcome along with me. "

They walked together for about half a mile, till they came to a barn. There was a haystack close by, and they dragged some of the dry hayinto it. 

"You'd better be away from these parts afore it's light, and, if youtake my advice, Liverpool is the best place for you. "

He was right. Liverpool was a large town, and, what was of moreconsequence, it was not so revolutionary as Manchester, and thesearch there for the suspected was not so strict. The road wasexplained, so far as Zachariah's friend knew it, and they parted. 

Zachariah slept but little, and at four o'clock, with a bright moon, he started. He met with no particular adventure, and in the eveningfound himself once more in a wilderness of strange streets, with nooutlook, face to face with the Red Sea. Happy is the man who, if heis to have an experience of this kind, is trained to it when young, and is not suddenly brought to it after a life of security. Zachariah, although he was desponding, could now say he had been inthe same straits before, and had survived. That is the consolationof all consolations to us. We have actually touched and handled theskeleton, and after all we have not been struck dead. {132}

"O socii, neque enim ignari sumus ante malorum, O passi graviora, dabit Deus his quoque finem. Vos et Scyllaeam rabiem penitusque sonantesAccestis scopulos; vos et Cyclopia saxaExperti. Revocate animos, moestumque timoremMittite; forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit. "

He wandered down to the water and saw a ship cleared for some portacross the Atlantic. A longing seized him to go with her. Over thesea, --he thought there he would be at rest. So we all think, and aswe watch the vessels dropping below the horizon in the sunset cloud, we imagine them bound with a happy crew to islands of the blest, thetruth being that the cloud is a storm, and the destined port is ascommonplace and full of misery as the one they have left. Zachariah, however, did not suffer himself to dream. He went diligently andsystematically to work; but this time all his efforts were fruitless. He called on every printing-office he could find, and there was notone which wanted a hand, or saw any prospect of wanting one. Hethought of trying the river-side; but he stood no chance there, as hehad never been accustomed to carry heavy weights. His money wasrunning short, and at last, when evening came on the third day, andhe was faint with fatigue, his heart sank. He was ill, too, andsickness began to cloud his brain. As the power of internalresistance diminishes, the circumstance of the external world presseson us like the air upon an exhausted glass ball, and finally crushesus. It saddened him, too, to think, as it has saddened thousandsbefore him, that the fight which he fought, and the death which, perhaps, was in front of him, were so mean. Ophelia dies; Julietdies, and we fancy that their fate, although terrible, is moreenviable than that of a pauper who drops undramatically on Londonstones. He came to his lodging at the close of the third day, wet, tired, hungry, and with a headache. There was nobody to suggestanything to him or offer him anything. He went to bed, and athousand images, uncontrolled, rushed backwards and forwards beforehim. He became excited, so that he could not rest, and after walkingabout his room till nearly daylight, turned into bed again. Whenmorning had fairly arrived he tried to rise, but he was beaten. Helay still till about eleven, and then the woman who kept the lodging-house appeared and asked him if he was going to stay all day where hewas. He told her he was very bad; but she went away without a word, and he saw nothing more of her. Towards night he became worse andfinally delirious. 

CHAPTER XIV--THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY THE SIXTH FORM THEREOF

When Zachariah came to himself he was in a large, long, whitewashedroom, with twenty beds or more in it. A woman in a greyish checkdress was standing near him. 

"Where am I?" he said. 

"Where are yer?" she said; "why, in the workus infirmary, to be sure, with me a-looking after yer. Where would yer be?"

Zachariah relapsed and was still. The next time he opened his eyesthe woman had left him. It was true he was in the workhouse, and aworkhouse then was not what it is now. Who can possibly describewhat it was? Who can possibly convey to anybody who has not knownwhat it was by actual imprisonment in it any adequate sense of itsgloom; of the utter, callous, brutal indifference of the so-callednurses; of the neglect of the poor patients by those who were paid toattend to them; of the absence of even common decency; of thedesperate persistent attempts made by everybody concerned to impressupon the wretched mortals who were brought there that they werechargeable to the parish and put there for form's sake, prior tobeing shovelled into a hole in the adjoining churchyard? Theinfirmary nurses were taken from the other side of the building--sometimes for very strange reasons. The master appointed them, andwas not bound to account to anybody for his preferences. One womanhad given him much trouble. She was a stout, lazy brute, who had nobusiness in the House, and who went in and out just as she liked. One day something displeased her, and she attacked him with such furyand suddenness that he would have been a dead man in a few minutes ifshe had not been pulled off. But he dared not report her. She knewtoo much about him, and she was moved a few days afterwards to lookafter the sick. She it was who spoke to Zachariah. She, however, was not by any means the worst. Worse than her were the old, degraded, sodden, gin-drinking hags, who had all their lives breathedpauper air and pauper contamination; women with not one singlevestige of their Maker's hand left upon them, and incapable, evenunder the greatest provocation, of any human emotion; who would see adying mother call upon Christ, or cry for her husband and children, and would swear at her and try to smother her into silence. As forthe doctor, he was hired at the lowest possible rate, and was alloweda certain sum for drugs. It was utterly insufficient to provideanything except the very commonest physic; and what could he do inthe midst of such a system, even if he had been inclined to doanything? He accordingly did next to nothing; walked through thewards, and left his patients pretty much to Providence. They wererobbed even of their food. They were not much to be pitied for beingrobbed of the stimulants, for every drop, including the "port wine, "was obtained by the directors from those of their number or fromtheir friends who were in the trade, and it was mostly poisonous. Death is always terrible--terrible on the battlefield; terrible in asinking ship; terrible to the exile--but the present writer, who hasseen Death in the "House" of years gone by, cannot imagine that hecan ever be so distinctively the King of Terrors as he was there. The thought that thousands and thousands of human beings, some ofthem tender-hearted, have had to face him there is more horrifyingthan the thought of French soldiers freezing in their blood on theBorodino, or of Inquisitional tortures. It is one of those thoughtswhich ought not to be thought--a thought to be suppressed, for itleads to atheism, or even something worse than mere denial of a God. Thank Heaven that the present generation of the poor has beenrelieved at least of one argument in favour of the creed that theworld is governed by the Devil! Thank Heaven that the modernhospital, with its sisters gently nurtured, devoted to their dutywith that pious earnestness which is a true religion, has suppliedsome evidence of a Theocracy. 

Zachariah looked round again. There was an old male attendant nearhim. He had on a brown rough coat with brass buttons, and shoeswhich were much too big for him. They were supplied in sizes, andnever fitted. The old men always took those that were too large. They had as their place of exercise a paved courtyard surrounded byhigh brick walls, and they all collected on the sunny side, andwalked up and down there, making a clapping noise with their feet asthe shoes slipped off their heels. This sound was characteristic ofthe whole building. It was to be heard everywhere. 

"You've been very bad, " said the old man, "but you'll get better now;it a'nt many as get better here. "

He was a poor-looking, half-fed creature, with a cadaverous face. Hehad the special, workhouse, bloodless aspect--just as if he had livedon nothing stronger than gruel and had never smelt fresh air. Theair, by the way, of those wards was something peculiar. It had nodistinctive odour--that is to say, no odour which was specially thisor that; but it had one that bore the same relation to ordinaryodours which well-ground London mud bears to ordinary colours. Theold man's face, too, had nothing distinctive in it. The only thingcertainly predicable of him was, that nothing could be predicated ofhim. He was neither selfish nor generous; neither a liar nortruthful; neither believed anything, nor disbelieved anything; wasneither good nor bad; had no hope hereafter, nor any doubt. 

"Who are you?" said Zachariah. 

"Well, that ain't easy to say. I does odd jobs here as the nursesdon't do, and I gets a little extra ration. "

"How long have I been here?"

"About a fortnight. "

Zachariah was too weak to say anything more, and fell asleep again. Next day he was better, and he then thought of his wife; he thoughtof Caillaud, the Major, and Pauline; but he had no power to reflectconnectedly. He was in that miserable condition in which objectspresent themselves in a tumbling crowd, one following the other withinconceivable rapidity, the brain possessing no power to disentanglethe chaos. He could not detach the condition of his wife, forexample, and determine what ought to be done; he could not even bringhimself to decide if it would be best to let her know where he was. No sooner did he try to turn his attention to her, even for a moment, than the Major came before him, and then his other friends, and thenthe workhouse and the dread of death there. Mercifully he went tosleep again, and after another long night's rest he was muchstronger. He was able now--first sign of restored power--to settlethat he ought before everything to communicate with Mrs. Carter, andhe inquired of the old man if he could write. 

"Oh, yes, I can write, " said he, and something like a gleam of lightpassed over his countenance at being asked to practise an art almostforgotten in those walls. 

A letter was accordingly written to Mrs. Carter, at her sister'saddress, telling her briefly what had happened, but that she was notto be alarmed, as the writer was rapidly recovering. He was able tosign his name; but when the letter was finished, he reflected that hehad not got a coin in his pocket with which to pay the postage. Oneof the institutions of the workhouse was, however, a kind of pawnshopkept by one of the under-masters, as they were called, and Zachariahgot a shilling advanced on a pocket-knife. The letter, therefore, was duly despatched, and he gave his secretary a penny for histrouble. This led to a little further intimacy, and Zachariah askedhim how he came there. 

"I don't know, " he replied. "I was born in the country, and when Iwas fourteen, my father apprenticed me to the watchmaking. He waswell off--my father was--and when I was out of my time he set me upin business in Liverpool. It was a business as had been establishedsome time--a fairish business it was. But when I came to Liverpool Ifelt dull. "

"What do you mean by dull? Stupid?"

"No, not exactly that. You know what dull means, don't you?--low-spirited like--got nothing to talk about. Well, I can't tell how itcome about, but I was always dull, and have been so ever since. Igot married soon after I was settled. My wife was a good sort ofwoman, but she wasn't cheerful, and she wasn't very strong. Somehowthe business fell off. Customers as used to come didn't come, and Igot no new ones. I did my work pretty well; but still, for all that, things went down and down by degrees. I never could make out why, except that people liked to be talked to, and I had nothingparticular to say to any of them when they came in. The shop, too, ought to have been painted more often, and I ought to have hadsomething in the window, but, as I say, I was always dull, and mywife wasn't strong. At last I was obliged to give up and go tojourney-work; but when I got old I couldn't see, and was put inhere. "

"But, " said Zachariah, "is that all? Why, you are nearly seventyyears old. You must have something more to tell me. "

"No. I don't know as I have; that seems about all. "

"But what became of your father? He was well off. What became ofhis money when he died?"

"I'd had my share. "

"Had you no brothers nor sisters to help you?"

"Yes, I had some. "

"Did they let you come here?"

"Why, you see, as I've told you before, I was dull, and my wifewasn't strong. They never came much to see me. It was my fault; Inever had nothing to say to them. "

"Had you no children?"

"Yes, I had a son and daughter. "

"Are they alive now?"

"Yes--both of them; at least I haven't heard as they are dead. "

"And able to keep themselves?"

"They used to be. "

"And do you mean that your son and daughter let you go to theworkhouse?"

The old man was a little disturbed, and for a moment some slight signof nervous excitement revealed itself in his lustreless eyes. 

"I haven't see anything of 'em for years. "

"Did you quarrel?"

"No, we didn't quarrel; but they left off visiting us. They both ofthem married, and went out a good bit, and were gayer than we were. We used to ask them, and then they'd look in sometimes: but neverexcept when they were asked, and always seemed to wish to get away. We never had nothing to show anybody, nor nothing to give anybody;for we didn't drink and I never smoked. They went away too, both ofthem, from Liverpool, somewhere towards London. "

"But when you broke down didn't you inform them?"

"No. I hadn't heard anything of them for so long. I thought I mightas well get into the House. It will do very well. "

"Didn't you know anybody belonging to your church or chapel?"

"Well, we went to church; but when the business dropped we left offgoing, for nothing much seemed to come of it, and nobody ever spoketo us. "

"Wouldn't you like to get out of this place?"

"No--I don't know as I should now; I shouldn't know what to do, andit won't last long. "

"How old are you?"

"Sixty-five. "

It puzzled Zachariah that the man's story of his life was so short--all told in five minutes. 

"But did you never have any adventures? Did you never hear aboutanything, or see anybody worth remembering? Tell me all aboutyourself. We've got nothing to do. "

"I don't recollect anything particular after I came to Liverpool. Things seemed to go on pretty much in the same way. "

"But you got married, and your wife died?"

"Yes--I got married, and she died. "

"What was your wife's name?"

"Her name was Jenkins; she was the daughter of the saddler that livednext door. "

"Couldn't her friends have helped you?"

"After she died they had nothing more to do with me. "

"And you really cannot tell me any more?"

"No--how can I? What more is there to tell? It's all alike. "

The old pauper was called away, and went shuffling along to the door, leaving Zachariah to his meditations. 

Another day passed, and he was lying half asleep when a visitor wasannounced, and close upon the announcement stood before him--whoshould it be?--no other than Mrs. Carter, out of breath, radiant, healthy, impetuous. 

"God bless the poor dear man!" she burst out; "to think of findingyou here, and not to have told us before. But I suppose youcouldn't. Directly as I got your letter off I came, and here I am, you see. "

Her presence was like the south-west wind and sunlight after longnorth-easterly gloom and frost. Astonishing is that happy powerwhich some people possess which enables them at once to dispeldepression and even disease. A woman like Mrs. Carter comes into ahouse where there is misery and darkness; where the sufferer ispossessed by demons; unnameable apprehensions, which thicken hisblood and make him cry for death, and they retreat precipitately, astheir brethren were fabled to retreat at the sign of the cross. Noman who is so blessed as to have a friend with that magnetic force inhim need disbelieve in much of what is recorded as miraculous. Zachariah felt as if a draught of good wine had been poured down histhroat. But he instantly asked:

"How is my wife?"

"She is all right; but you mustn't bother about her. You must comeout at once. You mustn't go back to Manchester just yet--not asthey'd care much about you now; Nadin's got plenty of work to do, andwouldn't concern himself about you--but you aren't well enough andare better away. Now, look here--I'll tell you what I've been anddone. I've got a cousin living here in Liverpool, as good a soul asever lived. I goes to her and tells her you must stay there. "

"But how can I? Just think of the trouble and expense. I don't knowher. "

"Lord a mercy, there you are again--trouble and expense! Whattrouble will you be? And as for expense, one would think you'd beenliving like a Lord Mayor to hear you talk. What are we made for ifnot to help one another?"

"I can't walk; and shouldn't I be obliged to get the doctor'spermission?"

"Walk! Of course you can't. And what did my husband say to mebefore I started? Says he, 'You'll have to get a conveyance to takehim. ' 'Leave me alone for that, ' says I; 'although right you are. 'And I says to my cousin's husband, who drives a hackney coach, 'Justyou drop down and carry him home. It won't be ten minutes out ofyour time. ' So he'll be here in about a quarter of an hour. As forthe doctor, I understand as much about you as he does, and, doctor orno doctor, you won't sleep in this bed to-night. I'll go and tellthe head nurse or master, or somebody or the other, that you are off. You just put on your clothes. "

In a short time she returned, found Zachariah dressed, wrapped himround in shawls and rugs, helped him downstairs, put him into thecoach, and brought him to her cousin's. It was a little house, in along uniform street; but a good deal of pains had been taken with itto make it something special. There were two bedroom windows infront, on the upper storey, and each one had flowers outside. Theflower-pots were prevented from falling off the ledge by a lattice-work wrought in the centre into a little gate--an actual little gate. What purpose it was intended to answer is a mystery; but being therethe owner of the flower-pots unfastened it every morning when thesill was dusted, and removed them through it, although lifting themwould have been a much simpler operation. There were flowers in thesitting-room downstairs too; but they were inside, as the window wasflush with the pavement. This sitting-room was never used except onSundays. It was about nine feet square, and it had in it a cupboardon either side of the fireplace, a black horse-hair sofa alongsidethe wall on the right-hand side of the door, red curtains, a blackhorse-hair arm-chair, three other chairs to match, a little roundtable, two large shells, a framed sampler on the wall representingfirst the letters of the alphabet, then the figures 1, 2, 3, &c. , and, finally, a very blue Jesus talking to a very red woman ofSamaria on a very yellow well--underneath, the inscription and date, "Margaret Curtin, 10th March 1785. " The only other decorations--forpictures were dear in those days--were two silhouettes, male, andfemale, one at each corner of the mantelpiece, and two earthenwaredogs which sat eternally looking at one another on the top of one ofthe cupboards. On the cupboard farthest away from the window was alarge Bible with pictures in it and notes, and, strange to say, acopy of Ferguson's Astronomy and a handsome quarto edition in threevolumes of Cook's First Voyage. Everything was as neat and clean asit could possibly be; but Mr. And Mrs. Hocking had no children, andhad saved a little money. 

Into this apartment Zachariah was brought. There was a fire burning, though it was not cold, and on the table, covered with a perfectlywhite cloth, stood a basin of broth, with some toast, a little brandyin a wine-glass, a jug of water, and a tumbler. The books, includingthe Bible, had apparently not been read much, and were probably anheirloom. As Zachariah began to recover strength he read theFerguson. It was the first time he had ever thought seriously ofAstronomy, and it opened a new world to him. His religion hadcentred all his thoughts upon the earth as the theatre of the historyof the universe, and although he knew theoretically that it was but asubordinate planet, he had not realised that it was so. For him, practically, this little globe had been the principal object of theCreator's attention. Ferguson told him also, to his amazement, thatthe earth moved in a resisting medium, and that one day it wouldsurely fall into the sun. That day would be the end of the world, and of everything in it. He learned something about the magnitude ofthe planets and the distances of the fixed stars, and noted that hisauthor, pious as he is, cannot admit that planets or stars werecreated for the sake of man. He dwelt upon these facts, moreespecially upon the first till the ground seemed to disappear underhis feet, and he fell into that strange condition in which people inearthquake countries are said to be when their houses begin totremble. We may laugh, and call him a fool to be disturbed by aforecast of what is not going to happen for millions of years; but hewas not a fool. He was one of those unhappy creatures whom an ideahas power to shake, and almost to overmaster. Ferguson was aChristian, and the thought of the destruction of our presentdwelling-place, with every particle of life on it, did not troublehim. He had his refuge in Revelation. Zachariah too was aChristian, but the muscles of his Christianity were--now at any rate, whatever they may once have been--not firm enough to strangle thisnew terror. His supernatural heaven had receded into shadow; he wasgiddy, and did not know where he was. He did not feel to their fullextent the tremendous consequences of this new doctrine, and theshock which it has given to so much philosophy and so many theories, but he felt quite enough, and wished he had never opened the volume. There are many truths, no doubt, which we are not robust enough tobear. In the main it is correct that the only way to conquer isboldly to face every fact, however horrible it may seem to be, andthink, and think, till we pass it and come to a higher fact; butoften we are too weak, and perish in the attempt. As we lieprostrate, we curse the day on which our eyes were opened, and we cryin despair that it would have been better for us to have been bornoxen or swine than men. It is an experience, I suppose, not new thatin certain diseased conditions some single fear may fasten on thewretched victim so that he is almost beside himself. He is unawarethat this fear in itself is of no importance, for it is nothing butan index of ill-health, which might find expression in a hundredother ways. He is unconscious of the ill-health except through hisfancy, and regards it as an intellectual result. It is an afflictionworse ten thousand times than any direct physical pain which ends inpain. Zachariah could not but admit that he was still physicallyweak; he had every reason, therefore, for supposing that his mentalagony was connected with his sickness, but he could not bring himselfto believe that it was so, and he wrestled with his nightmares andargued with them as though they were mere logical inferences. However, he began to get better, and forthwith other matters occupiedhis mind. His difficulty was not fairly slain, pierced through themidst by some heaven-directed arrow, but it was evaded and forgotten. Health, sweet blood, unimpeded action of the heart, are the divinenarcotics which put to sleep these enemies to our peace and enable usto pass happily through life. Without these blessings a man need notstir three steps without finding a foe able to give him his death-stroke. 

Zachariah longed to see his wife again; but he could not bring her toLiverpool until he had some work to do. At last the day came when hewas able to say that he was once more earning his living, and oneevening when he reached home she was there too. Mrs. Carter hadherself brought her to Liverpool, but had gone back again toManchester at once, as she could not stay the night. When he firstset eyes on his wife he was astonished at the change in her. She waswhiter, if possible, than ever, thin in the face, dark-ringed aboutthe eyes, and very weak. But otherwise she was what she had alwaysbeen. The hair was just as smooth, everything about her just asspotlessly clean and unruffled, and she sat as she always did, ratherupright and straight, as if she preferred the discomfort of asomewhat rigid position to the greater discomfort of disarranging hergown. 

Zachariah had much to say. During the whole of the four hours beforebedtime he did not once feel that drying-up of conversation whichused to be so painful to him. It is true she herself said little ornothing, but that was of no moment. She was strengthless, and he didnot expect her to talk. So long as he could speak he was happy. Thenext morning came, and with it came Hope, as it usually came to himin the morning, and he kissed her with passionate fervour as he wentout, rejoicing to think that, although she was so feeble, she wasrecovering; that he could once more look forward as in earlier days, to the evening, and forgetting every cloud which had ever comebetween them. Alas, when the night of that very day came he foundhis little store exhausted, and he and the companion of his life sattogether for a quarter of an hour or more without speaking a word. He proposed reading a book, and took up the Ferguson, thinking hecould extract from it something which might interest her; but she wasso irresponsive, and evidently cared so little for it, that heceased. It was but eight o'clock, and how to fill up the time he didnot know. At last he said he would just take a turn outside and lookat the weather. He went out and stood under the stars of which hehad been reading. The meeting, after such a separation, was scarcelytwenty-four hours old, and yet he felt once more the old wearinessand the old inability to profit by her society or care for it. Hewished, or half wished, that there might have existed suchdifferences between them that they could have totally disregarded oreven hated one another. The futility, however, of any raving wassoon perfectly clear to him. He might as well have strained at achain which held him fast by the leg, and he therefore strove toquiet himself. He came back, after being absent longer than heintended and found she was upstairs. He sat down and meditatedagain, but came to no conclusion, for no conclusion was possible. The next evening, after they had sat dumb for some moments, he said, "My dear; you don't seem well. "

"I am not well, as you know. You yourself don't seem well. "

He felt suddenly as if he would have liked to throw himself on hisknees before her, and to have it all out with her; to say to her allhe had said to himself; to expose all his misery to her; to try tofind out whether she still loved him; to break or thaw the shell ofice which seemed to have frozen round her. But he could not do it. He was on the point of doing it, when he looked at her face, andthere was something in it which stopped him. No such confidence waspossible, and he went back into himself again. 

"Shall I read to you?"

"Yes, if you like. "

"What shall I read?

"I don't care; anything you please. "

"Shall it be Cook's Voyages?"

"I have just said I really do not care. "

He took down the Cook's Voyages; but after about ten minutes he couldnot go on and he put it back in its place. 

"Caillaud's trial is to take place next week, " he observed after along pause. 

"Horrible man!" she exclaimed, with a sudden increase of energy. "Iunderstand that it was in defending him Major Maitland lost hislife. "

"My dear, you are quite wrong. He was defending Major Maitland, andshot the soldier who killed him. "

"Quite wrong, am I? Of course I am quite wrong!"

"I was at head-quarters, you remember. "

"Yes, you were; but you were not near Major Maitland. "

Zachariah raised his eyes; he thought he detected, he was sure hedetected, in the tone of this sentence a distinct sneer. 

"I was not with Major Maitland; my duties called me elsewhere; but Iam more likely to know what happened than any gossiping outsider. "

"I don't believe in your foreign infidels. "

"MY foreign infidels! You have no right to call them my infidels, ifyou mean that, I am one. But let me tell you again you are mistaken. Besides, supposing you are right, I don't see why he should be ahorrible man. He will probably be executed for what he did. "

"It was he and that daughter of his who dragged you and the Majorinto all this trouble. "

"On the contrary, Caillaud, as well as myself and the Major, did allwe could to prevent the march. You must admit I understand what I amtalking about. I was at every meeting. "

"As usual, nothing I say is right. It was to be expected that youwould take the part of the Caillauds. "

Zachariah did not reply. It was supper-time; the chapter from theBible was duly read, the prayer duly prayed, and husband and wifeafterwards once more, each in turn, silently at the bedside, withmore or less of sincerity or pathos, sought Him who was the Maker ofboth. It struck Zachariah during his devotions--a rather unwelcomeinterruption--that his wife as well as himself was in closecommunication with the Almighty. 

CHAPTER XV--END OF THE BEGINNING

The trial took place at Lancaster. Zachariah was sorely tempted togo; but, in the first place, he had no money, and, in the secondplace, he feared arrest. Not that he would have cared two pins if hehad been put into jail; but he could not abandon his wife. He wasperfectly certain what the result would be, but nevertheless, on theday when the news was due, he could not rest. There was a mail coachwhich ran from Lancaster to Liverpool, starting from Lancaster in theafternoon and reaching Liverpool between eleven and twelve at night. He went out about that time and loitered about the coach-office as ifhe were waiting for a friend. Presently he heard the wheels and therapid trot of the horses. His heart failed him, and he could almosthave fainted. 

"What's the news?" said the clerk to the coachman. "All the whole d---d lot convicted, and one of 'em going to be hung. "

"One of them hung! Which one is that?"

"Why, him as killed the soldier, of course--the Frenchman. "

"A d---d good job too, " replied the clerk. "I should like to serveevery --- Frenchman in the country the same way. "

Zachariah could not listen any longer, but went home, and all nightlong a continuous series of fearful images passed before his eyes--condemned cells, ropes, gallows and the actual fall of the victim, down to the contortion of his muscles. He made up his mind on thefollowing day that he would see Caillaud before he died, and he toldhis wife he was going. She was silent for a moment, and then shesaid:

"You will do as you like, I suppose: but I cannot see what is theuse of it. You can do no good; you will lose your place here; itwill cost you something; and when you get there you may have to stopthere. "

Zachariah could not restrain himself. 

"Good God!" he cried, "you hear that one of my best friends is aboutto be hung, and you sit there like a statue--not a single word ofsympathy or horror--you care no more than a stone. USE of going! Itell you I will go if I starve, or have to rot in jail all mylifetime. Furthermore, I will go this instant. "

He went out of the room in a rage, rammed a few things into a bag, and was out of the house in ten minutes. He was excusably unjust tohis wife--excusably, because he could not help thinking that she washard, and even cruel. Yet really she was not so, or if she was, shewas not necessarily so, for injustice, not only to others, but toourselves, is always begotten by a false relationship. There weremultitudes of men in the world, worse than Zachariah, with whom shewould have been, not only happier, but better. He, poor man, withall his virtues, stimulated and developed all that was disagreeablein her. 

He was in no mood to rest, and walked on all that night. Amidst allhis troubles he could not help being struck with the solemn, silentprocession overhead. It was perfectly clear--so clear that theheavens were not a surface, but a depth, and the stars of a lessermagnitude were so numerous and brilliant that they obscured the formsof the greater constellations. Presently the first hint of dayappeared in the east. We must remember that this was the year 1817, before, so it is commonly supposed, men knew what it was properly toadmire a cloud or a rock. Zachariah was not, therefore, on a levelwith the most ordinary subscriber to a modern circulating library. Nevertheless he could not help noticing--we will say he did no more--the wonderful, the sacredly beautiful, drama which noiselesslydisplayed itself before him. Over in the east the intense deep blueof the sky softened a little. Then the trees in that quarter beganto contrast themselves against the background and reveal theirdistinguishing shapes. Swiftly, and yet with such even velocity thatin no one minute did there seem to be any progress compared with theminute preceding, the darkness was thinned, and resolved itselfoverhead into pure sapphire, shaded into yellow below and in front ofhim, while in the west it was still almost black. The grassy floorof the meadows now showed its colour, grey green, with the dew lyingon it, and in the glimmer under the hedge might be discerned a hareor two stirring. Star by star disappeared, until none were left, save Venus, shining like a lamp till the very moment almost when thesun's disc touched the horizon. Half a dozen larks mounted andpoured forth that ecstasy which no bird but the lark can translate. More amazing than the loveliness of scene, sound, and scent aroundhim was the sense of irrestisible movement. He stopped to watch it, for it grew so rapid that he could almost detect definite pulsations. Throb followed throb every second with increasing force, and in amoment more a burning speck of gold was visible, and behold it wasday! He slowly turned his eyes away and walked onwards. 

Lancaster was reached on the second evening after he left Liverpool. He could not travel fast nor long together, for he was not yetcompletely strong. He secured a bed in a low part of the town, at apublic-house, and on the morning of the third day presented himselfat the prison door. After some formalities he was admitted, andtaken by a warder along a corridor with whitewashed walls to thecondemned cell where Caillaud lay. The warder looked through agrating, and said to Zachariah that a visitor was already there. Twowere not allowed at a time, but he would tell the prisoner thatsomebody was waiting for him. 

"Let's see, what's your name?" said the warder. Then it suddenlystruck him that he had been fool enough, in the excitement ofentering the prison, to sign his real name in the book. There was nohelp for it now, and he repeated that it was Coleman. 

"Ah yes, Coleman, " echoed the man, in a manner which was significant. 

"Who is the other visitor?" said Zachariah. 

"It is his daughter. "

His first thought was to ask to be let in, but his next was, that itwould be profanity to disturb the intercourse of father and child, and he was silent. However, he had been announced, and Caillaudappeared at the grating begging permission for his friend to enter. It was at first refused; but presently something seemed to strike thejailer, for he relented with a smile. 

"You won't want to come again?" he observed interrogatively. 

"No; that is to say, I think not. "

"No; that is to say, I think not, " he repeated slowly, word for word, adding, "I shall have to stay with you while you are together. "

Zachariah entered, the warder locking the door behind him, andseating himself on the edge of the bedstead, where he remained duringthe whole of the interview, jingling his keys and perfectly unmoved. 

The three friends spoke not a word for nearly five minutes. Zachariah was never suddenly equal to any occasion which made anygreat demands upon him. It often made him miserable that it was so. Here he was, in the presence of one whom he had so much loved, andwho was about to leave him for ever, and he had nothing to say. Thatcould have been endured could he but have FELT and showed hisfeeling, could he but have cast himself upon his neck and wept overhim, but he was numbed and apparently immovable. It was Caillaud whofirst broke the silence. 

"It appears I shall have to console you rather than you me; believeme, I care no more about dying, as mere dying, than I do aboutwalking across this room. There are two things which disturb me--theapprehension of some pain, and bidding good-bye to Pauline and you, and two or three more. "

There was, after all, but just a touch needed to break up Zachariahand melt him. 

"You are happier than I, " he cried. "Your work is at an end. Nomore care for things done or undone; you are discharged, and noblydischarged, with honour. But as for me!"

"With honour!" and Caillaud smiled. "To be hung like a forger ofbank-notes--not even to be shot--and then to be forgotten. Forgottenutterly! This does not happen to be one of those revolutions whichmen remember. "

"No! men will not remember, " said Pauline, with an elevation of voiceand manner almost oratorical. "Men will not remember, but there is amemory in the world which forgets nothing. "

"Do you know, " said Caillaud, "I have always loved adventure, and attimes I look forward to death with curiosity and interest, just as ifI were going to a foreign country. "

"Tell me, " said Zachariah, "if there is anything I can do. "

"Nothing. I would ask you to see that Pauline comes to no harm, butshe can take care of herself. I have nothing to give you in parting. They have taken everything from me. "

"What a brute I am! I shall never see you again, and I cannotspeak, " sobbed Zachariah. 

"Speak! What need is there of speaking? What is there which can besaid at such a time? To tell you the truth, Coleman, I hardly caredabout having you here. I did not want to imperil the calm which isnow happily upon me; we all of us have something unaccountable anduncontrollable in us, and I do not know how soon it may wake in me. But I did wish to see you, in order that your mind might be at peaceabout me. Come, good-bye!"

Caillaud put his hand on Zachariah's shoulder. 

"This will not do, " he said. "For my sake forbear. I can face whatI have to go through next Monday if am not shaken. Come, Pauline, you too, my child, must leave me for a bit. "

Zachariah looked at Pauline, who rose and threw her shawl over hershoulders. Her lips were tightly shut, but she was herself. Thewarder opened the door. Zachariah took his friend's hand, held itfor a moment, and then threw his arms round his neck. There is apathos in parting which the mere loss through absence does notexplain. We all of us feel it, even if there is to be a meetingagain in a few months, and we are overcome by incomprehensibleemotion when we turn back down the pier, unable any longer to discernthe waving of the handkerchief, or when the railway train turns thecurve in the cutting and leaves us standing on the platform. Infinitely pathetic, therefore, is the moment when we separate forever. 

Caillaud was unsettled for an instant, and then, slowly untwining theembrace, he made a sign to Pauline, who took Zachariah's hand and ledhim outside; the heavy well-oiled bolt of the lock shooting backunder the key with a smooth strong thud between them. She walkeddown the corridor alone, not noticing that he had not followed her, and had just passed out of sight when an officer stepped up to himand said:

"Your name is Coleman?"

"Yes. "

"Sorry to hear it. My name is Nadin. You know me, I think. Youmust consider yourself my prisoner. "

Zachariah was in prison for two years. He had not been there threemonths when his wife died. 

* * * *

Let us now look forward to 1821; let us walk down one of the newstreets just beginning to stretch northwards from Pentonville; let usstop opposite a little house, with a little palisade in front, enclosing a little garden five and twenty feet long and fifteen feetbroad; let us peep through the chink between the blind and thewindow. We see Zachariah and Pauline. Another year passes; we peepthrough the same chink again. A cradle is there, in which lies MariePauline Coleman; but where is the mother? She is not there, and thefather alone sits watching the child. 

CHAPTER XVI--COWFOLD

Cowfold, half village, half town, lies about three miles to the westof the great North Road from London to York. As you go from London, about fifty miles from the Post-Office in St. Martin's le Grand--thefiftieth milestone is just beyond the turning--you will see a hand-post with three arms on it; on one is written in large letters, "ToLONDON;" on the second, in equally large letters, "To YORK;" and onthe third, in small italic letters, "To Cowfold. " Two or three yearsbefore the events narrated in the following chapters took place--thatis to say, about twenty years after the death of Zachariah's secondwife--a hundred coaches a day rolled past that hand-post, and abouttwo miles beyond it was a huge inn, with stables like cavalrybarracks, where horses were changed. No coach went through Cowfold. When the inhabitants wished to go northwards or southwards theywalked or drove to the junction, and waited on the little grassytriangle till a coach came by which had room for them. When theyreturned they were deposited at the same spot, and the passengers whowere going through from London to York or Scotland, or who werecoming up to London, always seemed to despise people who were takenup or who were left by the roadside there. 

There was, perhaps, some reason for this contempt. The North Roadwas at that time one of the finest roads in the world, broad, hard-metalled, and sound in the wettest weather. That which led toCowfold was under the control of the parish, and in winter-time wasvery bad indeed. When you looked down it it seemed as if it lednowhere, and indeed the inhabitants of the town were completely shutoff from any close communication with the outer world. How strangeit was to emerge from the end of the lane and to see those wonderfulwords, "To LONDON, " "To YORK!" What an opening into infinity! Boysof a slightly imaginative turn of mind--for there were boys withimagination even in Cowfold--would, on a holiday trudge the threemiles eastward merely to get to the post and enjoy the romance ofthose mysterious fingers. No wonder; for the excitement begotten bythe long stretch of the road--London at one end, York at the other--by the sight of the Star, Rover, Eclipse, or Times racing along attwelve miles an hour, and by the inscriptions on them, was worth awhole afternoon's cricket or wandering in the fields. Cowfold itselfsupplied no such stimulus. The only thing like it was the mail-cart, which every evening took the letters from the post-office, disappeared into the dark, nobody could tell whither, and broughtletters in the morning, nobody could tell whence, before theinhabitants were out of bed. There was a vague belief that it wentabout fifteen miles and "caught" something somewhere; but nobody knewfor certain, except the postmistress and the mail-cart driver, whowere always remarkably reticent on the point. The driver was dressedin red, carried a long horn slung at the side of the cart, and waspopularly believed also to have pistols with him. He never accostedanybody; sat on a solitary perch just big enough for him; swayedalways backwards and forwards a little in a melancholy fashion as herode; was never seen during the day-time, and was not, in any propersense, a Cowfold person. 

Cowfold had four streets, or, more correctly, only two, which crossedone another at right angles in the middle of the town, and formedthere a kind of square or open place, in which, on Saturdays, amarket was held. 

The "Angel" was in this square, and the shops grouped themselvesround it. In the centre was a large pump with a great leaden spoutthat had a hole bored in it at the side. By stopping up the mouth ofthe spout with the hand it was possible through this hole to get agood drink, if a friend was willing to work the handle; and as thesquare was a public playground, the pump did good service, especiallyamongst the boys, all of whom preferred it greatly to a commonplacemug. On Sundays it was invariably chained up; for although it was nobreach of the Sabbath to use the pump in the backyard, the line wasdrawn there, and it would have been voted by nine-tenths of Cowfoldas decidedly immoral to get water from the one outside. The shopswere a draper's, a grocer's, an ironmonger's, a butcher's and abaker's. All these were regular shops, with shop-windows, and werewithin sight of one another. 

There were also other houses where things were sold; but these weremere dwelling-houses, and were at the poorer and more remote ends ofCowfold. None of the regular shops aforesaid were strictly what theyprofessed to be. Each of them diverged towards "the general. " Thedraper sold boots and shoes; the grocer sold drugs, stationery, horseand cow medicines, and sheep ointment; and the ironmonger dealt incrockery. Even the butcher was more than a butcher, for he was neverto be seen at his chopping block, and his wife did all the retailwork. He himself was in the "jobbing" line, and was always joggingabout in a cart, in the hind part of which, covered with a net, was acalf or a couple of pigs. Three out of the four streets ran out incottages; but one was more aristocratic. This was Church Street, which contained the church and the parsonage. It also had in it fourred brick houses, each surrounded with large gardens. In one lived abrewer who had a brewery in Cowfold, and owned a dozen beer-shops inthe neighbourhood; another was a seminary for young ladies; in thethird lived the doctor; and in the fourth old Mr. And Mrs. Muston, who had no children, had been there for fifty years; and this, so faras Cowfold was aware, was all their history. Mr. And Mrs. Muston andthe seminary were the main strength of the church. To be sure thedoctor and the landlord of the "Angel" professed devotion to theEstablishment, but they were never inside the church, except just nowand then, and were charitably excused because of their peculiarcalling. The rest of Cowfold was Dissenting or "went nowhere. "There were three chapels; one the chapel, orthodox, Independent, holding about seven hundred persons, and more particularly to bedescribed presently; the second Wesleyan, new, stuccoed, with graineddoors and cast-iron railing; the third, strict Baptist, ultra-Calvinistic, Antinomian according to the other sects, dark, down analley, mean, surrounded by a small long-grassed graveyard, and namedZOAR in large letters over the long window in front. The "wentnowhere" class was apparently not very considerable. On Sundaymorning at twelve o'clock Cowfold looked as if it had been sweptclean. It was only by comparison between the total number of church-goers and chapel-goers and the total population that it could bebelieved that there was anybody absent from the means of grace; butif a view could have been taken of the back premises an explanationwould have been discovered. Men and women "did up their gardens, " orfound, for a variety of reasons, that they were forced to stay athome. In the evening they grew bolder, and strolled through themeadows. It is, however, only fair to respectable Cowfold to saythat it knew nothing of these creatures, except by employing them onweek-days. 

With regard to the Wesleyan Chapel, nothing much need be said. Itscreed was imported, and it had no roots in the town. The Churchdisliked it because it was Dissenting, and the Dissenters disliked itbecause it was half-Church, and, above all, Tory. It was supportedmainly by the brewer, who was drawn thither for many reasons, one ofwhich was political. Another was, that he was not in trade, andalthough he objected to be confounded with his neighbours who stoodbehind counters, the Church did not altogether suit him, becausethere Mr. And Mrs. Muston and the seminary stood in his way. Lastly, as he owned beer-shops, supplied liquor which was a proverbthroughout the county, and did a somewhat doubtful business accordingto the more pious of the Cowfold Christians, he preferred to beaccredited as a religious person by Methodism than by any other sect, the stamp of Methodism standing out in somewhat higher relief. 

As for Zoar, it was a place apart. Its minister was a big, large-jawed, heavy-eyed man, who lived in a little cottage hard by. Hiswife was a very plain-looking person, who wore even on Sundays acotton gown without any ornament, and who took her husband's arm asthey walked down the lane to the chapel. The Independent minister, the Wesleyan minister, and, of course, the rector had nothing to dowith the minister of Zoar. This was not because of any heresy ordifference of doctrine, but because he was a poor man and poorpersons sat under him. Nevertheless he was not in any way acharacteristic Calvinist. The Calvinistic creed was stuck in him asin a lump of fat, and had no organising influence upon him whatever. He had no weight in Cowfold, took part in none of its affairs, andhis ministrations were confined to about fifty sullen, half stupid, wholly ignorant people who found in the Zoar services somethingsleepier and requiring less mental exertion than they neededelsewhere; although it must be said that the demands made upon theintellect in none of the places of worship were very extensive. There was a small endowment attached to Zoar, and on this, with thegarden and house rent free, the minister lived. Once now and then--perhaps once in every three or four years--there was a baptism inZoar, and at such times it was crowded. The children of thecongregation, as a rule fell away from it as they grew up; butoccasionally a girl remained faithful and was formally admitted toits communion. In front of the pulpit was an open space usuallycovered; but the boards could be taken up, and then a large kind oftank was disclosed, which was filled with water when the ceremony wasperformed. After hymns had been sung the minister went down into thewater, and the candidate appeared dressed in a long white robe verymuch like a night-gown. The dear sister, during a short address, stood on the brink of the tank for a few moments, and then descendedinto it beside the minister, who, taking her by the neck and roundthe waist, ducked her fairly and completely. She emerged, and walkeddripping into the vestry, where it was always said that hot brandyand water was ready. 

Many of us have felt that we would give all our books if we could butsee with our own eyes how a single day was passed by a single ancientJewish, Greek, or Roman family; how the house was opened in themorning; how the meals were prepared; what was said; how the husband, wife, and children went about their work; what clothes they wore, andwhat were their amusements. Would that the present historian coulddo as much for Cowfold! Would that he could bring back one bluesummer morning, one afternoon and evening, and reproduce exactly whathappened in Cowfold Square, in one of the Cowfold shops, in one ofthe Cowfold parlours, and in one Cowfold brain and heart. Could thisbe done with strictest accuracy, a book would be written, althoughCowfold was not Athens, Rome, nor Jerusalem, which would live formany many years longer than much of the literature of this century. But alas! the preliminary image in the mind of the writer is faintenough, and when he comes to trace it, the pencil swerves and goesoff into something utterly unlike it. An attempt, however, to showwhat the waking hours in Cowfold Square were like may not be out ofplace. The shopkeeper came into his shop at half-past seven, abouthalf an hour after the shutters had been taken down by hisapprentice. At eight o'clock breakfast was ready; but beforebreakfast there was family worship, and a chapter was read from theBible, followed by an extempore prayer from the head of thehousehold. If the master happened to be absent, it was notconsidered proper that the mistress should pray extempore, and sheused a book of "Family Devotions. " A very solid breakfast followed, and business began. It was very slow, but it was very human--muchmore so than business at the present day in the City. Every customerhad something to say beyond his own immediate errand, and the shopwas the place where everything touching Cowfold interests wasabundantly discussed. Cowfold too, did much trade in the countryround it. Most of the inhabitants kept a gig, and two or threetimes, perhaps, in a week a journey somewhere or other was necessarywhich was not in the least like a journey in a railway train. Debtsin the villages were collected by the creditor in person, who calledand invited his debtors to a most substantial dinner at the inn. Atone o'clock Cowfold dined. Between one and two nobody was to be seenin the streets, and the doors were either fastened or a bell was putupon them. After dinner the same duties returned in the shop; butinside the house dinner was the turning-point of the day. When the"things were washed, up, " servant and mistress began to smartenthemselves, and disappearing into their bedrooms, emerged at four, tomake preparations for tea, the meal most enjoyed in all Cowfold. Ifany spark of wit slept in any Cowfoldian male or female, it appearedthen. No invitations to dinner were ever heard of; but tea was theopportunity for hospitality, especially amongst women. The minister, when he visited, invariably came to tea. The news circulated at tea, and, in fact, at tea between five and six, Cowfold, if its intellectcould have been measured by a properly constructed gauge, would havebeen found many degrees higher in the scale than at any other hour. Granted that the conversation was personal, trivial, and evenscandalous, it was in a measure philosophical. Cowfold, though itknew nothing, or next to nothing of abstractions, took immenseinterest in the creatures in which they were embodied. It would haveturned a deaf ear to any debate on the nature of ethical obligation;but it was very keen indeed in apportioning blame to its neighbourswho had sinned, and in deciding how far they had gone wrong. Cowfoldin other words believed that flesh and blood, and not ideas, are theschool and the religion for most of us, and that we learn a languageby the examples rather than by the rules. The young scholar freshfrom his study is impatient at what he considers the unprofitablegossip about the people round the corner; but when he gets older hesees that often it is much better than his books, and thatdistinctions are expressed by a washerwoman, if the objects to bedistinguished eat and drink and sleep, which he would find itdifficult to make with his symbols. Moreover, the little Cowfoldclubs and parties understood what they were saying, and so far had anadvantage over the clubs and parties which, since the days of pennynewspapers, now discuss in Cowfold the designs of Russia, thegraduation of the Income Tax, or the merits and demerits of theadministration. The Cowfold horizon has now been widened, to use thephrase of an enlightened gentleman who came down and lectured thereon the criminality of the advertisement duty; but unfortunately theeyes remain the same. Cowfold now looks abroad, and is very eloquentupon the fog in the distance, and the objects it thinks it seestherein; but, alas! what it has gained in inclusive breadth it haslost in definition. Politics, however, were not unknown in Cowfold;for before 1832 it was a borough, and after 1832 it was one of theprincipal polling-places for the county. Nevertheless it was only onthe eve of an election that anybody dabbled in them, and even thenthey were very rudimentary. The science to most of the voters meantnothing more than a preference of blue to yellow, or yellow to blue;and women had nothing whatever to do with it, excepting that wivesalways, of course, took their husbands' colours. Politics, too, as arule, were not mentioned in private houses. They were mostlyreserved for the "Angel, " and for the brandies and water and pipeswhich collected there in the evening. 

To return. After tea the master went back once more to his counter, and the shutters were put up at eight. From eight to nine was anhour of which no account can be given: The lights were left burningin the shops, and the neighbour across the way looked in and remainedtalking till his supper was ready. Supper at nine, generally hot, was an institution never omitted, and, like tea, was convivial; butthe conviviality was of a distinctly lower order. Everybody hadwhisky, gin, or brandy afterwards, and every male person who was ofage smoked. There was, as a rule, no excess, but the remarks wereapt to be disconnected and woolly; and the wife, who never had grogfor herself, but always sipped her husband's went to sleep. Eleveno'clock saw all Cowfold in bed, and disturbed only by such dreams aswere begotten of the previous liver and bacon and alcohol. 

There were no villains amongst that portion of the inhabitants withwhich this history principally concerns itself, nor was a singleadventure of any kind ever known to happen beyond the adventures ofbeing born, getting married, falling sick, and dying, with now andthen an accident from a gig. Consequently it might be though thatthere was no romance in Cowfold. There could not be a greatermistake. The history of every boy or girl of ordinary make is one ofrobbery, murder, imprisonment, death sentence, filing of chains, scaling of prison walls, recapture, scaffold, reprieve, poison, andpistols; the difference between such a history and that in theauthorised versions being merely circumstantial. The garden of Eden, the murder of Cain, the deluge, the salvation of Noah, the exodusfrom Egypt, David and Bathsheba, with the murder of Uriah, theAssyrian invasion, the Incarnation, the Atonement, and theResurrection from the Dead; to say nothing of the Decline and Fall ofthe Roman Empire, the tragedy of Count Cenci, the execution of MaryQueen of Scots, the Inquisition in Spain, and Revolt of theNetherlands, all happened in Cowfold, as well as elsewhere, and wereperhaps more interesting there because they could be studied indetail and the records were authentic. 

Church Street, Cowfold--that is to say, the street in which thechurch stood--was tolerably broad going east and west, so that thesun shone full on the white window-frames and red brick of Mr. Muston's house, in which everything seemed to sleep in eternal calm. On the opposite side was the seminary, also red brick and whitepaint, facing the north; but, to make amends, the garden had asouthern aspect, and the back of the house was covered with a hugemagnolia whose edges curled round to the western side, so that itcould be seen by wayfarers. It was a sight not to be forgotten--thered brick, the white paint, the July sun the magnolia leaves, theflanking elms on the east high above the chimneys, the glimpse of theacre of lawn through the great gates when they happened to be open, the peace, so profound, of summer noon! How lovely it looks as ithovers unsteadily before the eye, seen through the transfiguring hazeof so many years! It was really, there is no doubt about it, handsomer than the stuccoed villa which stares at us over the way;but yet, if Cowfold Church Street, red brick, white paint, elms, lawn, and midsummer repose could be restored at the present moment, would it be exactly what the vision of it is? What is this magicgift which even for the humblest of us paints and frames theseenchanting pictures? It is nothing less than the genius which iscommon to humanity. If we are not able to draw or model, we possessthe power to select, group, and clothe with an ideal grace, which isthe very soul of art, and every man and woman, every bush, nay, everycabbage, cup, and saucer, provided only it be not actually before us, becomes part of a divine picture. Would that we could do with thepresent what we do with the past! We CAN do something if we try. 

At the end of Church Street came the vicarage, and then thechurchyard, with the church. Beyond was the park, which halfembraced Cowfold, for it was possible to enter it not only fromChurch Street, but from North Street, which ran at right angles toit. The Hall was not much. It was a large plain stone mansion, built in the earlier part of the eighteenth century; but in front ofthe main entrance was a double row of limes stretching for a quarterof a mile, and the whole of the park was broken up into soft swellinghills, from whose tops, owing to the flatness of the country round, an almost immeasurable distance could be seen, gradually losingitself in deepening mist of tenderest blue. The park, too, was notrigidly circumscribed. Public roads led through it. It melted ontwo or three sides into cultivated fields, and even the privategarden of the Hall seemed a part of it, for there was nothing betweenthem but a kind of grassy ditch and an almost invisible fence. Thedomain of Cowfold Hall was the glory of Cowfold and the pride of itsinhabitants. The modern love of scenery was not known in Cowfold, and still less was that worship of landscape and nature known which, as before observed, is peculiar to the generation born under theinfluence of Wordsworth. We have learnt, however, from Zachariahthat even before Wordsworth's days people were sometimes touched bydawn or sunset. The morning cheered, the moon lent pathos andsentiment, and the stars awoke unanswerable interrogations inCowfold, although it knew no poetry, save Dr. Watts, Pollok's Courseof Time, and here and there a little of Cowper. Under the avenue, too, whose slender columns, in triple rows on either side, rose to animmense height, and met in a roof overhead with all the grace ofcathedral stone, and without its superincumbent weight andimprisonment--a roof that was not impervious to the sunlight, but letit pass and fall in quivering flakes on the ground--Cowfold generallytook off its hat, partly, no doubt, because the place was cool, butalso as an act of homage. Here and in the woods adjoining youths andmaidens for three hundred years had walked and made love, for, thoughthe existing house was new, it stood on the site of a far olderbuilding. Dead men and women, lord and churl, gone toindistinguishable dust, or even beyond that--gone perhaps, intovapour and gas, which had been blown to New Zealand, and become menand women again--had burned with passion here, and vowed a unionwhich was to last beyond the Judgment Day. They wept here, quarrelled here, rushed again into one another's arms here, swore toone another here, when Henry the Eighth was king; and they wept here, quarrelled here, embraced here, swore here, in exactly the same madfashion, when William the Fourth sat upon the throne. Half-way upthe avenue was a stone pillar commanding a gentle descent, one way tothe Hall, and the other way to the lodge. It set forth the anguishof a former lord of the time of Queen Anne, who had lost his wifewhen she was twenty-six years old. She was beneath him in rank, butvery beautiful, and his affection for her had fought with andtriumphed over the cruel opposition of father, mother, and relations, who had other designs. He had made enemies of them all; but he wonhis wife, and, casting her in the scale, father, mother, and friendswere as gossamer. She died two years after the wedding--to the veryday. Rich in her love, he had never taken a thought to propitiateanybody, nor to make friends with the Mammon of Unrighteousness, andwhen she suddenly departed, he turned round and found himself alone. So far from knocking at men's doors, he more fiercely hated those whonow, touched with pity, would gladly have welcomed him. He brokefrom them all, lived his own life, was reputed to be a freethinker, and when he came to his estate, a long while afterwards, he put upthe obelisk, and recorded in Latin how Death, the foul adulterer, hadravished his sweet bride--the coward Death whom no man couldchallenge--and that the inconsolable bridegroom had erected thismonument in memory of her matchless virtues. That was all: noblessed resurrection nor trust in the Saviour. The Reverend JohnBroad, minister of Tanner's Lane Chapel, when he brought visitorshere regularly translated the epitaph. He was not very good atLatin, but he had somehow found out its meaning. He always observedthat it was not classic, and consequently not easy to render. Hepointed out, too, as a further curiosity, which somewhat increasedthe difficulty to any ordinary person, that V was used for U, and Ifor J. He never, as might be expected, omitted to enlarge upon theomission of any reference to the Atoning Blood and the Life to Come, and remarked how the poor man's sufferings would have been entirely"assuaged"--a favourite word with Mr. Broad--if he had believed inthose "remedies. " At the same time Mr. Broad dwelt upon the"associations" of the avenue, which, he thought, added much to itsnatural "attractiveness. " Cowfold thought so too, and welcomed thewords as exactly expressing what it felt. John Broad and Cowfoldwere right, and more right, perhaps, than they knew. The draper'syoung man, who walked through the park with his arm round his youngwoman's waist, looked up at the obelisk, repeated its story, andbecame more serious. Thus it came to pass that the old lord's lovelived again somewhat in the apprentice, and that which to theapprentice seemed most particularly himself was a little bit of theself of the Queen Anne's earl long since asleep in the vault underCowfold Church. 

CHAPTER XVII--WHEN WILT THOU ARISE OUT OF THY SLEEP? YET A LITTLESLEEP

The Reverend John Broad was minister of Tanner's Lane Chapel, or, more properly, Meeting-house, a three gabled building, with the date1688 upon it, which stood in a short street leading out of NorthStreet. Why it was called Tanner's Lane nobody knew; for not in thememory of man had any tanner carried on his trade there. There wasnothing of any consequence in it but the meeting-house, and whenpeople said Tanner's Lane this was what they meant. There were aboutseven hundred and fifty sittings in it, and on Sundays it wastolerably full, for it was attended by large numbers of people fromthe surrounding villages, who came in gigs and carts, and broughttheir dinners with them, which they ate in the vestry. It was, infact, the centre of the Dissenting activity for a whole district. Ithad small affiliated meeting-houses in places like Sheepgate, Hackston Green, and Bull's Cross, in which service was held on Sundayevening by the deacons of Tanner's Lane, or by some of the young menwhom Mr. Broad prepared to be missionaries. For a great many yearsthe congregation had apparently undergone no change in character; butthe uniformity was only apparent. The fervid piety of Cowper's timeand of the Evangelical revival was a thing almost of the past. TheReverend John Broad was certainly not of the Revival type. He was abig, gross-feeding, heavy person, with heavy ox-face and large mouth, who might have been bad enough for anything if nature had ordainedthat he should have been born in a hovel at Sheepgate or in the BlackCountry. As it happened, his father was a woollen draper, and Johnwas brought up to the trade as a youth; got tired of it, thought hemight do something more respectable; went to a Dissenting College;took charge of a little chapel in Buckinghamshire; married early; wasremoved to Tanner's Lane, and became a preacher of the Gospel. Hewas moderate in all of what he called his "views;" neither ultra-Calvinist nor Arminian not rigid upon Baptism, and certainly muchunlike his lean and fervid predecessor, the Reverend James Harden, M. A. , who was educated at Cambridge; threw up all his chances therewhen he became convinced of sin; cast in his lot with theIndependents, and wrestled even unto blood with the world, the flesh, and the devil in Cowfold for thirty years, till he was gathered tohis rest. A fiery, ardent, untamable soul was Harden's, bold anduncompromising. He never scrupled to tell anybody what he thought, and would send an arrow sharp and swift through any iniquity, nomatter where it might couch. He absolutely ruled Cowfold, hated bymany, beloved by many, feared by all--a genuine soldier of the Cross. Mr. Broad very much preferred the indirect mode of doing good, and ifhe thought a brother had done wrong, contented himself with prayingin private for him. He was, however, not a hypocrite, that is tosay, not an ordinary novel or stage hypocrite. There is no suchthing as a human being simply hypocritical or simply sincere. We areall hypocrites, more or less, in every word and every action, and, what is more, in every thought. It is a question simply of degree. Furthermore, there are degrees of natural capacity for sincerity, andMr. Broad was probably as sincere as his build of soul and bodyallowed him to be. Certainly no doubt as to the truth of what hepreached ever crossed his mind. He could not doubt, for there was nodoubt in the air; and yet he could not believe as Harden believed, for neither was Harden's belief now in the air. Nor was Mr. Broad acriminal in any sense. He was upright, on the whole, in all histransactions, although a little greedy and hard, people thought, whenthe trustees proposed to remit to Widow Oakfield, on her husband'sdeath, half the rent of a small field belonging to the meeting-house, and contributing a modest sum to Mr. Broad's revenue. He objected. Widow Oakfield was poor; but then she did not belong to Tanner'sLane, and was said to have relations who could help her. Mr. Broadloved his wife decently, brought up his children decently, and notthe slightest breath of scandal ever tarnished his well-polishedreputation. On some points he was most particular, and no youngwoman who came to him with her experience before she was admittedinto the church was ever seen by him alone. Always was a deaconpresent, and all Cowfold admitted that the minister was mostdiscreet. Another recommendation, too, was that he was temperate inhis drink. He was not so in his meat. Supper was his great meal, and he would then consume beef, ham, or sausages, hot potatoes, mixedpickles, fruit pies, bread, cheese, and celery in quantities whichwere remarkable even in those days; but he never drank anything butbeer--a pint at dinner and a pint at supper. 

On one Monday afternoon in July, 1840, Mr. And Mrs. Broad sat at teain the study. This was Mr. Broad's habit on Monday afternoon. Onthat day, after the three sermons on the Sunday, he always professedhimself "Mondayish. " The morning was given over to calling in thetown; when he had dined he slept in his large leathern chair; and atfive husband and wife had tea by themselves. Thomas, the eldest son, and his two younger sisters, Priscilla and Tryphosa, aged seventeenand fifteen, were sent to the dining-room. Mr. Broad never omittedthis custom of spending an hour and a half on Monday with Mrs. Broad. It gave them an opportunity of talking over the affairs of thecongregation, and it added to Mr. Broad's importance with themissionary students, because they saw how great were the weight andfatigue of the pastoral office. 

A flock like that which was shepherded by Mr. Broad required somemanagement. Mrs. Broad took the women, and Mr. Broad the men; butMrs. Broad was not a very able tactician. She was a Flavel by birth, and came from a distant part of the country. Her father was aDissenting minister; but he was Dr. Flavel, with a great chapel in agreat town. Consequently she gave herself airs, and occasionally letfall, to the great displeasure of the Cowfold ladies, words whichimplied some disparagement of Cowfold. She was a shortish, stout, upright little woman, who used a large fan and spoke with an accentstrange to the Midlands. She was not a great help to the minister, because she was not sufficiently flexible and insinuating for herposition; but nevertheless they always worked together, and shefollowed as well as she could the directions of her astuter husband, who, considering his bovine cast, was endowed with quite apreternatural sagacity in the secular business of his profession. 

On this particular afternoon, however, the subject of theconversation was not the congregation, but young Thomas Broad, agedeighteen, the exact, and almost ridiculously exact, counterpart ofhis father. He had never been allowed to go to school, but had beentaught at home. There was only one day-school in Cowfold, and hismother objected to the "mixture. " She had been heard to say as much, and Cowfold resented this too, and the Cowfold youths resented it byholding Tommy Broad in extreme contempt. He had never been properlya boy, for he could play at no boyish games; had a tallowy, unpleasant complexion, went for formal walks, and carried gloves. But though in a sense incompletely developed, he was not incompletelydeveloped in another direction. He was at what is called an awkwardage, and both father and mother had detected in him an alarmingtendency to enjoy the society of young women--a tendency muchstimulated by his unnatural mode of life. Thomas was already amember of the church and was a teacher in the Sunday-school; but hismother was uneasy, for a serious attachment between Thomas andanybody in the town would have been very distasteful to her. The teahaving been poured out, and Mr. Broad having fairly settled down uponthe buttered toast and radishes, Mrs. Broad began:

"Have you thought anything more about Thomas, my dear?"

Being a minister's son, he was never called Tom by either papa ormamma. 

"Yes, my love; but it is very difficult to know how to proceedjudiciously in such a case. "

"Mrs. Allen asked me, last Wednesday, when he was going to leavehome, and I told her we had not made up our minds. She said that herbrother in Birmingham wanted a youth in his office, but my answer wasdirectly that we had quite determined that Thomas should not enterinto any trade. "

"What did she say?"

"That she was not surprised, for she hardly thought Thomas was fittedfor it. "

The minister looked grave and perplexed, for Mr. Allen was in trade, and was a deacon. Mrs. Broad proceeded:

"I am quite sure Thomas ought to be a minister; and I am quite sure, too, he ought to leave Cowfold and go to college. "

"Don't you think this event might be procrastinated; the expensewould be considerable. "

"Well, my dear, Fanny Allen came here to tea the day beforeyesterday. When she went away she could not find her clogs. I wason the landing, and saw what happened, though they did not think it. Fanny's brother was waiting outside. Priscilla had gone somewherefar the moment--I don't know where--and Tryphosa was upstairs. Thomas said he would look for the clogs, and presently I saw himfastening them for her. Then he walked with her down the garden. Ijust went into the front bedroom and looked. It was not very dark, and, --well, I may be mistaken, but I do believe--" The rest of thesentence was wanting. Mrs. Broad stopped at this point. She felt itwas more becoming to do so. She shifted on her chair with a fidgetymotion, threw her head back a little, looked up at the portrait ofDr. Flavel in gown and bands which hung over the fireplace, straightened her gown upon her knees, and pushed it forward over herfeet so as to cover them altogether--a mute protest against theimpropriety of the scene she had partly described. Mr. Broadinwardly would have liked her to go on; but he always wore his whiteneckerchief, except when he was in bed, and he was still the ReverendJohn Broad, although nobody but his wife was with him. He thereforerefrained, but after a while slowly observed:

"Thomas has not made much progress in systematic theology. "

"They do not require much on admission, do they? He knows theoutlines, and I am sure the committee will recollect my father and beglad to get Thomas. I have heard that the social position of thecandidates is not what it used to be, and that they wish to obtainsome of a superior stamp, who ultimately may be found adapted tometropolitan churches. "

"One of the questions last year, my dear, was upon the office of theComforter, and you remember Josiah Collins was remanded. I hardlythink Thomas is sufficiently instructed on that subject at present;and there are others. On the whole, it is preferable that he shouldnot go till September twelvemonths. "

"His personal piety would have weight. "

"Undoubtedly. "

There was a pause, and Mrs. Broad then continued:

"Well, my dear, you know best; but what about Fanny? I shall not askher again. How very forward, and indeed altogether"--Anotherstoppage, another twitch at her gown, with another fidget on thechair, the eyes going up to Dr. Flavel's bands as before. "In OURhouse too--to put herself in Thomas's way!"

Ah! Mrs. Broad, are you sure Thomas did not go out of his way--evenin your house, that eminently respectable, eminently orthodoxresidence--even Thomas, your Samuel, who had been granted to theLord, and who, to use his own words when his written religiousautobiography was read at the church-meeting, being the child ofpious parents, and of many prayers, had never been exposed to thoseassaults of the enemy of souls which beset ordinary young men, andconsequently had not undergone a sudden conversion?

"But, " observed Mr. Broad, leaning back in his easy-chair, and halfcovering his face with his great broad, fat hand, "we shall offendthe Allens if Fanny does not come, and we shall injure the cause. "

"Has George Allen, Fanny's brother, prayed at the prayer-meeting yet?He was admitted two months ago. "

"No. "

"Then ask his father to let him pray; and we need not invite Fannytill Thomas has left. "

The papa objected that perhaps Thomas might go to the Allen's, butthe mamma, with Dr. Flavel's bands before her, assured him thatThomas would do nothing of the kind. So it was settled that Mr. Broad should call at the Allen's to-morrow, and suggest that Georgeshould "engage" on the following Thursday. This, it was confidentlyhoped, would prevent any suspicion on their part that Fanny had beenput aside. Of course, once having begun, George would be regularlyon the list. 

CHAPTER XVIII--A RELIGIOUS PICNIC

Occasionally, in the summer months, Tanner's Lane indulged in apicnic; that is to say, the principal members of the congregation, with their wives and children, had an early dinner, and went in gigsand four-wheel chaises to Shott Woods, taking hampers of bread, cake, jam, butter, ham, and other eatables with them. At Shott Woods, in asmall green space under an immense oak, a fire was lighted and teawas prepared. Mr. Broad and his family always joined the party. These were the days when Dissenters had no set amusements, and theentertainment at Shott mainly consisted in getting the sticks for thefire, fetching the water, and waiting on one another; the waitingbeing particularly pleasant to the younger people. Dancing, ofcourse, was not thought of. In 1840 it may safely be said that therewere not twenty Independent families in Great Britain in which itwould have been tolerated, and, moreover, none but the rich learnedto dance. 

No dancing-master ever came into Cowfold; there was no music-masterthere; no concert was ever given; and Cowfold, in fact, never "sawnor heard anything;" to use a modern phrase, save a travellingmenagerie with a brass band. What an existence! How DID they live?It's certain, however, that they did live, and, on the whole, enjoyedtheir life. 

The picnics were generally on a Monday, as a kind of compliment toMr. Broad, who was supposed to need rest and change on Monday, andwho was also supposed not to be able to spare the time on any otherday. About a month after the conversation recorded in the previouschapter Tanner's Lane was jogging along to Shott on one of itsexcursions. It was a brilliant, blazing afternoon towards the end ofAugust. The corn stood in shocks, and a week with that sun would seeit all stacked. There was no dreary suburb round Cowfold, neithertown nor country, to shut out country influences. The fields came upto the gardens and orchards at the back of half the houses, andflowed irregularly, like an inundation, into the angles of thestreets. As you walked past the great gate of the "Angel" yard youcould see the meadow at the bottom belonging to Hundred Acres. Consequently all Cowfold took an interest in agriculture, and knew agood deal about it. Every shopkeeper was half a farmer, andunderstood the points of a pig or a horse. Cowfold was not a townproperly speaking, but the country a little thickened and congested. The conversation turned upon the crops, and more particularly uponturnips and drainage, both of them a new importation. Hitherto allthe parishes round had no drainage whatever, excepting along thebottoms of the ridges, and the now familiar red pipes had just madetheir appearance on a farm belonging to a stranger to those parts--ayoung fellow from Norfolk. Everybody was sceptical, and called him afool. Everybody wanted to know how water was going to get throughfifteen inches of heavy land when it would lie for two days where ahorse trod. However, the pipes went in, and it so happened that thefirst wet day after they were laid was a Sunday. The congregation inShott Church was very restless, although the sermon was unusuallyshort. One by one they crept out, and presently they were followedby the parson. All of them had collected in the pouring rain andwere watching the outfall in the ditches. To their unspeakableamazement the pipes were all running! Shott scratched its head andwas utterly bewildered. A new idea in a brain not accustomed to theinvasion of ideas produces a disturbance like a revolution. Itcauses giddiness almost as bad as that of a fit, and an extremelyunpleasant sensation of having been whirled round and turned headover heels. It was the beginning of new things in Shott, thebeginning of a breakdown in its traditions; a belief in somethingoutside the ordinary parochial uniformities was forced into the skullof every man, woman, and child by the evidence of the senses; andwhen other beliefs asked, in the course of time, for admittance theyfound the entrance easier than it would have been otherwise. 

The elderly occupants of the Tanner's Lane gigs and chaises talkedexclusively upon these and other cognate topics. The sons anddaughters talked about other things utterly unworthy of any record ina serious history. Delightful their chatter was to them. What doesit signify to eighteen years what is said on such an afternoon byseventeen years, when seventeen years is in a charming white muslindress, with the prettiest hat? Words are of importance between meand you, who care little or nothing for one another. But there is athrice blessed time when words are nothing. The real word is thatwhich is not uttered. We may be silent, or we may be eloquent withnonsense or sense--it is all one. So it was between George Allen andMiss Priscilla Broad, who at the present moment were sitting next toone another. George was a broad, hearty, sandy-haired, sanguine-faced young fellow of one and twenty, eldest son of the ironmonger. His education had been that of the middle classes of those days. Leaving school at fourteen, he had been apprenticed to his father forseven years, and had worked at the forge down the backyard beforecoming into the front shop. On week-days he generally wore awaistcoat with sleeves and a black apron. He was never dirty; infact, he was rather particular as to neatness and cleanliness; but hewas always a little dingy and iron-coloured, as retail ironmongersare apt to be. He was now in charge of the business under hisfather; stood behind the counter; weighed nails; examined locksbrought for repair; went to the different houses in Cowfold with aman under him to look at boiler-pipes, the man wearing a cap andGeorge a tall hat. He had a hard, healthy, honest life, was up atsix o'clock in the morning, ate well, and slept well. He was alwayspermitted by his father to go on these excursions, and, in fact, theycould not have been a success without him. If anything went wrong hewas always the man to set it right. If a horse became restive, George was invariably the one to jump out, and nobody else thought ofstirring. He had good expectations. The house in which the Allenslived was their own. Mr. Allen did a thriving trade, not only inCowfold, but in all the country round, and particularly among thevillage blacksmiths, to whom he sold iron. He had steadily savedmoney, and had enlarged the original little back parlour into a roomwhich would hold comfortably a tea-party of ten or a dozen. 

Miss Priscilla Broad was framed after a different model. Her facewas not much unlike that of one of those women of the Restoration sofamiliar to us in half a hundred pictures. Not that Restorationlevity and Restoration manners were chargeable to Miss Priscilla. She never forgot her parentage; but there were the same kind ofprettiness, the same sideways look, the same simper about the lips, and there were the same flat unilluminated eyes. She had darkishbrown hair, which fell in rather formal curls on her shoulder, andshe was commonly thought to be "delicate. " Like her sister andbrother, she had never been to school, on account of the "mixture, "but had been taught by her mother. Her accomplishments includedScripture and English history, arithmetic, geography, the use of theglobes, and dates. She had a very difficult part to play in Cowfold, for she was obliged to visit freely all Tanner's Lane, but at thesame time to hold herself above it and not to form any exclusivefriendships. These would have been most injudicious, because, in thefirst place, they would have excited jealousy, and, in the nextplace, the minister's daughter could not be expected to be veryintimate with anybody belonging to the congregation. She was notparticularly popular with the majority, and was even thought to bejust a bit of a fool. But what could she have been with suchsurroundings? The time had passed when religion could be talked onweek-days, and the present time, when ministers' children learnFrench, German, and Latin, and read selected plays of Shakespeare, had not come. Miss Priscilla Broad found it very difficult, also, tosteer her course properly amongst the young men in Cowfold. Mrs. Broad would not have permitted any one of them for a moment to dreamof an alliance with her family. As soon might a Princess of theBlood Royal unite herself with an ordinary knight. Miss Broad, however, as her resources within herself were not particularlystrong, thought about little or nothing else than ensnaring thehearts of the younger Cowfold males--that is to say, the hearts whichwere converted, and yet she encouraged none of them, save by ageneral acceptance of little attentions, by little mincing smiles, and little mincing speeches. 

"Such a beautiful day, " said George, "and such pleasant company!"

"Really, Mr. Allen, don't you think it would have been pleasanter foryou in front?"

"What did you say, my dear?" came immediately from her mother, theever-watchful dragon just before them. She forthwith turned a littleround, for the sun was on her left hand, and with her right eye keptPriscilla well in view for the rest of the journey. 

In the chaise behind pretty much the same story was told, but with adifference. In the back part were Mr. Thomas Broad and Miss FannyAllen. The arrangement which brought these two together was mostobjectionable to Mrs. Broad; but unfortunately she was a little latein starting, and it was made before she arrived. She could not, without insulting the Allens, have it altered; but she consoledherself by vowing that it should not stand on the return journey inthe dusk. Miss Fanny was flattered that the minister's son should beby her side, and the minister's son was not in the least deterredfrom playing with Miss Fanny by the weight of responsibility whichoppressed and checked his sister. He did not laugh much; he had nota nature for wholesome laughter, but he chuckled, lengthened hislips, half shut his eyes; asked his companion whether the rail didnot hurt her, put his arm on the top, so that she might lean againstit, and talked in a manner which even she would have considered alittle silly and a little odd, if his position, that of a student forthe ministry, had not surrounded him with such a halo of glory. 

Presently Shott Woods were reached; the parcels and hampers wereunpacked, the fire was lit, the tea prepared, and the pastor asked ablessing. Everybody sat on the grass, save the reverend gentlemanand his wife, who had chairs which had been brought on purpose. Itwould not have been considered proper that Mr. Or Mrs. Broad shouldsit upon the grass, and indeed physically it would have beeninconvenient to Mr. Broad to do so. He ate his ham in considerablequantities, adding thereto much plumcake, and excusing himself on theground that the ride had given him an appetite. The meal being over, grace was said, and the victuals that were left were repacked. Aboutan hour remained before the return journey began. This was usuallypassed in sauntering about or in walking to the springs, a mile away, down one of the grass drives. Mrs. Broad never for a moment lostsight of Thomas, and pressed him as much as possible into herservice; but when Mrs. Allen announced that the young people had alldetermined to go to the springs, Mrs. Broad could not hold out. Accordingly off they started, under strict orders to be back byeight. They mixed themselves up pretty indiscriminately as they lefttheir seniors; but after a while certain affinities displayedthemselves, George being found with Priscilla, for example, andThomas with Fanny. The party kept together; but Thomas and Fannylagged somewhat till they came to a little opening in the underwood, which Thomas said was a short cut, and he pressed her to try it withhim. She agreed, and they slipped out of sight nearly, but not, quite, unobserved. Thomas professed himself afraid Fanny might betired, and offered his arm. She again consented, not without aflutter, and so they reached a clearing with three or four pathsbranching from it. Thomas was puzzled, and as for Fanny, she knewnothing. To add to their perplexity some drops of rain were felt. She was a little frightened, and was anxious to try one of the mostlikely tracks which looked, she thought, as if it went to thesprings, where they could take shelter in the cottage with theothers. Thomas, however, was doubtful, and proposed that they shouldstand up in a shed which had been used for faggot-making. The rain, which now came down heavily, enforced his arguments, and she feltobliged to stay till the shower had ceased. 

"Only think, Fanny, " he said, "to be here alone with you!"

He called her Fanny now; he had always called her Miss Allen before. 

"Yes, " said she, not knowing what answer to make. 

"You are cold, " he added, with a little trembling in his voice and alittle more light than usual in his eyes. 

"Oh no, I am not cold. "

"I know you are, " and he took her hand; "why, it is quite cold. "

"Oh dear no, Mr. Thomas, it is really not cold, " and she made amovement to withdraw it, but it remained. 

The touch of the hand caused his voice to shake a little more thanbefore. 

"I say you are cold; come a little closer to me. What will yourmamma say if you catch a chill?" and he drew Fanny a little nearer tohim. The thick blood now drove through him with increasing speed:everything seemed in a mist, and a little perspiration was on hisforehead. His arm found its way round Fanny's waist, and he pressedher closer and closer to him till his hot lips were upon her cheek. She made two or three futile attempts to release herself; but shemight as well have striven with that brazen, red-hot idol who wasmade to clasp his victims to death. She was frightened and screamed, when suddenly a strong man's voice was heard calling "Fanny, Fanny. "It was her brother. Knowing that she and Thomas had no umbrellas, hehad brought them a couple. 

"But, Fanny, " he cried, "did I not hear you scream? What was thematter?"

"Nothing, " hastily interposed Thomas; "she thought she saw itlighten. " Fanny looked at Thomas for a moment; but she was scaredand bewildered, and held her peace. 

The three went down to the rendezvous together, where the rest of theparty had already assembled. Mrs. Broad had been very uneasy whenshe found that Thomas and Fanny were the only absentees, and she hadurged George the moment she saw him to look for his sister without amoment's delay. The excuse of the rain was given and accepted; butMrs. Broad felt convinced from Fanny's forward look that she had oncemore thrown herself in the way of her beloved child, her delicateSamuel. She was increasingly anxious that he should go to college, and his papa promised at once to transmit the application. Meanwhile, in the few days left before the examination, he undertookto improve Thomas where he was weakest, that is to say, in SystematicTheology, and more particularly in the doctrine of the Comforter. 

CHAPTER XIX--"THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN IS LIKE UNTO LEAVEN"

Mr. Isaac Allen, Fanny's father, was an ardent Whig in politics--whatin later years would have been called a Radical. He had beenapprenticed in London, and had attended Mr. Bradshaw's ministrationsthere. He was the chosen friend of Zachariah Coleman; but althoughhe loved Zachariah, he had held but little intercourse with himduring his first marriage. There were family reasons for theestrangement, due principally to a quarrel between Mrs. Isaac and thefirst Mrs. Zachariah. But after Mrs. Zachariah had died and herhusband suffered so much Isaac was drawn to him again. He was proudof him as a martyr for a good cause, and he often saw him when hewent to London on business. 

It was in consequence of these London visits that books appeared onthe little book-shelf in Cowfold Square which were to be foundnowhere else in the town, at any rate not in the Dissenting portionof it. It was a little bookcase, it is true, for people in countryplaces were not great readers in those days; but Sir Walter Scott wasthere, and upstairs in Mr. Allen's room there was Byron--not an uncutcopy, but one well used both by husband and wife. Mrs. Allen was nota particularly robust woman, although she was energetic. Oftenwithout warning, she would not make her appearance till twelve or oneo'clock in the day, and would have her fire alight in her bedroom andtake her breakfast in bed. It was well understood when she was notat the table with the others that the house was to be kept quiet. After a cup of tea--nothing more--she rose and sat reading for a goodtwo hours. It was not that she was particularly unwell--she simplyneeded rest. Every now and then retreat from the world and perfectisolation were a necessity to her. If she forced herself to comedownstairs when she ought to be by herself she became really ill. Occasionally the fire was alight in the evening, too, and she wouldbe off the moment tea was over, Isaac frequently joining her then, although he never remained with her in the morning. She was almostsure to escape on the day following any excitement or undue worryabout household affairs. She knew Sir Walter Scott from end to end, and as few people knew him. He had been to her, and to her husbandtoo, what he can only be to people leading a dull life far from theworld. He had broken up its monotony and created a new universe! Hehad introduced them into a royal society of noble friends. He hadadded to the ordinary motives which prompted Cowfold action athousand higher motives. Then there was the charm of the magician, so sanative, so blessed, felt directly any volume of that gloriousnumber was opened. Kenilworth or Redgauntlet was taken down, and thereader was at once in another country and in another age, transportedas if by some Arabian charm away from Cowfold cares. If anywhere inanother world the blessings which men have conferred here are takeninto account in distributing reward, surely the choicest in the storeof the Most High will be reserved for His servant Scott! It may besaid of others that they have made the world wise or rich, but of himit must be said that HE, MORE THAN ALL, HAS MADE THE WORLD HAPPIER--wiser too, wiser through its happiness. 

Of the influence of Byron nothing more need be said here, because somuch has been said before. It may seem strange that the deacon of aDissenting chapel and his wife could read him, and could continue towait upon the ministrations of the Reverend John Broad; but I am onlystating a fact. Mrs. Allen could repeat page after page of ChildeHarold, and yet she went diligently to Tanner's Lane. Part of whatwas read exhaled in the almost republican politics of the Allenhousehold; but it had also its effect in another direction, and itwas always felt by the Broads that the Allens were questionablemembers of the flock. They were gathered into the fold on Sunday, and had the genuine J. B. On their wool, but there was a cross inthem. There was nothing which could be urged against them. No wordof heresy ever escaped them, no symptom of disbelief was ever seenand yet Mr. Broad often desired exceedingly that they were different, was never at ease with them, and in his heart of hearts bitterlyhated them. After all that can be said by way of explanation, therewas much in this concealed animosity of Mr. Broad which wasunaccountable. It was concealed because he was far too worldly-wiseto show it openly; but it was none the less intense. Indeed, it wasso intense as to be almost inconsistent with Mr. Broad's cast ofcharacter, and his biographer is at a loss to find the precise pointwhere it naturally connects itself with the main stem from whichbranch off the rest of his virtues and vices. However, there it was, and perhaps some shrewder psychologist may be able to explain howsuch a passion could be begotten in a nature otherwise so somnolent. 

For this literary leaven in the Allen's household, as we have said, Zachariah was answerable. Mrs. Allen loved him as she loved herfather, and he wrote to her long letters, through which travelledinto Cowfold Square all the thought of the Revolution. He never wentto Cowfold himself, nor could he ever be persuaded to let littlePauline go. She had been frequently invited, but he always declinedthe invitation courteously on the ground that he could not spare her. The fame of her beauty and abilities had, however, reached Cowfold, and so it came to pass that when Mr. Thomas Broad, junior, being dulyinstructed in the doctrine of the Comforter, entered the DissentingCollege in London, he determined that at the first opportunity hewould call and see her. He had been privately warned both by hisfather and mother that he was on no account to visit this particularfriend of the Allens, firstly, because Zachariah was reputed to be, "inclined towards infidelity, " and secondly, because, summing up thewhole argument, he was not "considered respectable. "

"Of course, my dear, you know his history, " quoth Mrs. Broad, "and itwould very much interfere with your usefulness if you were to beintimate with him. "

Little Pauline had by this time grown to be a woman, or very nearlyone. She had, as in nine times, perhaps, out of ten is the case, inherited her temperament from her mother. She had also inheritedsomething more, for she was like her in face. She had the sameluxuriantly dark hair--a wonder to behold when it was let down overher shoulders--the same grey eyes, the same singularly erectattitude, and lips which, although they were not tight and screwedup, were always set with decision. But her distinguishingpeculiarity was her inherited vivacity, which was perfectly natural, but frequently exposed her--just as it did her mother--to the chargeof being theatrical. The criticism was as unjust in her case as inthat of her mother, if by being theatrical we mean being unreal. Theunreal person is the half-alive languid person. Pauline felt whatshe said, and acted it in every gesture. Her precious promptitude ofexpression made her invaluable as a companion to her father. He wasEnglish all over and all through; hypochondriacal, with a strongtendency to self-involution and self-absorption. She was only halfEnglish, or rather altogether French, and when he came home in theevening he often felt as if some heavy obstruction in his brain andabout his heart were suddenly dissolved. She and her mother werelike Hercules in the house of Admetus. Before Hercules has promisedto rescue Alcestis we feel that the darkness has disappeared. Pauline was loved by her father with intense passion. When she was alittle child, and he was left alone with a bitter sense of wrong, afeeling that he had more than his proper share of life's misery, hisheart was closed, and he cared for no friendship. But the man'snature could not be thus thwarted, and gradually it poured itself outin full flood--denied exit elsewhere--at this one small point. Herejoiced to find that he had not stiffened into death, and he oftenwent up to her bedside as she lay asleep, and the tears came, and hethanked God, not only for her but for his tears. He could not affordto bring her up like a lady, but he did his best to give her a goodeducation. He was very anxious that she should learn French, and asshe was wonderfully quick at languages, she managed in a very shorttime to speak it fluently. 

CHAPTER XX--THE REVEREND THOMAS BROAD'S EXPOSITION OF ROMANS VIII. 7

Such was the Coleman household when Mr. Thomas Broad called one fineMonday afternoon about three months after he had been at college. Hehad preached his first sermon on the Sunday before, in a villageabout twelve miles from London in a north-easterly direction, somewhere in the flat regions of Essex. Mr. Thomas was in unusuallygood humour, for he had not broken down, and thought he had crownedhimself with glory. The trial, to be sure, was not very severe. Theso-called chapel was the downstairs living-room of a cottage holdingat a squeeze about five-and-twenty people. Nevertheless, there was adesk at one corner, with two candles on either side, and Mr. Thomaswas actually, for the first time, elevated above an audience. Itconsisted of the wheelwright and his wife, both very old, half adozen labourers, with their wives, and two or three children. Theold wheelwright, as he was in business, was called the "principalsupport of the cause. " The "cause, " however, was not particularlyprosperous, nor its supporters enthusiastic. It was "supplied"always by a succession of first-year's students, who made theirexperiments on the corpus vile here. Spiritual teaching, spiritualguidance, these poor peasants had none, and when the Monday came theywent to their work in the marshes and elsewhere, and lived theirblind lives under grey skies, with nothing left in them of theSunday, save the recollection of a certain routine performed whichmight one day save them from some disaster with which flames andbrimstone had something to do. It was not, however, a reality tothem. Neither the future nor the past was real to them; no spiritualexistence was real; nothing, in fact, save the most stimulantsensation. Once upon a time, a man, looking towards the celestialcity, saw "The reflection of the sun upon the city (for the city wasof pure gold), so exceeding glorious that he could not as yet withopen face behold it, save through an instrument made for thatpurpose;" but Mr. Thomas Broad and his hearers needed no smoked glassnow to prevent injury to their eyes. Mr. Thomas had put on a whiteneckerchief, had mounted the desk, and had spoken for three-quartersof an hour from the text, "The carnal mind is at enmity with God. "He had received during the last three weeks his first lectures on the"Scheme of Salvation, " and his discourse was a reproduction of hisnotes thereon. The wheelwright and his wife, and the six labourerswith their wives, listened as oxen might listen, wandered home alongthe lanes heavy-footed like oxen, with heads towards the ground, andwent heavily to bed. The elder student who had accompanied Mr. Thomas informed him that, on the whole, he had acquitted himself verywell, but that it would be better, perhaps, in future to be a littlesimpler, and avoid what "may be called the metaphysics ofRedemption. "

"No doubt, " said he, "they are very attractive, and of enormousimportance. There is no objection to expound them before acultivated congregation in London; but in the villages we cannot betoo plain--that, at least, is my experience. Simply tell them we areall sinners, and deserve damnation. God sent His Son into the world. If we believe in Him we shall be saved; if not, we shall be lost. There is no mystery in that; everybody can understand it; and peopleare never weary of hearing the old old gospel. "

Mr. Thomas was well contented with himself, as we have said, when heknocked at Zachariah's door. It was opened by Pauline. He took offhis hat and smiled. 

"My name is Broad. I come from Cowfold, and know the Allens verywell. I am now living in London, and having heard of you so often, Ithought I should like to call. "

"Pray come in, " she said; "I am very glad to see you. I wish myfather were here. "

He was shown into the little front room, and after some inquiriesabout his relations Pauline asked him where was his abode in London. 

"At the Independent College. I am studying for the ministry. "

Pauline was not quite sure what "the ministry" meant; but as Mr. Thomas had yesterday's white tie round his neck--he always "dirtiedout" the Sunday's neckerchief on Monday, and wore a black one on theother week-days--she guessed his occupation. 

"Dear me! you must be tired with walking so far. "

"Oh no, not tired with walking; but the fact is I am a littleMondayish. "

"A little what?"

Mr. Thomas giggled a little. "Ah, you young ladies, of course, don'tknow what that means. I had to conduct a service in the countryyesterday, and am rather fatigued. I am generally so on Mondays, andI always relax on that day. " This, it is to be remembered, was hisfirst Monday. 

Pauline regretted very much that she had no wine in the house;neither had they any beer. They were not total abstainers, butnothing of the kind was kept in their small store-closet. 

"Oh, thank you; never mind. " He took a bottle of smelling-salts fromthe mantelpiece and smelt it. The conversation flagged a little. Pauline sat at the window, and Mr. Thomas at the table. At last heobserved. 

"Are you alone all day?"

"Generally, except on Sunday. Father does not get home till late. "

"Dear me! And you are not dull nor afraid?"

"Dull or afraid! Why?"

"Oh, well, " he sniggered, "dull--why, young ladies, you know, usuallylike society. At least, " and he laughed a little greasy laugh at hiswit, "we like theirs. And then--afraid--well, if my sister were soattractive"--he looked to see if this pretty compliment waseffective--"I should not like her to be without anybody in thehouse. "

Pauline became impatient. She rose. "When you come again, " shesaid, "I hope my father will be here. "

Mr. Thomas rose too. He had begun to feel awkward. For want ofsomething better to say, he asked whose was the portrait over themantelpiece. 

"Major Cartwright. "

"Major Cartwright! Dear me, is that Major Cartwright?" He had neverheard of him before, but he did not like to profess ignorance of aMajor. 

"And this likeness of this young gentleman?" he inquired, looking atPauline sideways, with an odious simper on his lips. "Nobody I know, I suppose?"

"My father when he was one-and-twenty. " She moved towards the door. Mr. Thomas closed his fat eyes till they became almost slits, simpered still more effectively, as he thought, trusted he might havethe pleasure of calling again, and departed. 

Pauline returned, opened the window and door for ten minutes, andwent upstairs. When she saw her father she told him briefly that shehad entertained a visitor, and expressed her utter loathing of him interms so strong that he was obliged to check her. He did not want aquarrel with any of Isaac's friends. 

Mr. Thomas, having returned to the college, did not delay tocommunicate by mysterious hints to his colleagues that he was onvisiting terms with a most delightfully charming person, and sunnedhimself deliciously in their bantering congratulations. About threeweeks afterwards he thought he might safely repeat his visit; but hewas in a difficulty. He was not quite so stupid as not to see that, the next time he went, it ought to be when her father was present, and yet he preferred his absence. At last he determined he would goabout tea-time. He was quite sure that Mr. Coleman would not havereturned then; but he could assume that he had, and would propose towait for him. He therefore duly presented himself at half-past five. 

"Good-evening, Miss Coleman. Is your father at home?"

"No, not yet, " replied Pauline, holding the door doubtingly. 

"Oh, I am so sorry;" and, to Pauline's surprise, he entered withoutany further ceremony. She hardly knew what to do; but she followedhim as he walked into the room, where she had just laid the tea-things and put the bread and butter on the table. 

"Oh, tea!" he cried. "Dear me, it would be very rude of me to askmyself to tea, and yet, do you know, Miss Coleman, I can hardly helpit. "

"I am afraid my father will not be here till eight. " He sat down. 

"That is very unfortunate. You will tell him I came on purpose tosee him. "

Pauline hesitated whether she should or should not inform Mr. Thomasthat his presence was disagreeable, but her father's caution recurredto her, and she poured out a cup for her visitor. 

It was one of his peculiarities that tea, of which he took enormousquantities, made him garrulous, and he expatiated much upon hiscollege. By degrees, however, he became silent, and as he wassitting with his face to the window, he shifted his chair to theopposite side, under the pretence that the light dazzled his eyes. Pauline shifted too, apparently to make room for him, but really toget farther from him. 

"Do people generally say that you take after your mother?" he said. 

"I believe I am like my mother in many things. "

Another pause. He became fidgety; the half smile, half grin which healmost perpetually wore passed altogether from his face, and helooked uncomfortable and dangerous. Pauline felt him to be so, andresolved that, come what might, he should never set foot in the houseagain. 

"You have such black hair, " he observed. 

She rose to take away the tea-things. 

"I am afraid, " said she, "that I must go out; I have one or twocommissions to execute. "

He remained seated, and observed that surely she would not go alone. 

"Why not?" and having collected the tea-things, she was on the pointof leaving. He then rose, and she bade him good-bye. He held outhis hand, and she took it in hers, but he did not let it go, andhaving pulled it upwards with much force, kissed it. He still heldit, and before the astonished Pauline knew what he was doing his armwas round her waist. At that moment the little front gate swungback. Nobody was there; but the Reverend Thomas was alarmed, and inan instant she had freed herself, and had placed the table betweenthem. 

"What do you mean, you Gadarene pig, you scoundrel, by insulting astranger in this way?" she cried. "Away! My father will know whatto do with you. "

"Oh, if you please, Miss Coleman, pray say nothing about it, pray donot mention it to your father; I do not know what the consequenceswill be; I really meant nothing; I really did not"--which wasentirely true. 

"You who propose to teach religion to people! I ought to stop you;but no, I will not be dragged into the mud. "

A sudden thought struck her. He was shaky, and was holding on by thetable. "I will be silent, " she cried--what a relief it was to him tohear her say that! "but I will mark you, " and before he couldcomprehend what she was doing she had seized a little pair ofscissors which lay near her, had caught his wrist, and had scored adeep cross on the back of the hand. The blood burst out and shethrew him a handkerchief. 

"Take that and be gone!"

He was so amazed and terrified, not only at the sight of the blood, but at her extraordinary behaviour, that he turned ghastly white. The pain, however, recalled him to his senses; he rolled thehandkerchief over the wound, twisted his own round it too, for thered stain came through Pauline's cambric, and departed. The accountcurrent in the college was, that he had torn himself against a nailin a fence. The accident was a little inconvenient on the followingSunday, when he had to preach at Hogsbridge Corner; but as hereproduced the sermon on the carnal mind, which he knew pretty wellby heart, he was not nervous. He had made it much simpler, inaccordance with the advice given on a former occasion. He had struckout the metaphysics and had put in a new head--"Neither indeed CANbe. " "The apostle did not merely state a fact that the carnal mindwas not subject to the law of God; he said, 'Neither indeed CAN be. 'Mark, my brethren, the force of the neither can. "

CHAPTER XXI--THE WISDOM OF THE SERPENT

George Allen meanwhile, at Cowfold, languished in love with PriscillaBroad, who was now a comely girl of eighteen. Mrs. Broad had, ofcourse, discovered what was in the wind, and her pride suffered asevere shock. She had destined Priscilla, as the daughter of aFlavel, for a London minister, and that she should marry a tradesmanwas intolerable. Worse still, a tradesman in Cowfold! What wouldbecome of their influence in the town, she continually argued withMr. Broad, if they became connected with a member of theircongregation? She thought it would be a serious hindrance to theirusefulness. But Mr. Broad was not so sure, although he hated theAllens; and Priscilla, somehow or other, was not so sure, for, despite her mother's constant hints about their vulgarity, she notinfrequently discovered that something was wanted from the shop, andbought it herself. 

One Monday afternoon, Mr. Broad having thrown the silk handkerchiefoff his face and bestirred himself at the sight of the radishes, water-cresses, tea, and hot buttered toast, thus addressed his wife:

"My love, I am not altogether inclined to discountenance theattentions which George pays to Priscilla. There are so manycircumstances to be taken into account. "

"It is a great trouble to me, John, and I really think if anything ofthe kind were to happen, at least you would have to seek anothercause. Just consider the position in which I should stand towardsMrs. Allen. Besides, I am sure it will interfere with your dutieshere if we are obliged to take notice of the Allens more than ofother people in the town. "

"To seek for another cause, my love? That is a very grave matter atmy time of life. You remember too, that there is an endowment here. "

"Quite so; and that is the more reason why we should not permit theattachment. "

"But, my love, as I observed, there are so many circumstances to betaken into account. You know as well as I do in what aspect I viewthe Allens, and what my sentiments with regard to them are--personally that is to say, and not as minister of the gospel. Perhaps Providence, my dear, intends this opportunity as a meanswhereby the emotions of my poor sinful nature--emotions which mayhave been uncharitable--may be converted into brotherly love. Thenwe must recollect that Isaac is a prominent member of the church anda deacon. Thirdly, in all probability, if we do not permit Priscillato marry George, offence will be taken and they may withdraw theirsubscription, which, I believe, comes altogether to twenty pounds perannum. Fourthly, the Allens have been blessed with an unusual shareof worldly prosperity, and George is about to become a partner. Fifthly and lastly"--Mr. Broad had acquired a habit of dividing hismost ordinary conversation into heads--"it is by no means improbablethat I may need a co-pastor before long, and we shall secure theAllens' powerful influence in favour of Thomas. "

Mrs. Broad felt the full force of these arguments. 

"I should think, " she added, "that George, after marriage, cannotlive at the shop. "

"No, that will not be possible; they must take a private house. "

So it was agreed, without any reference to the question whetherPriscilla and George cared for one another, that no opposition shouldbe offered. The Allens themselves, father and mother, were by nomeans so eager for the honour of the match as Mrs. Broad supposedthem to be, for Mrs. Isaac, particularly proud of her husband, and alittle proud of their comfortable business and their comfortableproperty, was not dazzled by the Flavel ancestry. 

When George formally asked permission of Mr. Broad to sanction hisaddresses, a meeting between the parents became necessary, and Mrs. Broad called on Mrs. Allen. She was asked into the dining-room atthe back of the shop. At that time, at any rate in Cowfold, thedrawing-room, which was upstairs, was an inaccessible sanctuary, saveon Sunday and on high tea-party days. Mrs. Broad looked round at thesolid mahogany furniture; cast her eyes on the port and sherrystanding on the sideboard, in accordance with Cowfold custom;observed that not a single thing in the room was worn or shabby; thateverything was dusted with absolute nicety, for the Allen's kept twoservants; and became a little reconciled to her lot. 

Mrs. Allen presently appeared in her black silk dress, with her goldwatch hanging in front, and saluted the minister's wife with theusual good-humoured, slightly democratic freedom which always annoyedMrs. Broad. 

"My dear Mrs. Allen, " began Mrs. Broad, "I have called to announce toyou a surprising piece of intelligence, although I dare say you knowit all. Your son George has asked Mr. Broad to be allowed toconsider himself as Priscilla's suitor. We have discussed the mattertogether, and I have come to know what your views are. I may saythat we had destined--hoped--that--er--Priscilla would find hersphere as a minister's wife in the metropolis; but it is best, perhaps, to follow the leadings of Providence. "

"Well, Mrs. Broad, I must say I was a little bit disappointed myself--to tell you the plain truth; but it is of no use to contradict youngpeople in love with one another. "

Mrs. Broad was astonished. Disappointed! But she remembered herhusband's admonitions. So she contented herself with an insinuation. 

"What I meant, my dear Mrs. Allen, was that, as the Flavels have beena ministerial family for so long, it would have been gratifying tome, of course, if Priscilla had bestowed herself upon--upon somebodyoccupying the same position. "

"That is just what my mother used to say. I was a Burton, youremember. They were large tanners in Northamptonshire, and she didnot like my going to a shop. But you know, Mrs. Broad, you hadbetter be in a shop and have plenty of everything, and not have topinch and screw, than have a brass knocker on your door, and not beable to pay for the clothes you wear. That's my belief, at anyrate. "

The dart entered Mrs. Broad's soul. She remembered some"procrastination"--to use her husband's favourite word--in settling adraper's bill, even when it was diminished by the pew rent, and shewondered if Mrs. Allen knew the facts. Of course she did; allCowfold knew every fact connected with everybody in the town. Shediscerned it was best to retreat. 

"I wished to tell you, Mrs. Allen, that we do not intend to offer theleast objection"--she thought that perhaps a little professionalunction might reduce her antagonist--"and I am sure I pray that Godwill bless their union. "

"As I said before, Mrs. Broad, neither shall we object. We shall letGeorge do as he likes. He is a real good boy, worth a princess, andif he chooses to have Miss Broad, we shan't hinder him. She willalways be welcome here, and it will be a consolation to you to knowshe will never want anything. " Mrs. Allen shook her silk dress out alittle, and offered Mrs. Broad a glass of wine. Her feelings were alittle flustered, and she needed support, but she refused. 

"No thank you, Mrs. Allen. I must be going. "

CHAPTER XXII--THE ORACLE WARNS--AFTER THE EVENT

It is no part of my business to tell the story of the love-makingbetween George and Priscilla. Such stories have been told too often. Every weakness in her was translated by George into some particularlyattractive virtue. He saw nothing, heard nothing, which was not toher advantage. Once, indeed, when he was writing the letter that wasfor ever to decide his destiny, it crossed his mind that this was anepoch--a parting of the ways--and he hesitated as he folded it up. But no warning voice was heard; nothing smote him; he was doing whathe believed to be the best; he was allowed to go on without a singleremonstrant sign. The messenger was despatched, and his fate wassealed. His mother and father had held anxious debate. Theybelieved Priscilla to be silly, and the question was whether theyshould tell George so. The more they reflected on the affair theless they liked it; but it was agreed that they could do nothing, andthat to dissuade their son would only embitter him against them. 

"Perhaps, " said Mrs. Allen, "when she has a family she will bebetter. "

Mrs. Allen had a belief that children cured a woman of many follies. 

Nevertheless the mother could not refrain, when she had to talk toGeorge about his engagement, from "letting out" just a word. 

"I hope you will be happy, my dear boy. The great thing is not tohave a fool for a wife. There has never, to my knowledge, been awoman amongst the Burtons or the Allens who was a fool. 

George felt nothing at the time, for he suspected nothing; but thewords somehow remained with him, and reappeared later on in blackintensity like invisible writing under heat. 

So they were married, and went to live in a cottage, small, but veryrespectable, in the Shott Road. For the first six months both werein bliss. Priscilla was constantly backwards and forwards to hermother, who took upon herself at once the whole direction of heraffairs; but there was no rupture with the Allens, for, whatever herother faults might be, Priscilla was not given to making quarrels, and there was little or no bitterness or evil temper in her. Georgecame home after his work was over at the shop, and sometimes went outto supper with his wife, or read to her the newspaper, which cameonce a week. Like his father, he was an ardent politician, and, fromthe very beginning of the struggle, an enthusiastic Free Trader. TheFree Trade creed was, indeed, the cause of serious embarrassment, fornot only were the customers agricultural and Protectionist, but thedeacons at Tanner's Lane, being nearly all either farmers orconnected with the land, were also Protectionist, and Mr. Broad had ahard time of it. For himself, he expressed no opinion; but once, ata deacons' meeting, when it looked as if some controversy wouldarise, he begged Brother Allen to remember that, though we might bewise as serpents, we were also commanded to be harmless as doves. There was a small charity connected with the chapel, which wasdistributed, not in money, but in bread, and Brother Allen, not beingable to contain himself, had let fall a word or two about the priceof bread which would have raised a storm if Mr. Broad had not pouredon the troubled waters that oil of which he was a perfect reservoir. 

George did his best to instruct his wife in the merits of thecontroversy, and when he found anything in his newspaper read italoud to her. 

"You see, Priscilla, " he said one evening, "it stands to reason thatif foreign corn pays a duty, the price of every quarter grown here israised, and this increased price goes into the farmer's or landlord'spocket: Why should I, or why should my men, pay twopence more forevery loaf to buy Miss Wootton a piano?"

"Really, George, do you mean to say that they are going to buy MissWootton a piano?"

"My dear, I said that when they buy a loaf of bread twopence out ofit goes to buy Miss Wootton's piano!" repeated George, laying anemphasis on every word. "I did not mean, of course, that they puttheir twopences in her pocket. The point is, that the duty enablesWootton to get more for his corn. "

"Well, " said Priscilla triumphantly, "I can tell you she is NOT goingto have a piano. She's going to have a little organ instead, becauseshe can play tunes better on an organ, and it's more suitable forher; so there's an end of that. "

"It doesn't matter whether it is an organ or piano, " said George, "the principle is the same. "

"Well, but you said a piano; I don't think the principle is the same. If I were she I would sooner have the piano. "

A shade of perplexed trouble crossed George's face, and some creasesappeared in his forehead; but he smoothed them away and laid down hispaper. 

"Priscilla, put away your work for a moment and just listen. "

Priscilla was making something in the shape of netting by means ofpins and a long loop which was fastened under her foot. 

"I can listen, George; there is no occasion to put it away. "

"Well then, " he answered, placing both his elbows on the table, andresting his face upon them, "all corn which comes into this countrypays a duty--that you understand. Consequently it cannot be soldhere for less than sixty shillings a quarter. Of course, if that isthe case, English wheat is kept up to a higher price than it wouldfetch it there was no duty. Therefore bread is, as I calculate, about twopence a loaf dearer than it ought to be. And why should itbe? That's what I want to know. "

"I believe, " said Priscilla, "we might save a good bit by baking athome. "

"Yes, yes; but never mind that now. You know that foreign corn paysa duty. You do know that?"

"Yes, " said Priscilla, because there was nothing else to be said. 

"Well, then, you must see that, if that be so, farmers can obtain ahigher price for English corn. "

Poor Priscilla really did her best to comprehend. She stopped herknitting for a moment, put her knitting-pin to her lips, and answeredvery slowly and solemnly "Ye-es. "

"Ah; but I know when you say 'Ye-es' like that you do notunderstand. "

"I do understand, " she retorted, with a little asperity. 

"Well then, repeat it, and let us see. "

"No, I shall not. "

"Dear Priscilla, I am not vexed: but I only wanted to make it quiteplain to you. The duty on foreign corn is a tax in favour of thefarmer, or perhaps the landlord, just as distinctly as if the tax-collector carried the coin from our till and gave it them. "

"Of course it is quite plain, " she responded, making a bold strokefor her life. "Of course it is quite plain we are taxed"--George'sface grew bright, for he thought the truth had dawned upon her--"because the farmers have to pay the duty on foreign corn. "

He took up his newspaper, held it open so as to cover his face, wassilent for a few minutes, and then, pulling out his watch, declaredit was time to go to bed. She gathered up her netting, looked at himdoubtfully as she passed, and went upstairs. 

The roof of George's house had a kind of depression or well in themiddle of it, whence ran a rainwater pipe, which passed down inside, and so, under the floor, to the soft-water cistern. A bad piece ofconstruction, thought he, and he wished, if he could have done so, toimprove it; but there was no way of altering it without pulling thewhole place to pieces. One day, a very short time after the talkabout Free Trade, a fearful storm of rain broke over Cowfold, and hewas startled by Ellen, his servant, running into the shop and tellinghim that the staircase was flooded, and missis wanted him at once. He put on his coat and was off in a moment. When he got therePriscilla met him at the door crying, and in a great fright. Thewell up aloft was full of water, and it was pouring in torrentsthrough the little window. It had gone through the floor of thebedroom and into the dining-room, pulling down with it about half theceiling, which lay in a horrid mess upon the dining table and thecarpet, George saw in an instant what was the matter. He ran up thesteps to the well, pulled out a quantity of straw and dirt whichblocked up the entrance to the pipe; the water disappeared in twominutes, and all further danger was arrested. 

"Why on earth, " he cried in half a passion, "did not you think toclear away the rubbish, instead of wasting your time in sending forme? It ought to have entered into anybody's head to do such a simplething as that. "

"How was I to know?" replied Mrs. George. "I am not an ironmonger. What have I to do with pipes? You shouldn't have had such a thing. "

Ellen stood looking at the wreck. 

"We don't want you;" said George savagely; "go into the kitchen, " andhe shut the dining-room door. There the husband and wife stood faceto face with one another, with the drip, drip, drip still proceeding, the ruined plaster, and the spoilt furniture. 

"I don't care, " he broke out, "one brass farthing for it all; butwhat I do care for is that you should not have had the sense tounstop that pipe. "

She said nothing, but cried bitterly. At last she sat down andsobbed out: "O George, George, you are in a rage with me; you aretired of me; you are disappointed with me. Oh! what shall I do, whatSHALL I do?" Poor child! her pretty curls fell over her face as shecovered it with her long white hands. George was touched with pityin an instant, and his arms were round her neck. He kissed herfervently, and besought her not to think anything of what he hadsaid. He took out his handkerchief, wiped her eyes tenderly, liftedone of her arms and put it round his neck as he pulled a chairtowards him and sat down beside her. Nothing she loved likecaresses! She knew what THEIR import was, though she could notfollow his economical logic, and she clung to him, and buried herface on his shoulder. At that moment, as he drew her heavy browntresses over him, smothered his eyes and mouth in them, and thenlooked down through them on the white, sweet beauty they shadowed, heforgot or overlooked everything, and was once more completely happy. 

Suddenly she released herself. "What shall we do to-night, George, the bedroom will be so damp?"

He recovered himself, and admitted that they could not sleep there. There was the spare bedroom; but the wet had come in there too. 

"I will sleep at father's, and you sleep at home too. We will havefires alight, and we shall be dry enough to-morrow. You be off now, my dear; I will see about it all. "

So George had the fires alight, got in a man to help him, and theyswept and scoured and aired till it was dark. In a day or two theplasterer could mend the ceiling. 

Priscilla had left, and, excepting the servant, who was upstairs, George was alone. He looked round, walked about--what was it? Washe tired? It could not be that; he was never tired. He left as soonas he could and went back to the shop. After telling the tale of thecalamity which had befallen him he announced--it was now supper-time--that he was going to stay all night. Mother, father, and sisterwere delighted to have him--"It looked like old times again;" butGeorge was not in much of a mood for talking, and at ten o'clock wentupstairs; his early departure being, of course, set down to the worryhe had gone through. He turned into bed. Generally speaking hethought no more of sleep than he did of breathing; it came asnaturally as the air into his lungs; but what was this newexperience? Half an hour, an hour, after he had laid down he wasstill awake, and worse than awake; for his thoughts were of adifferent cast from his waking thoughts; fearful forebodings; ahorror of great darkness. He rose and bathed his head in cold water, and lay down again; but it was of no use, and he walked about hisroom. What an epoch is the first sleepless night--the night when thefirst wrench has been given us by the Destinies to loosen us from thelove of life; when we have first said to ourselves that there areworse things than death!

George's father always slept well, but the mother stirred at theslightest sound. She heard her boy on the other side of the wallpacing to and fro, and she slipped out of bed, put on her dressing-gown, and went to listen. Presently she knocked gently. 

"George, my dear, aren't you well?"

"Yes, mother; nothing the matter. "

"Let me in. "

He let her in, and sat down. The moon shone brightly, and there wasno need for any other light. 

The mother came and sat beside her child. 

"George, my dear, there is something on you mind? What is it?--tellme. "

"Nothing, mother; nothing indeed. "

She answered by taking his cold hand in both her own and putting iton her lap. Presently he disengaged himself and went to the window. She sat still for a moment, and followed him. She looked up in hisface; the moonlight was full upon it; there was no moisture in hiseyes, but his lips quivered. She led him away, and got him to sitdown again, taking his hand as before, but speaking no word. Suddenly, without warning, his head was on his mother's bosom, and hewas weeping as if his heart would break. Another first experience tohim and to her; the first time he had ever wept since he was a childand cried over a fall or because it was dark. She supported thatheavy head with the arm which had carried him before he could walkalone; she kissed him, and her tears flowed with his; but still shewas silent. There was no reason why she should make further inquiry;she knew it all. By themselves there they remained till he became alittle calmer, and then he begged her to leave him. She wished tostay, but he would not permit it, and she withdrew. When she reachedher bedroom her husband was still asleep, and although she feared towake him, she could no longer contain herself, and falling on herknees with her face in the bedclothes, so that she might not beheard, she cried to her Maker to have mercy on her child. She wasnot a woman much given to religious exercises, but she prayed thatnight such a prayer as had not been prayed in Tanner's Lane since itsfoundation was laid. For this cause shall a man leave father andmother and cleave to his wife? Ah, yes! he does leave them; but inhis heart does he never go back? And if he never does, does hismother ever leave him?

In the morning Mrs. Allen was a little pale, and was asked by herhusband if she was unwell, but she held her peace. George, too, rose, went about his work, and in the afternoon walked up to thecottage to meet his wife there. She was bright and smiling, and hada thousand things to tell him about what her mamma said, and howmamma hoped that the nasty pipe would be altered and never ought tohave been there; and how she was coming after tea to talk to him, andhow she herself, Priscilla, had got a plan. 

"What is it?" said George. 

"Why, I would put a grating, or something, over the pipe, so that itshouldn't get stopped up. "

"But if the grating got stopped up that would be just as bad. "

"Well then, I wouldn't have a well there at all. Why don't you coverit over?"

'"But what are you to do with the window? You cannot block out thelight. "

So Priscilla's "plans, " as she called them, were nothing. And thoughGeorge had a plan which he thought might answer, he did not consulther about it. 

CHAPTER XXIII--FURTHER DEVELOPMENT

Six months afterwards Priscilla was about to give birth to her first-born. At Mrs. Allen's earnest request old nurse Barton had beenengaged, who nursed Mrs. Allen when George came into the world, andloved him like her own child. As a counterpoise, Mrs. Broad, who haddesired a nurse from a distance, whom she knew, installed herselfwith Priscilla. Nurse Barton had a great dislike to Mrs. Broad, although she attended Mr. Broad's ministrations at Tanner's Lane. She was not a member of the church, and never could be got to proposeherself for membership. There was, in fact, a slight flavour ofPaganism about her. She was considered to belong to the "world, " andit was only her age and undoubted skill which saved her practiceamongst the Tanner's Lane ladies. There was a rival in the town; butshe was a younger woman, and never went out to any of the respectablehouses, save when Mrs. Barton was not available. 

The child was safely born, and as soon as nurse Barton could bespared for an hour or two she went to Mrs. Allen, whom she foundalone. The good woman then gave Mrs. Allen her opinions, which, bythe way, she always gave with prefect frankness. 

"Thank the Lord-i-mercy this 'ere job, Mrs. Allen, is near at an end. If it 'adn't been my dear boy George's wife, never would I have setfoot in that 'ouse. "

"Why not?"

"Why not? Now, Mrs. Allen, you know as well as I do. To see thatthere Mrs. Broad! She might 'ave ordered me about; that wouldn't abeen nothin'; but to see 'er a orderin' 'IM, and a ridin' on 'im likea wooden rockin'-'orse, and with no more feelin'! A nasty, prancin', 'igh-'eaded creatur'. Thinks I to myself, often and often, if thingswas different I'd let yer know, that I would; but I 'eld my tong. It'ud a been wuss for us all, p'r'aps, if I 'adn't. "

"I should think so, " said Mrs. Allen; "remember she is the minister'swife. "

"Minister's wife!" repeated Mrs. Barton, and with much scorn. "Andthen them children of hern. Lord be praised I never brought suchthings as them into the world. That was her fine nuss as she mustget down from London; and pretty creaturs they are!"

"Hush, hush; George has one of them, and she is mine. "

"I can't 'elp it, ma'am, I must speak out. I say as he ought to 'avemarried somebody better nor 'er; though I don't mind a tellin' of yershe's the best of the lot. Why did the Lord in heaven, as sent JesusChrist to die for our souls, let my George 'ave such a woman as that?What poor silly creaturs we all are!" and the old woman, bending herhead down, shook it mournfully and rubbed her knees with her hand. She was thinking of him as he lay in her lap years and years ago, andpondering, in her disconnected, incoherent way, over the mysterieswhich are mysteries to us as much as to her. 

Mrs. Broad, who was in constant attendance upon Priscilla, at thevery earliest moment pronounced the baby a Flavel, and made haste totell father and mother so. There was no mistaking a refinement, soto say, in the features and an expression in the eye. George, ofcourse, was nearly banished for a time, and was much with his fatherand mother. At length, however, the hour arrived when the nurse tookher departure, and, Mrs. Broad having also somewhat retired, he beganto see a little more of his wife; but it was very little. She wasaltogether shut up in maternal cares--closed round, apparently, fromthe whole world. He was not altogether displeased, but he did attimes think that she might give him a moment now and then, especiallyas he was greatly interested in the coming county election. It wasrather too early in the day for a Free Trader to stand as acandidate, but two Whigs, of whom they had great hopes, had been putup, and both George and his father were most energetic in canvassingand on committees. 

Mr. Broad had decided not to vote. He did not deny that hissympathies were not with the Tories, but as a minister of religion itwould be better for him to remain neutral. This annoyed the Allensand damaged their cause. At a meeting held by the Tories one of thespeakers called upon the audience to observe that all the respectablepeople, with very few exceptions, were on their side. "Why, " criedhe, "I'll bet you, my friends, all Lombard Street to a china orangethat they don't get even the Dissenting parson to vote for theRadicals. Of course he won't, and why? Just because he's a cutabove his congregation, and knows a little more than they do, andbelongs to the intelligent classes. "

George bethought himself that perhaps he might do something throughPriscilla to influence her mother, and he determined to speak to herabout it. He came home one evening after attending a committee, andfound supper ready. Priscilla was downstairs, sitting with the dooropen. 

"Hadn't we better shut the door?" said George; "it is rather cold. "

"No, no, George; I shouldn't hear the baby. "

"But Ellen is upstairs. "

"Yes; but then she might go to sleep. "

"My dear, " began George, "I wish your father could be got to votestraight. You see that by not doing so he goes against all theprinciples of the Independents. Ever since they have been inexistence they have always stood up for freedom, and we are havingthe large yellow flag worked with the words, Civil and ReligiousLiberty. It will be a bad thing for us if he holds aloof. I cannotunderstand, " he continued, getting eloquent, "how a Dissentingminister can make up his mind not to vote against a party which hasbeen answerable for all the oppression and all the wrongs in Englishhistory, and for all our useless wars, and actually persecuted hispredecessors in this very meeting-house in which he now preaches. Besides, to say nothing about the past, just look at what we havebefore us now. The Tories are the most bitter opponents of FreeTrade. I can't tell you how I feel about it, and I do think that ifyou were to speak to your mother she would perhaps induce him tochange his mind. "

It was a long time since he had said so much all at once to his wife. 

"George, George, I am sure he's awake!" and she was off out of theroom in an instant. Presently she returned. 

"Mamma came here this afternoon and brought his hood--a new one--sucha lovely hood!--and she says he looks more than ever like a Flavel init. "

"I don't believe you listened to a word of what I was saying. "

"Oh yes, I did; you always think I don't listen; but I can listen toyou and watch for him too. "

"What did I say?"

"Never mind, I know. "

"I cannot understand, " he said sullenly, and diverted for a momentfrom his subject, "why mamma should be always telling YOU he is aFlavel. "

"Well, really, George, why shouldn't she? Tryphosa said the otherday that if you were to take away grandpapa Flavel's wig and bandsfrom the picture in the Evangelical Magazine he would be just likehim. "

"It seems to me, " replied George, "that if there's any nonsense goingabout the town, it always comes to you. People don't talk suchrubbish to me. "

What the effect of this speech might have been cannot be told, for atthis moment the baby did really cry, and Priscilla departed hastilyfor the night. She never spoke to her mother about the election, for, as George suspected, she had not paid the slightest attention tohim; and as to exchanging with her mother a single word upon such asubject as politics, or upon any other subject which was in any wayimpersonal, --she never did such a thing in her life. 

It was the uniform practice of the Reverend John Broad to walk downthe main Street of Cowfold on Monday morning, and to interchange afew words with any of his congregation whom he might happen to meet. This pastoral perambulation not only added importance to him, andmade him a figure in Cowfold, but, coming always on Monday, served togive people some notion of a preoccupation during the other days ofthe week which was forbidden, for mental reasons, on the day afterSunday. On this particular Monday Mr. Broad was passing Mr. Allen'sshop, and seeing father and son there, went in. Mr. Allen himselfwas at a desk which stood near the window, and George was at thecounter, in a black apron, weighing nails. 

After an unimportant remark or two about the weather, Mr. Allen beganin a cheery tone, so as to prevent offence:

"Mr. Broad, we are sorry we cannot persuade you to vote for the goodcause. "

Mr. Broad's large mouth lengthened itself, and his little eyes had anunpleasant light in them. 

"Brother Allen, I have made this matter the subject of muchmeditation, and I may even say of prayer, and I have come to theconclusion it will be better for me to occupy a neutral position. "

"Why, Mr. Broad? You cannot doubt on which side the right lies. "

"No; but then there are so many things to be considered, so manyresponsibilities, and my first care, you see, must be the ministerialoffice and the church which Providence has placed in my charge. "

"But, Mr. Broad, there are only two or three of them who are Tory. "

"Only old Bushel and another farmer or two, " interrupted George. 

Mr. Broad looked severely at George, but did not condescend to answerhim. 

"Those two or three, Brother Allen, require consideration as much asourselves. Brother Bushel is, I may say, a pillar of the cause, amost faithful follower of the Lord; and what are political questionscompared with that? How could I justify myself if my liberty were tobecome a stumbling-block to my brother. The house of God withoutBrother Bushel to give out the hymns on Sunday would, I am sure, notbe the same house of God to any of us. "

"But, Mr. Broad, do you think he will be so silly as to be offendedbecause you exercise the same right which he claims for himself?"

"Ah, Brother Allen--offended! You remember, no doubt, the text, 'Wherefore, if meat make my brother to offend, I will eat no fleshwhile the world standeth. '"

It is a very good thing to have at one's elbow a Bible of rules forour guidance; but unfortunately we relieve ourselves very often ofthe most necessary inquiry whether the rule applies to the particularcase in hand. Mr. Allen had the greatest possible respect for St. Paul, but he felt sure the apostle was where he had no business to bejust at that particular moment. George also saw the irrelevance ofthe quotation, and discerned exactly where it did not fit. 

"Mr. Broad, I am sure I don't pretend to know what St. Paul thoughtas well as you do--of course not--but do you think that voting islike eating meat? Is it not a duty to express our convictions onsuch questions as those now before the country? It didn't muchmatter whether a man ate meat which had been offered to an idol ornot, but it does matter how we are governed. "

Mr. Broad turned round on George, and smiled with a smile which wascertainly not a sign of affection, but otherwise did not notice him. 

"Well, Mr. Broad, " continued Mr. Allen, "all I can say is, I regretit; and I am sure you will excuse me if I also say that we toodeserve some consideration. You forget that your refusal to declareyourself may be stumbling-block to US. "

"I hope not, I hope not. George, how is Priscilla, and how is herchild? Are they both quite well?" and with a pontifical benedictionthe minister moved away. When he got home he consulted the oracle;not on his knees, but sitting in his arm-chair; that is to say, Mrs. Broad at the Monday afternoon tea, and she relieved his anxiety. There was no fear of any secession on the part of the Allens, connected as they were with them through Priscilla. On the otherhand, Brother Bushel, although he gave out the hymns, had already hada quarrel with the singing pew because they would not more frequentlyperform a tune with a solo for the double bass, which he alwaysaccompanied with his own bass voice, and Mr. Broad had found itdifficult to restore peace; the flute and clarionet justly urgingthat they never had solos, and why the double bass, who only playedfrom ear, and not half as many notes as they played, should beallowed to show off they didn't know. Mr. Bushel, too, contributedten pounds a year to the cause, and Piddingfold Green Chapel was buta mile farther off from him than Cowfold. There were allies of theAllens in Tanner's Lane, no doubt; but none of them would be likelyto desert so long as the Allens themselves remained. ThereforeProvidence seemed to point out to Mr. And Mrs. Broad that theircourse was clear. 

CHAPTER XXIV--"I CAME NOT TO SEND PEACE, BUT A SWORD"

Mr. Allen, having business in London, determined to go on Saturday, and spend the next day with Zachariah. Although he always called onhis old friend whenever he could do so, he was not often away fromhome on a Sunday. He also resolved to take George with him. Accordingly on Saturday morning they were up early and caught a coachon the North Road. The coaches by this time had fallen offconsiderably, for the Birmingham railway was open, and there was evensome talk of a branch through Cowfold; but there were still perhaps adozen which ran to places a good way east of the line. Father andson dismounted at the "George and Blue Boar, " where they were tosleep. Sunday was to be spent with the Colemans, whom George hadseen before but very seldom; never, indeed, since he was a boy. 

Zachariah still went to Pike Street Chapel, but only in the morningto hear Mr. Bradshaw, who was now an old man, and could not preachtwice. On that particular Sunday on which Zachariah, Pauline, Mr. Allen, and George heard him he took for his text the thirteenth verseof the twelfth chapter of Deuteronomy: "Take heed to thyself thatthou offer not thy burnt offerings in every place thou seest. " Heput down his spectacles after he had read these words, for he neverused a note, and said: "If your religion doesn't help you, it is noreligion for you; you had better be without it. I don't mean if itdoesn't help you to a knowledge of a future life or of the way toheaven. Everybody will say his religion does that. What I do meanis, that the sign of a true religion--true for YOU, is this--Does itassist you to bear your own private difficulties?--does it really?--not the difficulties of the schools and theology, but those of theparlour and countinghouse; ay, difficulties most difficult, thosewith persons nearest to you? . . . Everybody ought to have his OWNreligion. In one sense we are all disciples of Christ, butnevertheless each man has troubles peculiar to himself, and it isabsurd to expect that any book system will be sufficient for each oneof us at all points. You must make your own religion, and it is onlywhat you make yourself which will be of any use to you. Don't bedisturbed if you find it is not of much use to other persons. Stickto it yourself if it is really your own, a bit of yourself. Thereare, however, in the Book of God universal truths, and the wonderfulthing about them is, that they are at the same time more particularlyadapted to you and me and all our innermost wants than anything wecan discover for ourselves. That is the miracle of inspiration. Forthousands and thousands of years some of the sayings here havecomforted those who have well nigh despaired in the desert of theworld. The wisdom of millions of apostles, of heroes, of martyrs, ofpoor field labourers, of solitary widows, of orphans of thedestitute, of men driven to their last extremity has been the wisdomof this volume--not their own, and yet most truly theirs. . . . Hereis a word for us this morning: 'Take heed to thyself that thou offernot thy burnt offerings in every place thou seest. ' Ah, what a wordit is! You and I are not idolaters, and there is no danger of ourbeing so. For you and me this is not a warning against idolatry. What is it for us then? Reserve yourself; discriminate in yourworship. Reserve yourself, I say; but what is the implication? Whatsays the next verse? 'In the place which the Lord shall choose;'that is to say, keep your worship for the Highest. Do not squanderyourself, but, on the other hand, before the shrine of the Lord offerall your love and adoration. What a practical application this has!. . I desire to come a little closer to you. What are theconsequences of not obeying this Divine law? You will not be struckdead nor excommunicated, you will be simply DISAPPOINTED. Your burntoffering will receive no answer; you will not be blessed through it;you will come to see that you have been pouring forth your treasure, and something worse, your heart's blood--not the blood of cattle--before that which is no God--a nothing, in fact. 'Vanity ofvanities, ' you will cry, 'all is vanity. ' My young friends, youngmen and young women, you are particularly prone to go wrong in thismatter. You not only lay your possessions but yourselves on altarsby the roadside. "

It was the first time George had ever heard anything from any publicspeaker which came home to him, and he wondered if Mr. Bradshaw knewhis history. He interpreted the discourse after his own way, andPriscilla was ever before him. 

They came back to the little house, and sat down to dinner in thelittle front room. There were portraits on the walls--nothing elsebut portraits--and the collection at first sight was inconsistent. Major Cartwright was still there; there were also Byron, Bunyan, Scott, Paine, Burns, Mr. Bradshaw, and Rousseau. It was closelyexpressive of its owners. Zachariah and Pauline were privatepersons; they were, happily for them, committed to nothing, and werenot subsidised by their reputations to defend a system. They wereconsequently free to think at large, and if they admired both Bunyanand Rousseau, they were at liberty to do so. Zachariah, in ameasure, and a very large measure, had remained faithful to hisearliest beliefs--who is there that does not?--and although they hadbeen modified, they were still there; and he listened to Mr. Bradshawwith the faith of thirty years ago. He also believed in a good manythings he had learned without him, and perhaps the old and the newwere not so discordant as at first sight they might have seemed tobe. He was not, in fact, despite all his love of logic, the "yes ORno" from which most people cannot escape, but a "yes AND no"; notimmorally and through lack of resolution, but by reason of anoriginal receptivity and the circumstances of his training. If hehad been merely a student the case would have been different but hewas not a student. He was a journeyman printer; and hard work has atendency to demolish the distinctions of dialectics. He had alsobeen to school outside his shop, and had learned many lessons, oftenconfusing and apparently contradictory. Blanketeer marches; hisfirst wife; the workhouse imprisonment; his second wife; the littlePauline had each come to him with its own special message, and thenet result was a character, but a character disappointing to personswho prefer men and women of linear magnitude to those of threedimensions. 

After dinner the conversation turned upon politics and Mr. Allendescribed his interview with Mr. Broad, regretting that the movementin the district round Cowfold would receive no countenance from theminister of the very sect which ought to be its chief support. 

"A sad falling off, " said Zachariah, "from the days, even in my time, when the Dissenters were the insurrectionary class. Mr. Bradshaw, last Sunday, after his sermon, shut his Bible, and told the peoplethat he did not now interfere much in political matters; but he felthe should not be doing his duty if he did not tell those whom hetaught which way they ought to vote, and that what he had preached tothem for so many years would be poor stuff if it did not compel theminto a protest against taxing the poor for the sake of the rich. "

"Yes, " replied Mr. Allen; "but then Broad never has taught whatBradshaw teaches; he never seems to me to see anything clearly; atleast he never makes me see anything clearly; the whole world is in afog to him. "

"From what I have heard of Mr. Broad, " said Pauline, "I should thinkthe explanation of him is very simple; he is a hypocrite--an ordinaryhypocrite. What is the use of going out of the way to seek forexplanations of such commonplace persons?"

"Pauline, Pauline, " cried Zachariah, "you surely forget, my child, inwhose company you are!"

"Oh, as for that, " said George, "Miss Coleman needn't mind me. Ihaven't married Mr. Broad, and my father is quite right. For thatmatter, I believe Miss Coleman is right too. "

"Well, " said Mr. Allen, "it is rather strong to say a man is anordinary hypocrite, and it is not easy to prove it. "

"Not easy to prove it, " said Pauline, shifting a little her chair andlooking straight at Mr. Allen, with great earnestness; "hypocrisy isthe one thing easiest to prove. I can tell whether a man is ahypocrite before I know anything else about him. I may not for along time be able to say what else he may be, but before he speaks, almost, I can detect whether he is sincere. "

"You women, " said Zachariah, with a smile, "or you girls rather, areso positive. Just as though the world were divided like the goatsand the sheep in the gospel. That is a passage that I never couldquite understand. I never, hardly, see a pure breed either of goator sheep. I never see anybody who deserves go straight to heaven orwho deserves to go straight to hell. When the judgment day comes itwill be a difficult task. Why, Pauline, my dear, I am a humbugmyself. "

"Ah well, I have heard all that before; but, nevertheless, what I sayis true. Some men, using speech as God meant men to use it, areliars, and some are not. Of course not entirely so, nor at alltimes. We cannot speak mere truth; we are not made to speak it. Forall that you are not a liar. "

"Anyhow, I shall go on, " said Mr. Allen. "We shall have a desperatefight, and shall most likely lose; but no Tory shall sit for ourcounty if I can help it. "

"Of course you will go on, " said Zachariah. "So shall I go on. Weare to have a meeting in Clerkenwell to-morrow night, although, totell you the truth, I don't feel exactly the interest in the strugglewhich I did in those of five-and-twenty years ago, when we had towhisper our treasons to one another in locked rooms and put sentriesat the doors. You know nothing about those times, George. "

"I wish I had, " said George, with an unusual passion, which surprisedhis father and caused Pauline to lift her eyes from the table andlook at him. "I only wish I had. I can't speak as father can, and Ioften say to myself I should like to take myself off to some foreigncountry where men get shot for what they call conspiracy. If I knewsuch a country I half believe I would go to-morrow. "

"Which means, " said Pauline, "that there would be an end of you andyour services. If you care anything for a cause, you can dosomething better than get shot for it; and if you want martyrdom, there is a nobler martyrdom than death. The Christians who weretrundled in barrels with spikes in them deserve higher honour thanthose who died in a moment, before they could recant. The highestform of martyrdom, though, is not even living for the sake of acause, but living without one, merely because it is your duty tolive. If you are called upon to testify to a great truth, it is easyto sing in flames. Yes, yes, Mr. George, the saints whom I wouldcanonise are not martyrs for a cause, but those who have none. "

George thought that what Pauline said--just as he had thought of Mr. Bradshaw's sermon--seemed to be said for him; and yet what did sheknow about him? Nothing. He was silent. All were silent, for it isdifficult to follow anybody who pitches the conversation at so high alevel; and Zachariah, who alone could have maintained it, wasdreaming over his lost Pauline and gazing on the sacred pictureswhich were hung in the chamber of his heart. Just at that moment hewas looking at the one of his wife as a girl; the room in which hewas sitting had gone; he was in the court near Fleet Street; she hadcleared the space for the dance; she had begun, and he was watchingher with all the passion of his youth. The conversation graduallyturned to something more indifferent, and the company broke up. 

On the Monday George and his father went home. It is verydepressing, after being with people who have been at their best, andwith whom we have been at our best, to descend upon ordinaryexistence. George felt it particularly as he stood in the shop onTuesday morning and reflected that for the whole of that day--for hisfather was out--he should probably not say nor hear a word for whichhe cared a single straw. But there was to be an election meetingthat evening, and Mr. Allen was to speak, and George, of course, mustbe there. The evening came, and the room at the Mechanics'Institute, which had just been established in Cowfold, was crowded. Admission was not by ticket, so that, though the Whigs had convenedit, there was a strong muster of the enemy. Mr. Allen moved thefirst resolution in a stirring speech, which was constitutionallyinterrupted with appeals to him to go home and questions about a greymare--"How about old Pinfold's grey mare?"--which seemed conclusiveand humorous to the last degree. Old Pinfold was a well-knowncharacter in Cowfold, horse-dealer, pig-jobber, attendant at races, with no definite occupation, and the grey mare was an animal which hemanaged to impose upon Mr. Allen, who sued him and lost. 

When Mr. Allen's resolution had been duly seconded, one Rogers, apublican, got up and said he had something to say. There wasindescribable confusion, some crying, "Turn him out;" others "Pitchinto 'em, Bill. " Bill Rogers was well known as the funny man inCowfold, a half-drunken buffoon, whose wit, such as it was, wasretailed all over the place; a man who was specially pleased if hecould be present in any assembly collected for any serious purposeand turn it into ridicule. He got upon a chair, not far from whereGeorge sat, but refused to go upon the platform. "No, thank yer myfriends, I'm best down here; up there's the place for the gentlefolk, the clever uns, them as buy grey mares!"--(roars of laughter)--"but, Mr. Chairman, with your permission"--and here Bill put his had uponhis chest and made a most profound bow to the chair, which causedmore laughter--"there is just one question I should like to ask--notabout the grey mare, sir"--(roars of laughter again)--"but I see ayoung gentleman here beknown to us all"--(points to George)--"and Ishould just like to ask him, does his mother-in-law--not his mother, you observe, sir--does his mother-in-law know he's out?" Once morethere was an explosion, for Mr. Broad's refusal to take part in thecontest was generally ascribed to Mrs. Broad. George sat still for amoment, hardly realising his position, and then the blood rose to hishead; up crashed across the forms, and before the grin had settledinto smoothness on Bill's half-intoxicated features there was a griplike that of a giant on his greasy coat collar; he was dragged amidstshouts and blows to the door, George nothing heeding, and dismissedwith such energy that he fell prostrate on the pavement. His friendshad in vain attempted to stop George's wrathful progress; but theywere in a minority. 

Next Saturday a report of the scene appeared in the county newspaper, giving full particulars, considerably exaggerated; and Mr. Broad readall about it to Mrs. Broad on Saturday afternoon, in the intervalbetween the preparation of his two sermons. He had heard the storyon the following day; but here was an authentic account in print. Mrs. Broad was of opinion that it was shocking; so vulgar, so low;her poor dear Priscilla, and so forth. Mr. Broad's sullen animositywas so much stimulated that it had overcome his customarycircumspection, and on the Sunday evening he preached from the text, "Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, Tovisit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keephimself unspotted from the world. " Mr. Broad remarked that theApostle James made no mention here of the scheme of redemption; notbecause that was not the chief part of religion, but because he wasconsidering religion in the aspect--he was very fond of this word"aspect"--which it presented to those outside the Church. He calledupon his hearers to reflect with him for a few moments, in the firstplace, upon what religion was not; secondly, upon what it was; andthirdly, he would invite their attention to a few practicalconclusions. He observed that religion did not consist in vainstrife upon earthly matters, which only tended towards divisions inthe Body of Christ. "At such a time as this, my brethren, it isimportant for us to remember that these disputes, especially if theyare conducted with unseemly heat, are detrimental to the interests ofthe soul and give occasion to the enemy to blaspheme. " When Mr. Broad came to the secondly. And to that sub-division of it whichdealt with freedom from worldly spots, he repeated the words withsome emphasis, "'Unspotted from the world. ' Think, my friends, ofwhat this involves. Spots! The world spots and stains! We are notcalled upon to withdraw ourselves from the world--the apostle doesnot say that--but to keep ourselves unspotted, uncontaminated heappears to mean, by worldly influence. The word unspotted in theoriginal bears that interpretation--uncontaminated. Therefore, though we must be in the world, we are not to be OF the world, but toset an example to it. In the world! Yes, my brethren, we mustnecessarily be in the world; that is the condition imposed upon us bythe Divine Providence, because we are in a state of probation; we areso constituted, with a body, and with fleshly appetites, that we mustbe in the world; but we must be separate from it and itscontroversies, which are so unimportant compared with our eternalwelfare. "

Mr. Bushel sat on high at his desk, where he gave out the hymns, andcoughed every now and then, and looked straight at the pew where theAllens and George sat. Mr. Bushel knew well enough that, although hewas just as ardent on the other side, the sermon was not meant forhim, and not one of Mr. Broad's remarks touched him. He thought onlyof the Allens, and rejoiced inwardly. George walked home withPriscilla in silence. At supper-time he suddenly said:

"I think your father might have found something better to do thanpreach at me. "

Priscilla was shocked. She had never heard a criticism on her fatherbefore. 

"Really, George, what are you thinking of to talk in that way about asermon, and on a Sunday night too?"

"He did preach at me; and if he has anything to say against me, whydoesn't he come and say it here or at the shop?"

"O George, this is dreadful! Besides, mamma DID come and talk tome. "

"What has that got to do with it? Well, what did your mother say?"

"Why, she told me all about thus meeting, and how you fought a manand nearly killed him, and you a member at Tanner's Lane, and how yououghtn't to have been there at all, and what Mr. Bushel was going todo. "

"Oughtn't to have been there at all? Why not? I don't believe youknow any more than this table why I was there. "

"Oh yes, I do. You never tell me anything, but Mrs. Bushel told me. You want to get them all turned out of their farms. "

"Bosh! There you are again!--the pains I took the other night againto make you comprehend what Free Trade meant. I knew you didn'tunderstand a word about it; and if you did understand, you wouldn'tbelieve me. You never take any notice of anything I say; but if Mrs. Bushel or any other blockhead tells you anything, you believe thatdirectly. "

Priscilla's eyes filled; she took out her handkerchief, and wentupstairs. George sat still for a while, and then followed her. Hefound her sitting by the baby's cradle, her head on her hands andsobbing. It touched him beyond measure to see how she retreated toher child; he went to her; his anger was once more forgotten, andonce more he was reconciled with kisses and self-humiliation. Thenext morning, however, as he went to the square, the conversation ofthe night before returned to him. "What does it all mean?" he criedto himself. "Would to God it were either one thing or another! Icould be happy if I really cared for her, and if I hated herdownright I could endure it like any other calamity which cannot bealtered; but this is more than I can bear!"

The Allens, father and mother, held anxious debate whether theyshould take any notice of the attack by their pastor, and in the enddetermined to do nothing. They considered, and rightly considered, that any action on their part would only make George's position moredifficult, and he was the first person to be considered. 

Next Saturday there was some business to be done in London, andGeorge went, this time by himself. On the Sunday morning he calledon the Colemans, and found Zachariah at home, but Pauline away. Mr. Bradshaw, too, was not to preach that day. It was wet, and Zachariahand George sat and talked, first about the election, and then aboutother indifferent subjects. Conversation--even of the best, andbetween two friends--is poor work when one of the two suffers fromsome secret sorrow which he cannot reveal, and George grew weary. Zachariah knew what was the matter with him, and had known it for along while, but was too tender to hint his knowledge. Nevertheless, remembering his own history, he pitied the poor boy exceedingly. Heloved him as his own child, for his father's sake, and loved him allthe more for an experience so nearly resembling another which herecollected too well. 

"How is it Mr. Bradshaw is not preaching to-day?" said George. 

"He is ill; I am afraid he is breaking up; and latterly he has beenworried by the small attacks made upon him by people who are afraidto say anything distinctly. "

"What kind of attacks?"

"Well, they insinuate that he is Arian. "

"What is that?"

Zachariah explained the case as well as he could, and George was muchinterested. 

"Arian or not, I tell you one thing, Mr. Coleman, that Mr. Bradshaw, whenever I have heard him, seems to help me as Mr. Broad never does. I never think about what Mr. Broad says except when I am in chapel, and sometimes not then. "

"Bradshaw speaks from himself. He said a thing last Sunday whichstuck by me, and would have pleased a country lad like you more thanit did three parts of his congregation, who are not so familiar withcountry life as he is. He told us he was out for a holiday, and sawsome men hoeing in a field--'Hoeing the charlock, ' he said tohimself; but when he came nearer he found they were hoeing turnips--hoeing up the poor plants themselves, which lay dying all around;hoeing them up to let the other plants have room to grow. 

"I have known men, " added Zachariah after a pause, "from whose lifeso much--all love, for example--has been cut out; and the effect hasbeen, not ruin, but growth in other directions which we should neverhave seen without it. "

Zachariah took down a little book from his shelf, and wrote George'sname in it. 

"There, my boy, it is not much to look at, but I know nothing better, and keep it always in your pocket. It is the Imitation of Christ. You will find a good deal in it which will suit you, and you willsay, as I have said a thousand times over it, that other people maywrite of science or philosophy, but this man writes about me. "

He put it on the table, and George opened it at the sentence, "Hethat can best tell how to suffer will best keep himself in peace. That man is conqueror of himself, and lord of the world, the friendof Christ, and the heir of heaven. " He turned over the leaves again--"He to whom the Eternal Word speaketh is delivered from a world ofunnecessary conceptions. " Zachariah bent his head near him andgently expounded the texts. As the exposition grew George's heartdilated, and he was carried beyond his troubles. It was the birth inhim--even in him, a Cowfold ironmonger, not a scholar by any means--of what philosophers call the IDEA, that Incarnation which has everbeen our Redemption. He said nothing to Zachariah about his ownaffairs, nor did Zachariah, as before observed, say anything to him;but the two knew one another, and felt that they knew one another asintimately as if George had imparted to his friend the minutestdetails of his unhappiness with his wife. 

Towards the end of the afternoon Pauline returned, and inquired howthe battle went in Cowfold. 

"I am afraid we shall be beaten. Sometimes I don't seem to care muchabout it. "

"Don't care! Why not?"

"Oh, we talk and talk, father and I, and somehow people's minds aremade up without talking, and nobody ever changes. When we have ourmeetings, who is it who comes? Does Bushel come? Not a bit of it. We only get our own set. "

"Well, " said Zachariah, the old man's republican revolutionary ardourreturning, "this is about the only struggle in which I have felt muchinterest of late years. I should like to have cheap bread, and whatis more, I should like to deprive the landlords of that bit of theprice which makes the bread dear. I agree with you, my boy. Endlessdiscussion is all very well--forms 'public opinion, ' they say; but Iwish a could be put to it when it has come round to where it began;that one side could say to the other, 'You have heard all our logic, and we have heard all yours;' now then, let us settle it. 'Who isthe strongest and best drilled?' I believe in insurrection. Everlasting debate--and it is not genuine debate, for nobody reallyranges himself alongside his enemy's strongest points--demoralises usall. It encourages all sorts of sophistry, becomes mere manoeuvring, and saps people's faith in the truth. In half an hour, if twopersons were to sit opposite one another, they could muster everysingle reason for and against Free Trade. What is the use of goingon after that? Moreover, insurrection strengthens the belief of menin the right. A man who voluntarily incurs the risk of being shotbelieves ever afterwards, if he escapes, a little more earnestly thanhe did before. 'Who is on the Lord's side, let him come unto me, 'says the flag. Insurrection strengthens, too, the faith of others. When a company of poor men meet together and declare that things havegot to such a pass that they will either kill their enemies or diethemselves, the world then thinks there must, after all, be SOMEdifference between right and wrong. "

"Father, that is all past now. We must settle our quarrels in theappointed way. Don't say anything to discourage Mr. Allen. Besides, people are not so immovable as you think. How they alter I don'tknow; but they do alter. There is a much larger minority in favourof Free Trade than there was ten years ago. "

"All past now, is it? You will see one of these days. "

It was time for tea, and Pauline left to get the tea-things. In theevening they strolled out for a walk through Barnsbury and up MaidenLane, then a real and pretty lane stretching north-westwards throughhedges to Highgate. After they had gone a few hundred yardsZachariah went back; he had forgotten something, and George andPauline walked on slowly together. The street was crowded, for itwas just about church time, but on the opposite side of the roadGeorge saw somebody whom he knew, but who took no notice of him. 

"How odd!" he said to Pauline; "that is Tom Broad! What is he doinghere, I wonder?"

Pauline made no answer, and at that moment Zachariah rejoined them. 

The reason for Mr. Thomas Broad's appearance in that quarter will bebest explained by the following letter, which he had received the daybefore from his father:-

"My Dear Thomas, --I was very glad to hear of your success at Mr. Martin's chapel, at Hackney, on Sunday afternoon. Although it wasnothing more than an afternoon service, you must remember that it isthe first invitation to a metropolitan pulpit which you havereceived. It would be as well if you were to call on Mr. Martin atyour earliest convenience, and also on Mr. Chandler, in Leather Lane, whom you mentioned to me, and who, I believe, is a prominent deacon. The choice of your subject was judicious, although it is not so easyto fix the character of a discourse for the afternoon as for themorning or evening. 'I will give him a white stone' is a text I haveused myself with great profit. A young minister, I need hardly say, my dear Thomas, ought to confine himself to what is generallyaccepted, and not to particularise. For this reason he should avoidnot only all disputed topics, but, as far as possible, all referenceto particular offences. I always myself doubted the wisdom, forexample, of sermons against covetousness, or worldliness, orhypocrisy. Let us follow our Lord and Master, and warn our hearersagainst sin, and leave the application to the Holy Spirit. I onlymention this matter now because I have found two or three youngstudents err in this direction, and the error, I am sure, militatesagainst their usefulness. 

"Your dear mamma and Tryphosa are both quite well. Not so Priscilla. I grieve to say she is NOT well. George's conduct lately has beenvery strange. I am afraid that he will be a trouble not only to us, but to the Church of Christ. Both he and his father have kindledstrife amongst us in this unhappy election contest, for which, as aminister of God's Word, I have held aloof. For one or two Sundaysthe Allens have absented themselves from Divine service in theevening, and we know that there has been no sickness in the house. Ifeel certain that before long they will withdraw their subscription. I have good reason to believe that their friend, Mr. Coleman, exercises a very baleful influence upon them. However, God's will bedone! These are the trials which His servants who minister to Hisflock must expect. Good-bye, my dear Thomas. Mamma and Tryphosasend their love. Give diligence to make your calling and electionsure. --Your affectionate father, "JOHN BROAD. 

"P. S. --It will be as well, perhaps, if you can ascertain whether theAllens visit the Colemans, and more particularly if George goesthere. The Coleman household consists, I believe, of a father anddaughter. You will remember that Coleman has been a convict, and, Ihave heard, has tendencies towards infidelity. Priscilla informs methat Mr. Allen and George will be in London to-morrow; but she doesnot know what they are going to do there. You will doubtless be ableto obtain the information I desire, and on future occasions I willalso advise you when either George or his father is in themetropolis. "

Mr. Thomas Broad had his own reasons for complying with his father'srequest. He hated the Colemans and George with as much activemalignity as was possible to his heavy unctuous nature. Why heshould hate the Colemans is intelligible, and his hatred to Georgecan also be explained, partly through sympathy between father andson, and partly because the hatred of a person like Thomas Broad to aperson like George Allen needs no explanation. 

CHAPTER XXV--"AND A MAN'S FOES SHALL BE THEY OF HIS OWN HOUSEHOLD"

The county polling day meanwhile drew near, and with its approachparty spirit rose and the mutual exasperation of both sidesincreased. George and his father were out every evening at theInstitute or canvassing, and George's first attempts at publicspeaking were a success. At length the day dawned which was todecide their fate. Cowfold was the polling station for a largedistrict, and both sides fully recognised its importance. TheDemocratic colour was orange, and the Tory was purple. Everybodywore rosettes, and bands of music went about the town, carrying flagsand banners, which had such an effect upon the Cowfold population, more particularly upon that portion of it which knew nothing whateverof the questions at issue, that the mere sound of the instruments orsight of a bit of bunting tied to a pole was sufficient to enablethem to dare a broken head, or even death. Beer may have been partlythe cause of this peculiar mental condition, but not entirely, forsober persons felt the contagion. We may laugh at it if we please, and no doubt it is evidence of the weakness of human nature; but, like much more evidence of the same order, it is double-voiced, andtestifies also to our strength. 

Priscilla was staying that night with her mother. Mr. Broad's house, at the end of the town, was very quiet, and George did not care toleave her alone with the servant. Those were the days when the stateof the poll was published every hour, and as Cowfold lay near thecentre of the county a very fair opinion could be formed of theprogress of the voting. By three o'clock it was known that up toeleven parties were neck and neck, and the excitement grew more andmore intense. Every public-house in Cowfold was free, and soon afterdinner-time there was not a single person in the place who was everdrunk before who had not found it necessary to get drunk then inorder to support the strain on his nerves. Four o'clock came, andthe polling-booth was shut; the numbers were made up, and the twocommittees now anxiously awaited the news from the outlyingdistricts. The general impression seemed to be that the popularcandidate would win by about a dozen, and by eight o'clock a crowdhad assembled before the "Cross Keys" to give due welcome to thedesired announcement. Ten o'clock came, and the mob began to getimpatient and unruly. Then there was a stir and a roar, and thewhole assemblage rushed off to the "Angel, " in the square. On thebalcony was a huge placard, with the purple hero at the top--1837--and below was the orange favourite, in small and ignominious figures--1831. Bushel stood at the open window waving his hat, apparentlyhalf frantic. Just underneath him was a smaller crowd of the purplefaction, who were cheering and bawling with all their might as theenemy came in sight. In an instant the conflict had begun. Thepurple banners were the first objects of attack, and disappearedevery one of them, in less than five minutes, underfoot. Seen fromone of the upper storeys of the houses, the square looked like agreat pot full of boiling confusion. By degrees the wearers ofpurple were driven hard against the "Angel" yard-gates, which openedto receive them; some who were not successful in securing admittanceescaping, with bloody heads, down the side lane, and so out acrossthe fields. There was great difficulty in shutting the gates again;but the "Angel" hostlers appeared on the scene with pitchforks andother weapons, which caused an ebb of the tide for a moment. Theymanaged in the nick of time to swing the gates together, and theheavy wooden bar was thrown across them. The orange party was nowtriumphant, but very unhappy, because it was able to do no furthermischief. Suddenly Bushel was seen again at the window, and, as itwas afterwards averred, made some insulting gesture. A stone was theprompt response, and in five minutes there was not a whole pane ofglass left in the front of the building. "Have old Bushel out!Smoke 'em out!" was shouted, and a rush followed towards the door. But the insurgents had no siege train for such a fortress, and thesight of two or three fowling-pieces somewhat damped their courage. They therefore turned off, wrecked the brewer's house, and forced the"Angel" tap, which was separated from the main building. The spirit-casks were broached, and men turned the gin and brandy taps intotheir mouths without waiting for glasses. Many of them, especiallythose who first entered, were at once overcome and dropped, lyingabout in the room and in the gutter perfectly insensible. Theremainder, who could only drink what was left, became more and moreriotous, and a general sack of all purple property was imminent. Mr. Allen was at the "Cross Keys, " but George was at home, and as hewatched the scene he saw the mob take a kind of lurch and sway alongthe street which led to Mr. Broad's. He thought he heard Mr. Broad'sname, and in an instant he had buttoned-up his coat, taken theheaviest stick he could find, and was off. He had the greatestdifficulty in forcing his way, and he did not reach the front of thecrowd till it was opposite Mr. Broad's and the destruction of thewindows had begun. He leaped over the iron railing, and presentedhimself at the gate with the orange rosette on his coat and the stickin his right hand. He was just in time, for yells of "Psalm-singingold hypocrite!" were already in the air, and the fence was beingstormed. George administered to the foremost ruffian a blow on theshoulder which felled him on the path outside, and then, standing onthe low brick wall on which the railings rested, showed his rosette, brandished his club, and made some kind of inarticulateexpostulation, which, happily for him and Mr. Broad, was receivedwith cheers. Whether taken by itself it would have been effectual ornot cannot be said, for just at that moment a more powerful auxiliaryappeared. When the "Angel" was abandoned the imprisoned garrison, amongst whom were one or two county magistrates, held a briefconsultation. They organised their force and marched out, the well-to-do folk in front and abreast, armed with bludgeons, the "Angel"dependents--and about fifty more of the refugees coming in the rear, every garden and stable weapon of offence being distributed amongstthem. They had the advantage, of course, of being sober. Theyadvanced at a run, and their tramp was heard just as George wasbeginning to try the effect of his eloquence. Panic and scatteringflight at once followed, not, however, before some dozen or so of thefugitives had recovered what little sense they ever had by virtue ofsundry hard knocks on their skulls, and a dozen more or so had beencaptured. By twelve o'clock Cowfold was quiet and peaceable. 

Citizens were left to wonder how their town, lying usually sosleepily still, like a farmyard on a summer Sunday afternoon, couldever transform itself after this fashion. Men unknown and neverbefore seen seemed suddenly to spring out of the earth, and assuddenly to disappear. Who were they? Respectable Cowfold, whichthought it knew everybody in the place, could not tell. There was nosign of their existence on the next day. People gathered togetherand looked at the mischief wrought the night before, and talkedeverlastingly about it; but the doers of it vanished, rapt awayapparently into an invisible world. On Sunday next, at one o'clock, Cowfold Square, save for a few windows not yet mended, looked just asit always looked; that is to say, not a soul was visible in it, andthe pump was, as usual, chained. 

The band of rescuers had passed George as he stood in the garden, andwhen they had gone he knocked at the door. It was a long time beforeanybody came, but at last it was partly opened, just as far as thechain would permit, and the Reverend John Broad, looking very whiteand with a candle in his hand appeared. 

"It is I, George, Mr. Broad. Please tell me how Priscilla is, and--how you all are after your fright. I will not come in if you are allwell. "

"No, Mr. George, you will not come in. I little thought that amember of Tanner's Lane Church, and my daughter's husband, wouldassociate himself with such disgraceful proceedings as those we havewitnessed this evening. "

"But, Mr. Broad, you are quite mistaken. I was not with the mob. Icame here as soon as I could to protect you. "

Mr. Broad, terrified and wrathful, had, however, disappeared, andGeorge heard the bolts drawn. He was beside himself with passion, and knocked again and again, but there was no answer. He wasinclined to try and break open the door at first, or seek an entrancethrough a window, but he thought of Priscilla, and desisted. 

He was turning homewards, when he reflected that it would be uselessto attempt to go to sleep, and he wandered out into the countrytowards Piddingfold, pondering over many things. The reaction ofthat night had been too severe. His ardour was again almost entirelyquenched when he saw the men for whom he had worked, and whoprofessed themselves his supporters, filthily drunk. A noblesentence, however, from the Idler came into his mind--his mother hada copy of the Idler in her bedroom, and read and re-read it, andoftentimes quoted it to her husband and her son--"He that hasimproved the virtue or advanced the happiness of one fellow-creature. . May be contented with his own performance; and, with respect tomortals like himself, may demand, like Augustus, to be dismissed athis departure with applause. " He reflected that he, an ironmonger'sson, was not born to save the world, and if the great Dr. Johnsoncould say what he did, with how little ought not a humble Cowfoldtradesman to be satisfied! We all of us have too vast a conceptionof the duty which Providence has imposed upon us; and one greatservice which modern geology and astronomy have rendered is theabatement of the fever by which earnest people are so often consumed. But George's meditations all through that night were in the mainabout his wife, and as soon as he reached his shop in the morning, the first thing he did was to write a note to her telling her to comehome. This she did, although her mother and father objected, andGeorge found her there at dinner-time. She looked pale and careworn, but this, of course, was set down to fright. She was unusuallyquiet, and George forbore to say anything about her father'sbehaviour. He dreaded rather to open the subject; he could not tellto what it might lead. Priscilla knew all about George's repulsefrom her father's door, and George could tell she knew it. 

His father and he had determined that Cowfold would not be a pleasantplace for them on the following Sunday, and that business, moreover, demanded their presence in London. Thither, accordingly, they wenton the Saturday, as usual; and Priscilla naturally communicatingtheir intention to her mother, Mr. Thomas Broad received an epistlefrom his father something like one we have already read, but stillmore imperative in its orders that the dutiful son should see whetherthe Allens made Zachariah's house their head-quarters. That they didnot sleep there was well-known, but it was believed they had constantintercourse with that unregenerate person, a disciple of Voltaire, asthe Reverend John Broad firmly believed, and it would be"advantageous to possess accumulated evidence of the fact. "Priscilla knew that they lodged always at the "George and Blue Boar";but how they spent their time on Sunday she did not know. There wasalso a postscript, this time with a new import:

"It has been reported that Coleman's daughter is a young female notwithout a certain degree of attractiveness. It may perhaps, my dearThomas, be some day of service to me and to the church if you were toinform me whether you have observed any tendencies towardsfamiliarity between George and this person. I need not at thepresent moment give you my reasons for this inquiry. It will besufficient to say that I have nothing more in view than the welfareof the flock which Divine Providence has committed to my charge. "

Mr. Thomas did his duty, and a letter was received by his father onthe following Tuesday, which was carefully locked up in the drawer inwhich the sermons were preserved. 

The next day--that is to say, on Wednesday--George was at work, asusual, when his little maid came to say that her mistress was verybad, and would he go home directly? She had been unwell for somedays, but it was not thought that there was anything serious thematter with her. George followed the girl at once, and foundPriscilla in bed with a violent headache and very feverish. Thedoctor came, and pronounced it a case of "low fever, " a disease wellenough known in Cowfold. Let us make the dismal story as brief aspossible. Nurse Barton, hearing of her "dear boy's" trouble, presented herself uninvited that evening at ten o'clock, and insistedthat George should not sit up. She remained in the house, notwithstanding Mrs. Broad's assurances that she really was notwanted, and watched over Priscilla till the end came. 

About a week afterwards, just when Priscilla seemed to be getting alittle better--she had been delirious, but her senses had returned--and Mrs. Allen, who had been in the house all day, had departed, achange for the worse took place, and the doctor was summoned. George, sitting in the parlour alone, heard Nurse Barton comedownstairs. 

"My dear boy, " she said as she entered, "God in His mercy strengthenyou in this trial as He has laid upon you, but I thought I'd justcome and tell you myself. The doctor wor a-comm', but I said 'No; myboy shall hear it from me. ' I don't think as your wife will getbetter; she don't seem to pull herself up a bit. She a'nt got nostrength no more than a fly. You'd better see her, I think. "

"Who is there?"

"Her mother and the doctor. "

"Can't you get rid of them?"

"All right, my dear. I must stay with you both, but you won't mindme--God bless you!" and the woman put her arms round George's neckand kissed him tenderly. 

She returned, and presently she redeemed her promise, for sheactually got Mrs. Broad away. At first she was obstinate, butPriscilla whispered that she wished to see her husband alone, and thedoctor took upon him to warn Mrs. Broad that resistance on her partmight be dangerous. She then retreated with him, and George foundhimself by the bedside. His wife was so prostrate that she washardly able to make herself heard, but she lifted up her finger andmade a sign that he should bend his head down to her. He bent itdown, and her damp brown hair--the beautiful brown hair he had lovedso--lay on his forehead, and its scent was all about him once more. 

"George, my dear, " she just breathed out, "I am a poor silly girl, but I always loved you. "

He stopped her instantly with his kisses, but Death had stopped hertoo. He recoiled for a moment, and with a sudden scream. "O God, she's gone!" he fell into the arms of his nurse, who stood behindhim. 

CHAPTER XXVI--A PROFESSIONAL CONSULTATION

Three months passed, during which the Allens' pew was vacant atTanner's Lane. George remained at home with his only child, or wasat his mother's, or, shocking to relate, was in the fields, but notat chapel; nor were any of his family there. During the whole ofthese three months one image was for ever before his eyes. Whatself-accusations! Of what injustice had he not been guilty? Littlethings, at the time unnoticed, turns of her head, smiles, the fall ofher hair--oh, that sweet sweet brown hair!--all came back to him, andwere as real before him as the garden wall. He thought of her lyingin her grave--she whom he had caressed--of what was going on downthere, under the turf, and he feared he should go mad. Where wasshe? Gone, for ever gone--gone before he had been able to make herunderstand how much he really loved her, and so send her to sleep inpeace. But was she not in heaven? Would he not see her again? Hedid not know. Strange to say, but true, he, a member of Tanner'sLane Church, who had never read a sceptical book in his life, wasobliged to confess, perhaps not consciously, but none the lessactually, he did not know. 

In those dark three months the gospel according to Tanner's Lane didnothing for him, and he was cast forth to wrestle with his sufferingsalone. It is surely a terrible charge to bring against a religioussystem, that in the conflict which has to be waged by every son ofAdam with disease, misfortune, death, the believers in it areprovided with neither armour nor weapons. Surely a real religion, handed down from century to century, ought to have accumulated astore of consolatory truths which will be of some help to us in timeof need. If it can tell us nothing, if we cannot face a singledisaster any the better for it, and if we never dream of turning toit when we are in distress, of what value is it? There is onereligious teacher, however, which seldom fails those who are inhealth, and, at last, did not fail him. He was helped by no priestand by no philosophy; but Nature helped him, the beneficent Powerwhich heals the burn or scar and covers it with new skin. 

At the end of the three months the Reverend John Broad received abrief note from Mr. Allen announcing that their pew at the chapelcould be considered vacant, and that the subscription would bediscontinued. Within a week Mr. Broad invited Brother Bushel, Brother Wainwright the cart-builder and blacksmith, and BrotherScotton the auctioneer, to a private meeting at his own house. In ashort speech Mr. Broad said that he had sought a preliminaryconference with them to lay before them the relationship in which theAllens stood to the church in Tanner's Lane. They had formallyceased to attend his ministrations, but of course, as yet, theyremained on the church books. It was a matter which he, as theminister of the flock, felt could not any longer be overlooked. Hewould say nothing of the part which the Allens had taken in the lateunhappy controversies which had distracted the town, excepting thathe considered they had displayed a heat and animosity inconsistentwith their professions and detrimental to the best interests of thecause. 

"I agree with that, Mr. Broad, " interrupted Mr. Bushel; "and I maysay that, as you know, if you had done nothing, _I_ SHOULD; for howany member of the--gospel--could live in--and go on--peace harmonywith all men in the Church of Christ, I, at, least--that's myopinion. " Mr. Bushel was shortnecked, and shook his head alwayswhile he was talking, apparently in order to disengage his meaning, which consequently issued in broken fragments. 

Mr. Broad resumed--"I may, however, observe that George Allen was incompany with the intoxicated mob which devastated Cowfold; andalthough he has asserted that he merely endeavoured to control itsexcesses--and such appears to be the view taken by the civilauthorities who have prosecuted the perpetrators of the outrages--we, as members, my dear brethren, of Christ's Body, have to be guided byother considerations. While upon this subject of George Allen, I maysay, with as much delicacy as is permissible to a faithful ministerof God's holy Word, that I fear George has been--a--h'm--what shall Isay?--at least led astray by an unhappy intimacy with a femaleresiding in the metropolis who is an infidel. I have no doubt in myown mind that the knowledge of this fact accelerated the departure ofmy dear daughter, whose sorrow was of a twofold character--sorrow, inthe first place, with regard to her husband's unfaithfulness, causingher thereby much personal affliction, which, however, endureth butfor a moment, for she now inherits a far more exceeding weight ofglory"--Mr. Broad's week-day and extempore quotations from the Biblewere always rather muddled--"and, in the second place, sorrow for herhusband's soul. I think we have distinct evidence of this intimacy, which I shall be able to produce at the proper moment. We have allobserved, too, that whilst the Allens have not latterly attendedDivine Service at Tanner's Lane, they have not seceded to anotherplace of worship. Finally, and by way of conclusion, let me remarkthat I have wrestled long with the Lord to know what was my dutytowards these apostates and towards the Church of Christ. Iconsidered at first I ought to remonstrate privately with Mr. Allen;but, alas! he has shown a recalcitrant disposition whenever I haveattempted to approach him. I have consulted Brother Bushel on thesubject; indeed, I may say that Brother Bushel had previouslyintimated to me the necessity of taking some steps in the matter, andhad assured me that he could not any longer occupy the prominentposition which he now occupies in the church--so much, I may say, toour own edification and advantage--if something were not done. Wethink, therefore, that the church should be privately convoked fordeliberation. Brother Wainwright, what counsel have you to give?"

Brother Wainwright always had a heavy account with Brother Bushel. He was a little man, with a little round head covered with stragglinghair, which came over his forehead. He sat with his hat between hisknees, looked into it, scratched his head, and said with a jerk, "Oiagree with Brother Bushel. "

"Brother Scotton, what do you say?"

Brother Scotton was a Cowfold man, tall and thin, superintendent ofthe Sunday-school, and to a considerable extent independent ofvillage custom. He was not only an auctioneer, but a land surveyor;he also valued furniture, and when there were any houses to be let, drew up agreements, made inventories, and had even been known toprepare leases. There was always, therefore, a legal flavour abouthim, and he prided himself on his distant professional relationshipto full-blown attorneyhood. It was tacitly understood in Cowfoldthat his opinion in certain cases was at least equal to that ofMortimer, Wake, Collins & Mortimer who acted as solicitors for halfthe county. Mr. Scotton, too, represented Cowfold urban intelligenceas against agricultural rusticity; and another point in his favourwas, that he had an office--no shop--with a wire blind in the windowwith the words, "Scotton, Land Agent, Auctioneer, and Appraiser, "painted on it. On Mr. Broad's present appeal for his verdict puthimself in a meditative attitude, stretched out his legs to theirfull length, threw his head back, took his lower lip in his lefthand, pulled up his legs again, bent forward, put his hands on hisknees, and looked sideways at Mr. Broad. 

"I suppose that Mr. Allen and his son will have the chargescommunicated to them, Mr. Broad, and be summoned to attend themeeting?"

"What do you say, Brother Bushel?"

"Don't see no use in it. All very well them lawyers"--a snap atScotton--"come and argyfy--I hate argyfying, I do myself--never seedno good on it. Get rid of a man--I do. 'Sickly sheep infects theflock and pisons all the rest. '" These last words formed part of ahymn of which Brother Bushel was fond. 

"What do you say, Brother Wainwright?"

Brother Wainwright, although he could do nothing but agree withBrother Bushel, and never did anything but agree with him, preferredto make a show of reflection. He again looked in his hat, shut hismouth fast; again scratched his head; again shook it a little, andwith another jerk, as if announcing a conclusion at which he hadarrived with great certainty, but after a severe mental effort, hesaid:

"Oi go with Brother Bushel, Oi do. "

"Well, " said Scotton, extending his legs again and gazing at theceiling, "I must nevertheless be permitted to adhere--"

"Adhere, " interrupted Bushel. "What's the use of talking like that?You always adhere--what for, I should like to know?"

Scotton went on with dignity, not noticing the attack. 

"Adhere, I was about to say, Mr. Broad, to my previously expressedopinion. I am not at all sure that the Allens have not a legalstatus, and that an action would not lie if we proceeded without dueformalities. Tanner's Lane, you must recollect, is in a peculiarposition, and there is an endowment. "

Mr. Scotton had this advantage over Cowfold generally, that if heknew nothing about the law himself, excepting so far as bids at asale were concerned, Cowfold knew less, and the mention of theendowment somewhat disturbed Mr. Broad's mind. 

"Brother Bushel is no doubt quite justified in his anxiety to avoiddiscussion, which will in all probability lead to no useful result;but, on the other hand, it will be as well, perhaps, to proceed withcaution. "

"Well, " ejaculated Bushel, "do as yer like; you'll see you'll get inan argyfication and a mess, you take my word on it. "

"Suppose, " said Mr. Broad, his face shining as he spoke, "we hit upona third course, the via media, you know, Brother Scotton"--BrotherScotton nodded approvingly, as much as to say, "_I_ know; but howabout Bushel?"--"the via media, and have a friendly meeting of themost influential members of the church--a majority--and determineupon a course of action, which we can afterwards ratify at the formalmeeting, at which the Allens will be present. We shall in this way, it seems to me, prevent much debate, and practically arrive at aconclusion beforehand. "

"Yes, " said Scotton--very slowly. "I don't see, at the presentmoment, any particular objection; but I should not like to commitmyself. "

"How does it strike you, Brother Bushel?"

"Arter that, I suppose Scotton ull want some sort of a dockymentsent. I'm agin all deckyments. Why, what'll Allen do? Take it overto Collins--Mortimer--stamp it, ten-and-sixpenny stamp. What willyer do then?"

"No, Brother Bushel; I apprehend that it will be my duty as pastor towrite to the Allens a simple letter--a simple pastoral letter--announcing that a church meeting will be convened at a certain hourin the vestry, to consider some statements--charges--naming them--notgoing into unnecessary detail, and requesting their attendance. "

"That's better; that wouldn't be a dockyment, I s'pose; and yet prapshe might stamp that. Resolution arterwards. Time they were out ofit. Come on, Wainwright, gettin' dark. "

"Well then, we agree, " said Mr. Broad--"happily agree; and I trustthat the Lord will yet prosper His Zion, and heal the breachesthereof. Will any of you take any refreshments before you go? Willyou, Brother Bushel?"

Brother Bushel did not believe in Mr. Broad's refreshments, savethose which were spiritual, and declined them with some abruptness, preferring much a glass of hot brown brandy and water at the innwhere his horse was. Brother Wainwright would have taken anything, but was bound to follow Brother Bushel, who was about to give him alift homewards; and Brother Scotton was a teetotaller, one of thefirst who was converted to total abstinence in Cowfold, and just atrifle suspected at Tanner's Lane, and by Bushel in particular, onthat account. Water-drinking was not a heresy to which any definiteobjection could be raised; but Tanner's Lane always felt that if oncea man differed so far from his fellows as not to drink beer andspirits, there was no knowing where the division might end. "It wasthe thin end of the wedge, " Mr. Broad observed confidentially toBushel once when the subject was mentioned. 

The preliminary meeting, therefore, was held, and Mr. Broad havingcommunicated the charges against the Allens--absenting themselvesfrom public worship, disturbance of the peace of the church, intercourse with infidel associates, and finally so far as George wasconcerned, "questionable behaviour, " as Mr. Broad delicately put it, "with an infidel female"--it was determined to call them to account. There was some difference of opinion, however. It was thought bysome that all reference to the election, direct or indirect, shouldbe avoided, for the majority in Tanner's Lane was certainly not Tory. But Brother Bushel seemed to consider this the head and front of theoffence, and declared that if this were not part of the indictment hewould resign. He also was opposed to giving the Allens anyinformation beforehand, and, if he had been allowed to have his ownway, would not have permitted them to attend. He would have them"cut off, " he said, "there and then, summararlilly. " He got intogreat difficulties with this last word, and before he could get ridof it had to shake his head several times. Others thought it wouldbe dangerous to act in this style; and there seemed no chance of anyagreement, until Mr. Broad once more "healed the incipient division"by proposing another via media, which was carried. It was determinedthat there should be only an allusion to the political charge. Itwas to be subsidiary. In fact, it was not to be a political chargeat all, but a moral charge, although, as Mr. Broad privatelyexplained to Brother Bushel, it would come to the same thing in theend. Then Mr. Broad, as he had suggested at an earlier stage, washimself to write a letter to the Allens, stating in "general terms"the dissatisfaction felt by the church and its minister with them, and requesting their appearance in the vestry on the day named. Brother Scotton was still malcontent, but as he was in a minority heheld his peace. He resolved, however, on his own account, toacquaint the Allens with what had happened, and prepare them. Theywere no particular friends of his, but Bushel also was no particularfriend, and his auctioneering trade had at least educated him, in thedisputes amongst buyers, to hold the scales of justice a little moreevenly than they were held by Bushel's hands. 

Neither George nor his father were much disturbed by any of the itemsin Scotton's information nor by Mr. Broad's letter, save thereference to Pauline. It is true it was very remote, but themeaning, especially after Scotton's explanation, was obvious, andGeorge was in a fury which his father found it very difficult torepress. For himself George did not care, but he did care thatPauline's name should not be dragged into the wretched squabble. Father and son both agreed that the case should be laid beforeZachariah; but when Mr. Allen came back from London he merely said, in answer to George's inquiries, that Zachariah and himself were inperfect accord, and that at the meeting George was not to interfere. 

CHAPTER XXVII--MR. BROAD'S LAST CHURCH MEETING--LATIMER CHAPEL

The eventful evening at last arrived. It had been announced from thepulpit on the Sunday before that a special meeting of the churchwould be held on the following Wednesday to consider certainquestions of discipline--nothing more--as it was not thought properbefore the general congregation to introduce matters with which thechurch alone was qualified to deal. Everybody, however, knew whatwas intended, and when Wednesday night came the vestry was crowded. Mr. Broad sat in a seat slightly elevated at the end of the room, with a desk before him. On his right hand was Brother Bushel, on theleft was Brother Scotton, and on the front bench were BrotherWainwright and a few of the more important members, amongst whom wasThomas Broad, who, although it was a week-day, was in fullministerial costume; that is to say, he wore his black--not pepper-and-salt--trousers and a white neckerchief. Mr. Allen and Georgewere at the back of the room. There were no women there, foralthough women were members as well as men, it was always anunderstood thing at Tanner's Lane that they were to take no part inthe business of the community. Seven o'clock having struck, Mr. Broad rose and said, "Let us pray. " He prayed for about ten minutes, and besought the Almighty to shed abroad His Holy Spirit upon themfor their guidance. As the chosen people had been brought throughthe wilderness and delivered from the manifold perils therein, soGod, he hoped, would lead His flock then assembled, through thedangers which encompassed them. Oh that they might be wise asserpents and harmless as doves! Might they for ever cleave to thefaith once delivered to the saints! Might they never be led astrayto doubt the efficacy of the Blood of the Atonement once offered bythe Son of God! Might they, through their Saviour's merits, secureat last an entrance into those mansions where all the saints of God, those faithful souls whom He had elected as His own, of His owneternal foreknowledge, would abide for ever, in full fruition of thejoys promised in His Word. 

The prayer over, Mr. Broad rose and said that he was there that nightto discharge a most painful duty--one which, if he had taken counselwith flesh and blood, he would most gladly have avoided. But he wasa humble servant of their common Lord and Master. It behoved him tocease not to warn every one night and day; to remember that the HolyGhost had made him an overseer to feed the church of God which He hadpurchased with His precious blood. He had done nothing in thismatter without constant recurrence to the footstool of grace, and hehad also consulted with some of his dear brethren in Christ whom hesaw near him. They would have observed that Brother Allen and hisfamily had for some time absented themselves from the means of grace. He should have said nothing upon this point if they had joined anyother Christian community. If even they had attended the EstablishedChurch, he would have been silent, for he was free to confess that inother religious bodies besides their own God had faithful servantswho held fast to the fundamental doctrines of His book. But it wasnotorious, alas! that his dear brother had gone NOWHERE! In the faceof the apostolic command not to forsake the assembling of themselvestogether, what could they do but suspect that his dear brother'sbelief had been undermined--sapped, he would say? But to that pointhe would return presently. Then, again, they were all familiar withthe circumstances attending the late political contest in the county. He knew that many of his dear brethren differed one from anotherconcerning matters relating to this world, although they were all, blessed be God, one in Christ, members of His body. He himself hadthought it better to follow as far as he could, the example of hisLord and Master to render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and honesty. He would not for a moment, however, condemn any who differed from himin carnal policy. But his dear Brother Allen and his son hadoverstepped the line; and, considering this was a mixed church, hewas of opinion that they should have acted--what should he say?--withmore Christian consideration. More than this, Mr. George Allen wasknown to have abetted an unruly mob, a position highly unbecoming, hemight say, to one occupying the position of member at Tanner's Lane. But he might, perhaps, be permitted to dwell for a moment on anotherpoint. His dear Brother Allen and his son had--there was no doubt ofit--consorted with infidels, one of whom had been convicted by thelaws of his country--a convict--and it was through theirinstrumentality that his brethren had been led to wander from thefold. This was the secret of the calamity which had overtaken thechurch. Wolves, he would say--yes, wolves, grievous wolves--hadentered in, not sparing the flock. Let them consider what an Infidelwas! It meant a man who denied his Maker, Revelation, a life beyondthe grave, and who made awful jests upon the Holy Scriptures! He hadevidence that in this miserable household there was a portrait ofthat dreadful blasphemer Voltaire, who on his deathbed cried out invain for that salvation which he had so impiously refused, and amidstshrieks of--despair, which chilled with terror those who stood byhim, was carried off by the Enemy of Souls to the lake that burnethwith brimstone, where their worm dieth not and the fire is notquenched. --(Sensation. ) (This was a famous paragraph in one of Mr. Broad's sermons preached on great occasions, and particularly when hesupplied a metropolitan pulpit. The story had been contradictedtwice in the county paper by a Frenchman, a retired teacher of hisnative language, who had somehow heard of the insult offered to hisgreat countryman, and a copy of the contradiction had been sent toMr. Broad. He was content with observing that its author was aFrenchman, and therefore probably an atheist, "with no consciousnessof moral obligation. " Voltaire's diabolic disappearance continued, therefore, to be one of Mr. Broad's most striking effects. )--This wasa subject of great delicacy. They knew how closely related he was toBrother Allen through that dear saint now in glory. He did not--hecould not--(Mr. Broad seemed to be affected)--allude in any detail towhat had happened; but still it was his duty to point out that Mr. George Allen had been in constant intercourse with a female in aninfidel family--yes, before his wife's death he had been seen withher ALONE! ALONE with an infidel female! He only hoped that theknowledge of this fact did not accelerate the departure of hisblessed daughter--daughter in the flesh and daughter in Christ. Hecould not measure the extent of that intercourse; the Searcher ofhearts alone could do that, save the parties concerned; but, ofcourse, as she was an unbeliever, they must fear the worst. Forhimself, he had felt that this was the root of everything. Theywould judge for themselves how fervently he must have appealed to theMercy-seat, considering his position and relationship with his dearbrother, before he had seen his way to take the present course; butat last God had revealed Himself to him, and he now committed thecase to them. Might God have mercy on them, and His Spirit leadthem. 

Mr. Allen and George had scarcely restrained themselves, and George, notwithstanding his father's injunction, leapt up before theconcluding sentences were out of Mr. Broad's mouth. Mr. Scotton, however, rose, and Mr. Allen pulled George down. Mr. Scotton wishedto say just one word. They could not, he was sure, overestimate thegravity of the situation. They were called together upon a mostsolemn occasion. Their worthy pastor had spoken as a minister of thegospel. He, Mr. Scotton, as a layman, wished just to remind themthat they were exercising judicial functions--(Brother Bushelfidgeted and got very red)--and that it was necessary they shouldproceed in proper order. With regard to two of the charges, theevidence was fully before them; that is to say, absence from publicworship and what might perhaps be thought want of consideration forthe peace of the church. --("Praps, " grunted Bushel--"praps indeed. ")--But with regard to the third charge, the evidence was NOT beforethem, and as this was the most important of the three he wouldsuggest before going any farther that they should hear what Mr. Broadcould produce. 

Brother Bushel objected. It was very seldom indeed that he offeredany remarks in public; but this time he could not refrain, andintroduced himself as follows:

"Brother Scotton says 'praps. ' I don't say 'praps, ' when people gosettin' class agin class. Praps nobody's windows was broke!Evidence! Hasn't our minister told us George Allen has been toLondon? He wouldn't tell us an untruth. Due respec', BrotherScotton--no lawyering--none of that--of them functions--'speciallywhen it's infidels and ricks may be afire--aught I know. "

Mr. Broad interposed. He quite understood Brother Bushel's ardourfor the truth, but he was prepared to produce some simplecorroboration of what he had affirmed, which would, he thought, satisfy Brother Scotton and the brethren generally. "Thomas, " quothMr. Broad, "will you please step forward and say what you know?"

Mr. Thomas thereupon advanced to the table, and said it would illbecome him to expatiate on the present occasion. He would confinehimself to obeying the mandate of his father. He then reported thathe had been led to visit the Colemans at first as friends of theAllens, and not knowing their devilish tendencies. God had, however, he hoped, mercifully protected him. If it had not been for God'sgrace, where might he not have been that day? It was true that theywere disciples of the French sceptic; his likeness was on the walls;his books were on the bookshelves! Mr. George Allen had been in thehabit of associating not only with Mr. Coleman, but with thedaughter, and with the daughter ALONE! as has already been stated. She was also an infidel--more so, perhaps, than her father; and Satanhad a way, as they all knew, of instilling the deadly poison soseductively that unwary souls were often lost, lost, lost beyondrecall, before they could truly be said to be aware of it. Hewished, therefore, that evening to confess again, as, indeed, he hadjust confessed before, that by grace he had been saved. It is not ofhim that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but of God that showethmercy. He trembled to think how near he himself had been to the pitof destruction, lured by the devices of the great Enemy of Souls; butpraise be to God he had been saved, not through own merits, butthrough the merits of his Redeemer. 

Mr. Broad purred with pleasure during this oration, and looked roundon the audience for their approval. Mr. Allen was now completelyquieted. The speech had acted like a charm. He rose immediately. 

"Mr. Broad, " he said deliberately, but with much emphasis--you mighthave heard a pin drop--"the value of the testimony just given dependsupon character of the witness. May I ask him to explain HOW HE CAMEBY THAT SCAR ON THE BACK OF HIS HAND?"

Mr. Allen remained standing. There was no sign of an answer. He satdown for a moment but still there was no movement. He rose again. 

"Mr. Broad, as there is no reply, will you permit me to give theexplanation?"

Mr. Thomas Broad then slowly erected himself near the table at whichhis father was sitting. He held on by it hard, and gulped down halfa glass of water which was there. His tallowy face looked moretallowy than ever, and his voice shook most unpleasantly as he wasjust heard to say that he did not know with what object the questionwas put--that it--that it--seemed--seemed irrel--irrelev--and thesewere the last syllables ever heard from the lips of Mr. Thomas inTanner's Lane, for he dropped into his seat and apparently fainted. There was great confusion while his recovery was attempted. He wasconveyed into the chapel, more water was given him, smelling-saltsapplied, and in due time he regained his senses; but his father, onhis return to the vestry, announced that after what had happened themeeting had perhaps better be adjourned. He felt it impossible to goany further just then. Tanner's Lane Church, therefore, departed, much musing, and was never again summoned on that business. Mr. Allen had some thoughts of demanding another meeting and a formalacquittal, but the pastor was suddenly struck with paralysis, andalthough he lingered for nearly two years, he preached no more. Soit came to pass that George and his father are on the church bookstill this day. There was, of course, endless gossip as to themeaning of Mr. Allen's appeal. Whether George ever knew what it wasis more than I can say, but it is certain that Cowfold never knew. Mr. Allen always resolutely repelled all questions, saying that itwould be time enough to go further when he was next attacked. TheBroads, mother and daughter, asserted that no doubt Thomas had a markupon the back of his hand, but that it had been caused by a nail in afence, and that he had fainted through indisposition. This theory, however, was obviously ridiculous, for Mr. Allen's reference had nomeaning if Thomas had met with a simple accident. Mrs. Broad sawthat her son's explanation, greatly as she trusted him, was weak, andat last Thomas, with Christian compunction, admitted that the fencewas the palings of the College garden, over which he had onceclambered when he was too late for admittance at the College gates. This was true. Mr. Thomas on the very evening of his interview withPauline, had obtained admission over the palings, had been detected, and there had been an inquiry by the authorities; but the scar, as weknow, had another origin. Mrs. Broad was compelled to circulate thisstory, and accompanied it with many apologies and much regret. Itwas the sorrow of her life, she said; but, at the same time, she mustadd that her son was delayed by no fault of his. The President hadinvestigated the matter, and had contended himself with a reprimand. Her friends would understand that Thomas would prefer, under thecircumstances, not to visit Cowfold again, and considering her dearhusband's sickness, she could not advise that prosecution of theAllens should be pressed. 

Cowfold, however, was not satisfied. Mr. Allen would not, as a manof the world, have thought so much of such an indiscretion. Why wasMr. Thomas late? Cowfold could not endure simple suspense ofjudgment. Any theory, however wild, is more tolerable than aconfession that the facts are not sufficient for a decision, and thecommon opinion, corroborated, it was declared, by surest testimony, was that Mr. Thomas had been to the theatre. There was not a tittleof evidence to support this story, but everybody was certain it wastrue. Everybody repeated it, and constant repetition will harden theloosest hearsay into a creed far more unshakable than faith in thelaw of gravity. 

Just before Mr. Broad's last illness, the secession of the Allens wasimitated by about twenty of the younger members of the congregation, who met together on Sunday, under Mr. Allen's guidance, andworshipped by themselves, each of them in turn making some attempt atan exposition of the Bible and a short address. By the time Mr. Broad died Tanner's Lane had sunk very low; but when his successorwas chosen the seceders exercised their rights, and were strongenough to elect a student fresh from college, who had taken an M. A. Degree at the University of London. He preached his first sermonfrom the text, "I am crucified with Christ, " and told his hearers, with fluent self-confidence, that salvation meant perfect sympathywith Christ--"Not I, but Christ liveth in me;" that the office ofChrist was not to reconcile God to man, but man to God; and this iseffected in proportion as Christ dwells in us, bringing us more andmore into harmony with the Divine. The Atonement is indeed thecentral doctrine, the pivot of Christianity, but it is an atONEment, a making of one mind. To which Tanner's Lane listened with muchwonderment and not without uncomfortable mental disturbance, theelder members complaining particularly that this was not the simplegospel, and that the trumpet gave an uncertain sound. But oppositiongradually died out; the meeting-house was rebuilt, and called LatimerChapel. The afternoon service was dropped and turned into a servicefor the Sunday-school children; an organ was bought and a choirtrained; the minister gave week-day lectures on secular subjects, andbecame a trustee of the Cowfold charity schools, recently enlargedunder a new scheme. He brought home a wife one day who could readGerman; joined the County Archaeological Society, and wrote a paperon the discoveries made when the railway station was built on whatwas supposed to be an ancient British encampment. For Cowfold was tobecome an important junction on the new line to the north, and Mr. Bushel's death had been accelerated by vexation through seeing asurvey carried across his own fields. 

As for Mrs. Broad and Tryphosa, they left Cowfold and went intoLancashire, to be near uncle Flavel. George, notwithstanding the newdoctrine in Latimer Chapel and the improvement in the Cowfoldatmosphere, was restless, and before the revolution just describedwas completed, had been entirely overcome with a desire to emigratewith his child. His father and mother not only did not oppose, butdecided to accompany. Mr. Allen had saved money, and though he andhis wife were getting on in years, there was nothing in either ofthem of that subsidence into indifferent sloth which is the greatmistake of advancing age. Both were keen in their desire to know thelast new thing, eager to recognise the last new truth, forgetful ofthe past, dwelling in the present, and, consequently, they remainedyoung. They were younger, at any rate, just now than George; and itwas his, not exactly melancholy, but lack of zest for life, whichmainly induced them so readily to assent to his plans. One brightJune morning, therefore, saw them, with their children, on the deckof the Liverpool vessel which was to take them to America. Oh day ofdays, when after years of limitation, monotony, and embarrassment, wesee it all behind us, and face a new future with an illimitableprospect! George once more felt his bosom's lord sit lightly on histhrone; once more felt that the sunlight and blue sky were able tocheer him. So they went away to the West, and we take leave of them. 

What became of Zachariah and Pauline? At present I do not know. 

Footnotes:

{132} "O ze (ye) my feris (companions) and deir freyndis, quod he, Of bywent perillis not ignorant ben we, Ze have sustenit gretir dangeris unkend, Like as hereof God sall make sone ane end:The rage of Silla, that huge sweste (whirlpool) in the seZe have eschapit and passit eik (each) have ze:The euer (pot) routand (roaring) Caribdis rokkis fellThe craggis quhare monstruous Cyclopes dwell:Ze are expert: pluk up zour harts, I zou pray, This dolorous drede expell and do away. Sum tyme thereon to think may help perchance. "--Gawin Douglas. 

"Endure and conquer! Jove will soon dispose, To future good, our past and present woes. With me, the rocks of Scylla you have tried;Th' inhuman Cyclops, and his den defied. What greater ills hereafter can you bear!Resume your courage, and dismiss your care. An hour will come, with pleasure to relateYour sorrows past, as benefits of fate. "- Dryden.