Chapter V

(I) Mr. YoLtLAND moved his chair towards the burning logs, at his host’s invitation, and drew thoughtfully -upon his cigar.

He had written three days ago in compliance with a miserable letter from Dick, and had asked whether he might come and have a talk with his friend. Mr. Rolls had answered by a suggestion of dinner. They had talked of irrelevant subjects as long as the servants were in the room, with long silences, and now the guest was wondering how in the world he was to introduce his question.

But there was no need.

“Well then—about Mr. Dell?”

The other looked up in astonishment at his host who stood by the hearth. It was a wet evening, and a little chilly, and a fire had been lighted in the dark dining-room, in spite of the fact that it was still August, and that daylight still lingered outside the windows. Mr. Rolls was standing warming his hands behind him, with his face scarcely visible in the soft gloom. “You want to know everything, I suppose?” he said..

“ Well—what you can tell me. Dick has written in alarm.” 255

“ Of course,” said the other, and paused. “‘ There is not a great deal to tell. He is working very hard, naturally. He has not been to complain yet. I gave him a fortnight, but he has been a month.”

Mr. Yolland, shifted a little in his chair.

“John,” he said, “I need not say that I trust you. But may I know why you have done all this?”

The other paused again, as his manner was.

“He is a poseur,” he said briefly; “a sentimentalist; he needs facts.”

“But has he not had them? I understood from Dick that he has had a hard life.’

The other sighed softly. His manner was very different in other company than this.

“In one sense, yes; but he has not profited by them. Heisinplate-armour. That must be broken; and I see no other way.”

Mr. Yolland blew out a cloud of smoke.

“ John,” he said, “I wish you would preach me a little sermon.”

There was again a pause.

“Well, I will tell you what I think. First of all, everyone who meets him either loves him or hates him. Those that love him spoil him, those that hate him he avoids.”

The other nodded.

“Those that love him encourage him; he has, what one calls, a way with him. I know that you are fond of him; so am I, so is your son, so was Miss Annie, and her mother and Jack; so are the servants here. We all like him extremely, in spite of his obvious faults. So do a great many others whom we do not know. We are all very sorry for him. It follows that we are apt to give him his own way, and what he requires is another way. Miss Annie nearly succeeded, but she was not strong enough——”

Mr. Yolland interrupted.

“One moment, John. It is not my business, but can you tell me why Mrs. Hamilton is so angry with you?”

““T supposed she would be. She asked me what I thought of her, and I told her.”

“Yes 2?” said the other smiling.

“T told her she was perfectly conventional, and that her mistake was that she thought she was not. -Richard, I believe that those people do more harm than any in the world. They think they have no limitations, and there is nothing more limiting.”

• Go_on:’

“No, there is no more to be said. But the first condition of broad-mindedness is to recognise that one is narrow; if one does not, one omits the most crucial fact of all. Now, see what that good woman did to this young man a

He stopped abruptly.

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“No, I will not. I should say too much. And it is done now; she will not meddle again. Well, then, to return, this man’s soul is at stake—no less. If he has sufficient will left, he will be saved. There must be a response, you know. At present he is living on his pride, and it is windy diet. I expect that this rain Listen.”

In the silence of the room there sounded the beating of another heavy summer shower against the windows.

“He was wet through at five o’clock. I saw him in the garden. To-morrow he will be wet through again, and I shall expect him to come to resign his place in the evening.”

“ And then?”’ asked the other, leaning forward a little.

“He will not resign it. He daren’t. He could never brag again if he did. He has sufficient pride still to be wounded. I shall tell him the truth again and again till he knows it.”

“Have you any fear on

“Fear? Yes. That is why I have put him with Whalley and Father Baynton. They both know enough about him; they are both on the watch for any attempt; and I have his revolver.”

“Why do you fear that?”? asked Mr. Yolland softly, aware of an odd dryness in his throat.

“Because he must learn soon the truth about himself and God Almighty. If I see any genuine signs, I shall encourage him; if they are insincere, I shall continue my old plan.”

““And when he is broken?”

“When he is broken he must be mended. That will be a short matter; he has plenty of vitality left. I am sure of that, or he would have collapsed before now.”

In the silence that followed, again came the furious rain upon the darkening windows.

Mr. Yolland leaned back in his chair with half-a-dozen emotions.

It seemed to him that he was looking on at an extraordinary drama. He knew all about this man whose thin outline he could discern against the ruddy chimney; he knew how he had treated scores of cases before, and nearly always with success; but his heart sank at the thought of Chris Dell in his hands. He had become, as his friend had said just now, really fond of this absurd young man; his very poses were so piteously appealing; there was a melodramatic gallantry about him that touched the heart to laughter and tears all at once. And now he was seriously wondering whether John Rolls was using the right treatment. It sounded brutal beyond description, and yet the physician was not brutal.

He had known him for over twenty years, ever since the other had come back from foreign travel after the death of his wife; he knew quite well that the stories told about that contained sufficient truth, though he had never heard the details; for with all the friendliness on either side John Rolls was an unapproachable person; there was always a certain stiffness on both sides; it had been with a certain timidity that Mr. Yolland had probed even as far as he had ventured to do this evening.

Suddenly the other broke silence.

‘Father Maples has been here. He came to call at the cottage as soon as he heard. He told me he was sure that Mr. Dell would like to see him. Can you use your influence to keep him away?”

“J will try.”

“We must have no interference. He will not stand it just now; it will distract him; he must be left to the earth—to the earth, and to large facts. Above all he must have no sympathy—or patronage. I have been asked by a priest to undertake him. That is enough for me.”

“T understand.”

“ Your son too must remember that. He is not the friend for him at present. Besides, he has handed him over.”

Mr. Yolland nodded; he began to understand that now. Dick took it all too personally to be effective.

“They had at least one quarrel, you know,” he. said.

“Of course. And with such a man you must not quairel. You must either yield to him or break him; you must not coincide; you must not meet him for more than an instant on his own ground. You must attack or retreat.”

Mr. Yolland was rather puzzled by this, so he changed the subject.

“ John, you have never told me how you began all this.”

“All what?”

“ This—this doctoring.”

The other paused again.

“T began it,” he said without a tremor in his voice, “when I came home after I had killed my wife. It seemed to me that I must do something.... Then a poor brute came in my way, and I brought him here, and it succeeded. Then others came, I do not know how, and I did what I could.... I reada good deal then... oh! mysticism, mental diseases, nerve-diseases. I also tried to understand what the laws of nature were all about. And so it went on.”

It was horrible to observe his composure, and his listener was conscious of a touch of fear that was never very far away. But he tried to answer in the same tone.

“ And—and your principles?” he asked, intent on carefully breaking off an irregular promontory of cigar-ash.

“Do you wish to know?”

“Tf you can tell me.”

“Well, the first thing is self-detachment. I need not say I do not practise that, but I try. This house, for example; I thought I could not resist it at first, but—well; and the second is to pray a good deal; one must be supple; and the third is to treat no two cases alike, for, after all, no two cases are alike. And the fourth—yes, the fourth is to imitate Almighty God’s methods—I mean, to shrink from nothing— to be prepared to be absolutely brutal sometimes. 1 think that is all; I have formulated no more.”

Mr. Yolland compressed his lips, and for a moment wondered whether there was any self-consciousness in this relation of principles. Before he had time to answer his own doubt, the vibrant voice went on.

“You think me fatuous? Well, you asked me.”

The other almost jumped in spite of his years. His thought had been dragged out and stabbed. He felt very unimportant in the presence of this alert intuition. It was all so extraordinarily simple, and he had thought it to be so elaborate.

“There is nothing more? ” asked the dispassionate voice.

The other shook his head.

“Then may I ask you a question or two?”

“Tf you please.”

“You have seen the Hamiltons. Well, is there any news about Miss Annie?”’

“T have heard nothing.”

“Tf you hear anything, will you kindly let me know immediately?”’

“Certainly. But what kind of thing?”

“Any rumour of a marriage. She will certainly marry soon.”

“Why do you think that?”

The other paused.

“ This affair will have coarsened her; I have seen that. She is less tender; she will despise tenderness after this; she will be practical; though, of course, always sentimental too.”

Again the guest was aware of the atmosphere of simplicity; that was surely very obvious, but he had never thought of it before.

“T will tell you if I hear anything,” he said. “ But tell me this: how did you learn all this—this a

“There is nothing to learn, only to unlearn. Conventions are what are puzzling; there is so much to disentangle. If you wait and pull gently and watch, things are very simple. We are all very simple; it is when we forget that that we go wrong.”

Mr. Yolland laid down the butt of his cigar; he had smoked all that was possible.

“Thank you very much, John,” he said.

Father Baynton was checked next morning by a finger on his sleeve, as he passed through the chapel on his way to the sacristy to vest for mass. He looked down, bowed slightly, and passed on, followed by the tall man with his head bent.

Arrived at the sacristy, he drew out the pierced door that moved on hinges, set a chair behind it, and sat down, slipping on his purple stole, and murmuring a blessing.

_ Then the voice began through the opening, quite cold and quite matter-of-fact.

“Since my last confession four days ago, I have sinned through pride; I have spoken of myself in such a way as to make an impression; I am not sure whether I could have avoided speaking so, but I took pleasure in it—during the conversation—at least Once, ©...

“IT wish to renew my resolution against this. (I mentioned the resolution before, father; I am sorry, I have failed to keep it on this occasion.)

“T have sinned once through despair. I did not trust God sufficiently in my thoughts, and I think therefore that I must. have trusted previously too much to my own efforts; but I was not aware of it PUCUMIC tIGie.-< a2:

“T have sinned again through despair. You remember, father, you spoke to me before about that. I am very sorry, but I have deliberately played with the thought that I was not forgiven for the great sin of my life—that it was past forgiveness....

““T have also sinned through pride of birth and wealth. _ I took pleasure in the thought of who I was and of my possessions—once..

“‘T have been slothful in prayer two or three times. Once I neglected through forgetfulness to perform a mortification I had intended. I renew my contrition for the sins of my past life—especially for my great sin against charity and piety.”

The monk drew a breath. “You will say for your holy penance once the Anima

Christi.... You must remember our Lord’s generosity... Say your penance with that intention in your mind.... Now make an act of contrition.

Misereatur tut omnipotens Deus.

It was a pouring wet morning as Mr. Rolls sat down to breakfast three quarters of an hour later; the windows streamed; the moat outside leapt at a thousand points as if minute fish were rising at a multitude of flies.

As one gust more violent than the rest broke shattering against the glass he looked up from a plate of porridge and stared a moment against the dark morning-sky.

Then he ran his eyes over the letters laid at his right side, pushed two or three away, and began, between mouthfuls, toopen the rest. But he had not looked at more than two before the butler came in.

“T beg your pardon, sir,—the—the under-gardener is here. He wishes to speak to you, sir.”

The master did not look up.

““ Ask him what he wants,” he said. The butler disappeared, and the other lifted his eyes and looked mournfully again out of the window.

“If you please, sir,” came the careful voice again a minute later, “he says he must see you. He will not say what he wants.”

“Tell him I am not accustomed to receive such messages. He must either say what he wants, or he must come again this evening when I am at liberty.”

“Yes, sir. At what time?”

“ After he has had his tea. About half-past six.”

“a es.6ir,”’

“Wait a moment, Simmons. Just bring me a sheet of paper and a pencil.’

He wrote a line or two, folded it and held it out.

“Let Father Baynton have that if he has left the house. If not, send someone to wait for him outside the chapel, and beg him, with my compliments, to step here a moment. Let the note go immediately— as soon as Dell has gone—if Father Baynton has left already.”

O Yes. sir”

The butler was back again five minutes later, and held the door open for the priest to come in.

“ Good-morning, father. I am so sorry to have disturbed you. Butitis only about Mr. Dell. Ihave just sent him his first unpleasant message; would you kindly make an opportunity for him to speak to you, and if you are afraid, let me know?”

The priest bowed from his chair.

“Tam not at all afraid,’ went on the other. ‘ But we must take no risks; and you were so kind as to say you would help me. Have you anything to teport?”

“No, Mr. Rolls, I think not. He was up late last night.”

‘“‘ How late, father?”

“His light went out a little before half-past eleven.”.

“Tt is the first time?’

“ Yes.”’

‘“‘T expected it would happen soon. He is beginning to be restless. And he was wet through at least once yesterday. I have told him to come again this evening at half-past six.”

“Very good, Mr. Rolls.”

“ Perhaps you will be on the watch, then, when he comes back. I shall do my utmost to-night. That is all, father. Thank you very much.”

He held the door open as the little wise-looking chaplain went out.

Then he went back and rang the bell.

“What did Dell say when you gave him my message?”’ he asked, when the butler re-appeared.

“Mr. Dell said—I beg your pardon, sir—he said, that he had come to give notice, sir, but that this evening would do.”

‘“Thank you, Simmons. Let me know as soon as he comes this evening. I will see him in the entrance corridor. He might wait there.”

He passed one of his usual days, writing a number of letters for the twelve o’clock post, interviewing his agent, going into chapel for his prayers. Then he lunched, and rode out in the afternoon, returning a little after five. Then, after a cup of tea, he again went to the chapel....

At half-past six the butler came to his sitting-room to tell him that the under-gardener was waiting in the corridor. He nodded and said nothing. When the door closed he lifted his book again and went on reading, after a glance at the little round clock on the mantelpiece.

When the hands pointed to ten minutes before seven, he laid his book down and stood up. Then, after a pause, he went to the bell, rang it, and sat down again.

“Tell the under-gardener to come here. I have changed my mind; I will see him here instead.”

When the door had closed he set an upright chair in such a position that the fading light would fall full on the face of any who sat there; but he was not contented with the result, and lit a couple of candles on the mantelpiece. Then, as steps sounded on the flagged passage outside, he sat down quickly and took up his book.

He paused an instant before answering the tap.

Then he called out to come in.

Chris was so angry as he walked across the floor in his corduroys, and stood by the chair, that for the moment he could not trust himself to speak. He was shivering slightly from head to foot, partly from cold, partly from anger, and partly from taut, over-stretched nerves.

This day had been the climax of his misery. Fora month, by spurring and lashing his own pride, he had kept his resolution, and had gone about his work with an austere dignity of bearing and a kind of lurid fire in his heart that had kept his will warm and active. Then, yesterday, the weather had broken; he had been wet through twice, and the physical misery struck inwards to meet the despair that awaited it. He had passed a restless night, going softly up and down his room till nearly midnight, and then lying in bed, turning from side to side, rehearsing the two alternatives between which he had to choose. It was either the old squalid life in town, with some self-respect yet not that on which he most prided himself, or this coarse manual work with its endless discomforts, and its hopeless vista of day after day stretching into what appeared to be infinite.

As he had lain there last night, he asked himself how in the world he could ever have been fool enough to commit himself in this way. Pan was a charming god to adore in dreams, but he was rank and wet and loathsome in reality; he trampled his devotees instead of caressing them.

This was an amazing discovery. He had honestly believed hitherto that he himself was a child of nature, spoilt by the miserable conventions of an artificial society; he had traced all his misfortunes to this clash of discordant notes. There had been a number of phrases that he had believed applicable to himself—or redolent of what he desired—‘‘a simple, strenuous life,’ ‘‘naked and unashamed,”’ “cultured simplicity,” “a man’s a man,” and the rest of the journalistic jargon that had appeared to him to embody not only profound truth in general, but the secret truth that lay at the root of his own nature. He had woven so many dreams of Olympus, and Olympus had disclosed itself as a wet uncomfortable mountain; the forms of gods were only mist-wreaths, chilling the traveller who clasped their knees.

But he did not so formulate these things; he had discovered that dreams were not the same as reality; he had not yet made the same discovery about the dreamer. He only perceived that there was a hitch somewhere, and that he himself was at this moment cold from having to wait twenty-five minutes in the hall, and extremely angry at the indignity of it.

He looked at the long man in the chair with a bitter gaze.

“Well, Dell, what is it?”

Chris licked his lips.

‘‘T have come to give notice, sir,’’ he said.

The other paid no sort of attention to the tone of his voice.

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Chris drew a long trembling breath through his nostrils.

“The place does not suit me, sir.”

“Ts it too hard?”’

Chris made no answer, but stood rigid in the attitude of sarcastic deference that he had selected as appropriate, eyeing the other with a venomous viciousness that came very oddly from this brown-faced figure in corduroys.

“Have you anything to complain of?”’ came the question again.

Chris clenched his hands and drew another long trembling sigh of fury.

“QO! Mon Dieu!” he whispered softly.

“T beg your pardon?”

Chris could bear it no more. That unconcerned voice was more brutal than scourges.

“Good God, sir! Do you know what you are doing to me?”

John Rolls turned his face full on him for the first time, and let his melancholy eyes run up and down his figure and Chris’s fury condensed into a kind of essence of hate as he was aware of it.

“T do not know what you mean by speaking to me like that. You will be good enough not to swear in my presence. You are my servant remember.”

Fam not”

“At this moment you are. You will not be so five minutes longer if you behave like this. What is the matter?”’

“Matter!” echoed Chris softly.

Rolls lifted himself a little in his chair by a swift, smooth movement, and his eyes met the other’s full. Chris stared back, his fury sustaining him.

The master sank back again.

“I thought you were a man,” he said softly, taking up his book. “Of course you can go if you wish it. I have no kind of power to keep you. But I should have thought——’”

He stopped, and although he was perfectly grave and controlled, Chris saw some faint emotion of humour shine for an instant on that lean face.

Chris sucked in his lips fiercely; he was astonished that he should feel so furious; he had prepared himself so carefully for sneers. He could not help it.

“What would you have thought, sir? That I was made of wood?” he asked, throwing all the spite he had into his voice.

The other laid down his book; if there had been the faintest sign of triumph Chris would have lost all self-control; but there was nothing but a direct simplicity in his manner.

“You wish to know?”

Chris nodded, knowing that he was _ risking everything, but unable to help it.

“Sit down then.”

Chris shook his head.

“Very well, then. Now listen..... You came here, ruffling and bragging ’ he lifted a swift hand. ‘If you come an inch nearer I shall put you out of the window.” (He rose so quickly that Chris started back, amazed and frightened by the great height that suddenly towered above him, and the fierceness of those mild eyes, and the sense of enormous strength, bodily and voluntary, that blazed out on him.) “Sit down this instant. You shall hear the truth now, anyhow.”

There was one moment of suspense. Then Chris sat down suddenly.

The long figure sank back too, relaxed, and the purring voice went on as if nothing had happened. _.“ You came here, ruffling and bragging, saying that you needed nothing more than Mother Nature and all the rest of that cant.” (He was carefully picking his phrases, and they hurt all the more from their cruel deliberation.} “They were just sayings you had heard men use, but you nearly took me in. I almost believed you sincere; I did not quite, as you will remember I hinted. Then you Said your piece over again; you were indignant at not being believed. So I gave you your chance to prove it. And after one month you come here, and tell me you have had enough of it!.. Do you want my comments on that? You shall have them whether you want them or not. I will tell you what you are... You are a sham, who has learnt to talk g words mean nothing in your mouth. I have never met a man like you before, and I wish to meet no more. I am extremely vexed and disappointed.” He eyed the stiffening, whitening face, piteously drawn and lined under its tan in the mingled day and candle-light, then he struck harder yet.

“You had better go back to your women and your beast’s life, and forget that you ever thought yourself a man. It is probably the only thing you can do now. Perhaps you will have learnt not to brag; that is one lesson at any rate. You can go back and write your stuff, if you want; but you will not forget this—that you are not man enough to hold a spade. Or you may blow your brains out and go to hell; I should expect that of you. It would be characteristic; I wonder you have not done it before; I should have thought you feeble and stupid enough forit. You can take your choice.”

The stream of scorching words ceased abruptly.

There was complete silence in the room; the two figures remained motionless; one long and relaxed in the deep chair with outstretched legs; the other strung up, shaking from head to foot, bowed forward, with elbows clasped in either hand.

So the moments passed, marked only by the tranquil tick of the little clock on the mantelpiece.

Then the figure in the corner stood up, trembling violently, and the melancholy eyes of the master without a trace of emotion in them rose with it, watching the white face, the mouth that opened and closed, the fingers that clasped and unclasped the elbows.

_ Then Rolls spoke again, and his tone was exactly the same.

..“Or you can have another trial here. You may do as you please. I shall send down to know presently. That is all, Dell.”

Still the shaking figure stood there, and again and again the pale lips opened to speak, but there was silence.

“Very well, then; I shall take it that you will remain. Try to remember that you are a man. I suppose it is possible that you may be one some day. Good-night, Dell.”

The figure stood a moment longer, the light from the candles cutting across that drawn, inhuman face, throwing the long nose and sharp chin into clear prominence, and falling on the rough clothes that fell so grotesquely about the thin limbs; then it moved, swaying slightly, across the room. The door opened, and it passed out.

John Rolls waited to hear the uncertain footsteps cross the flags. Then he covered his face with his hands.