The Man Who Rose Again
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"By breathing pure air. By partaking of pure food, mental and moral, as well as physical," she replied. "The conversation so far has made me feel quite morbid."
John Castlemaine and Mr. Lowry laughed heartily, while Purvis heaved a sigh of relief. He had wondered how this conversation affected Olive, and he rejoiced that it had not pleased her. As for Leicester, he gave her a quick glance of admiration. He was glad that Winfield had mentioned her. Here at least was a woman better worth winning than any he had ever seen. Again he felt ashamed of the conversation that had taken place at the club, even while he was more than ever determined to prove to Purvis and Sprague that he was right in his contention.
"At any rate, Purvis cannot accuse me of hiding my opinions," he said to himself, and then he turned the course of the conversation.
During the rest of the evening Leicester seemed to forget his sad, hopeless opinions, and he completely restored the good opinion which John Castlemaine had formed concerning him at first, and which he had well-nigh lost during the time when Leicester was giving expression to his cynical views. And this was no wonder, for even Purvis himself was well-nigh carried away by his cleverness. He spoke well concerning current books and current events. He compared notes with Olive concerning places both had visited and books which both had read. He exerted himself to be agreeable, and he succeeded vastly. Perhaps the atmosphere of the house helped him, perhaps he found in Olive one who helped to restore his good opinion of womanhood; perhaps he realised his determination to win his wager and obtain the promise of Olive Castlemaine to be his wife. Be that as it may, the Radford Leicester of the early part of the evening was not the Radford Leicester of the latter.
Olive felt this. He reminded her of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. His dual personality became somewhat of a problem. Which was the real man? Both were interesting – almost fascinating. He was clever when the pessimistic mood was upon him; he was far more clever when he became the student and the scholar, talking brilliantly of books, of architecture, of art, and of the struggling, troubled life of humanity.
Concerning religion he said nothing. Once or twice, when Olive introduced the subject into their conversation, he avoided it. Perhaps he shrank from expressing his lack of faith in those truths by which, to Olive, all the opinions of men must be tested; but of other things he spoke freely and well. Moreover, the girl helped him. Her straightforwardness, her freedom from petty meannesses, and her wide, intelligent outlook on life made him for the moment forget his oft-expressed opinion of women. Besides, he had his part to play, and he played it.
Presently a servant came saying that Mr. Lowry's motor-car was at the door.
"You are not going up to town by train?" said Mr. Castlemaine.
"No, I had the car in London, and I thought I might as well use it," replied Mr. Lowry; "besides, I can get back quicker in the car."
"Yes," replied Mr. Castlemaine, "I suppose so; but, personally, I would rather be behind a pair of good horses. I am really sorry you have to go so soon," he said, turning to Leicester. "I am very glad to have met you. I hope we shall see more of each other."
Purvis looked angrily at Leicester as he heard John Castlemaine say this, but he said nothing; he was a little afraid.
"Are you going back to London, Purvis?" asked Leicester. "If you are, I'm sure Mr. Lowry will be glad to give you a lift."
"Thank you," said Purvis; then, as an afterthought, he added, "I should like a word with Mr. Castlemaine before I go. We have all been so interested in Mr. Leicester's opinions that I had almost forgotten the errand on which I came."
For a minute Leicester was alone with Olive.
"I have to thank you for a pleasant evening, Miss Castlemaine," he said, "one of the few pleasant evenings of my life."
She looked up at him inquiringly.
"I mean what I say," he said. "While we were at dinner I told you that I had found life very interesting. I told you a lie. Why I told it I don't know. It slipped from my tongue before I realised what I was saying. I have not found life interesting, I have found it anything but that – anything. But this evening has been an oasis in the desert, and I thank you."
"I am glad you have had a pleasant evening," said Olive quietly; nevertheless she wondered how much truth there was in his words.
"You do not believe me," he said, "but what I say is perfectly true. I do not find the stage of life very interesting to act on."
"Then it is best not to act," said Olive.
"That is not a matter of choice."
"I think it is. One can choose to play a part, or he can choose to live a life."
"The same thing," he replied.
"Pardon me, I do not think so."
"All the same, I thank you for a pleasant evening. When one has very few of them, it is a great deal to be thankful for."
There was something in the tones of his voice that convinced her that he meant what he said. She reflected that his face was sad, and that there was no joy in his eyes.
"Forgive me, a stranger, asking a question," he went on. "Do you find life happy?"
"Exceedingly."
"That is interesting. I wish I knew your secret."
"By ceasing to play a part."
She had not meant to say this; but the words escaped her before she realised them.
"How can one do that?"
"By seeking to serve the spectators, instead of pleasing them."
He laughed almost bitterly.
"If the spectators were only worth it," he said. He held out his hand. "Good-night, Miss Castlemaine," he said; "thank you again very much."
He walked into the hall, where Mr. Lowry stood awaiting him.
"Is Purvis ready?"
"He is talking with Mr. Castlemaine."
Instinctively Leicester felt that he was the subject of the conversation, and Leicester was right.
Purvis had explained his visit to Mr. Castlemaine in a very few words, then he said, "A funny fellow – Leicester, isn't he?"
"He is no ordinary man," said Mr. Castlemaine. "He should have a great career."
Purvis shook his head.
"You do not think so?"
"I do not deny his cleverness," said Purvis. "That is generally recognised; but – but – "
"Oh, I take but little notice of his joking," said John Castlemaine, "for he was joking."
"No, he was not joking."
"You mean that – "
"He believes in nothing – neither in God nor man. He does not believe in the commonplaces of Christian morality. He makes a boast of his atheism."
Mr. Castlemaine looked serious.
"That is a great pity for the poor fellow," he said.
"But that's not the worst," said Purvis.
"No?"
"No; it's an awful pity, but he's a hard drinker."
"Ah, I'm very sorry, for he struck me as a man with great possibilities."
Mr. Castlemaine did not seem to enjoy Purvis's conversation, and he moved into the hall, to bid his guests good-night.
During the ride to London Leicester was very silent. The car swept swiftly along the now almost empty roads, and presently stood outside the club where we first met the man whose story I am trying to tell.
Directly they entered the smoking-room, Leicester ordered a large whisky, which he drank quickly. It seemed as though his abstinence at Mr. Castlemaine's had caused cravings which he was eager to appease.
"Well," said Purvis presently, "you've taken the first step."
"Yes, I've taken the first step."
"I say, Leicester, give it up – it's not right."
Leicester shrugged his shoulders.
"Even if you succeeded it would be – "
"You mean that I am not worthy of her?"
"You know that yourself."
Leicester laughed.
"You see you rush to whisky the moment you get back."
"Well, she knows all about it."
"How?"
"You told her – and you told her father too."
Purvis's eyes dropped.
"Oh, don't be downcast, my dear fellow," said Leicester mockingly. "I gave you liberty to tell them, and you took advantage of my permission. And you told her all the rest, too. Oh, I know you well enough for that, and on the whole I'm glad. But mind," and he rose to his feet like a man in anger, "if you let on about the rest – "
"You mean the wager?"
"Call it what you like – if you or Sprague let on about that, then, to quote your Bible, it were better that a millstone were hanged about your neck, and you were cast into the depths of the sea."
Purvis shrank before the savage gleam of the man's eye.
"You – you surely don't mean that – that you are going on with – with this business?"
"Yes, I am," replied Leicester. His voice was quiet, but he spoke like a man in anger. "I am going on, and – and – if you do not play the game – well, you know me, Purvis."
"Of course a promise is a promise," said Purvis; "all the same – "
"Go to bed, my son," said Leicester mockingly. "I think you'll be all right now."
If Purvis had remained he would have been almost frightened at the look which came into Leicester's eyes.
CHAPTER V
THE STRENGTHENING OF THE CHAIN
For the next few days following the night of the dinner at John Castlemaine's house, a change seemed to have come over Radford Leicester. He became less hopeless, and he did not drink so freely. It might seem as though an evening spent in the society of a good woman had a beneficial effect upon him. He did not take any further steps to carry out his avowed intention, but when he spoke of women it was with less bitterness.
Both Sprague and Purvis noticed this, and both wondered what it portended. Could it be that Leicester meant to reform, or did it mean that he was simply playing a part, in order to win the woman he had boasted he could win?
Nevertheless he was moody, and seemed unhappy. He met these men sometimes at the club, but spoke little. Moreover, in public he was very abstemious, so much so that even the waiter noticed it.
"Is he turning over a new leaf?" asked Purvis of Sprague.
"If he is, he is not playing the game," replied the other.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because it was understood that he should win her on the understanding that he was an atheist and a drunkard."
"But surely you don't object to his reforming?"
"No, of course I should be only too glad if he did, only in that case all the point of our discussion would be gone."
They were, during this conversation, sitting in the club where we first met them, and just as Purvis was about to reply to the other Leicester entered the room. He looked even paler than usual, and the dark rings around his eyes suggested pain either physical or mental. No sooner did he see them than he walked towards them, as if glad of an opportunity of companionship.
"How are you, Leicester?"
"I have a beastly headache," he replied.
Sprague and Purvis looked at each other significantly, a look which Leicester noticed.
"No," he said, "don't draw your conclusions. I have not been drinking. It's that confounded constituency."
"Why, anything happened there?"
"No – nothing of importance. It's only the old game. This man has to be written to, and the other man has to have a certain statement explained. I'd give up the whole thing for twopence."
"Where would your career be then, Leicester?"
"Hang the career," he said moodily.
"It's all very well to say that, old man, but a great deal depends on it."
"What?"
"Well, your future – your future in Parliament, and your future matrimonial arrangements."
He gave the two men an angry look.
"Surely that's my affair," he said.
"Sorry to contradict you, old man; but it is our affair too. That hundred pounds, you know."
Leicester gave expression to a sentiment which was more forcible than elegant.
Sprague looked at him eagerly. Ever since the night when we first met these men, he had cherished anger in his heart towards Leicester. He felt that this man despised him, and he was glad of the opportunity of giving him one, as he termed it, "on his own account."
"Our gallant warrior is afraid to fight," he said with a sneer.
Leicester started as though he were stung. The look on Sprague's face maddened him. For Leicester was in a nervous condition that night. His abstention from spirits was telling on him terribly. Every fibre of his being was crying out for whisky, and every nerve seemed on edge.
"What do you mean, Sprague?" he demanded.
"I mean that our gallant warrior is pulling down his flag," said Sprague. "He has found out that the citadel cannot be easily taken, and he's ready to give up without striking a blow."
Leicester looked on the ground moodily. In his heart of hearts he was ashamed of the whole business, but he felt he would rather do anything than confess it before these fellows.
"I hear he's turned teetotaller, too," went on Sprague, who seemed anxious to pay off old scores. "Who knows? we may see Leicester posing as a temperance advocate yet."
Leicester rose to his feet as if unable to contain himself. To be sneered at by a man like Sprague was too much. He seemed about to give vent to an insulting remark, then as if thinking better of it checked himself. He rung a bell which stood on the table.
A waiter came in answer to his summons.
"Whisky," he said.
"A large or a small one, sir?"
"Bring – bring a bottle," he said savagely.
"I say, Leicester, don't do that!" said Purvis.
"Don't do what?"
"Don't start drinking again."
Again Leicester was almost overwhelmed with anger. How dare these fellows seek to interfere with him!
"May I ask my dear Moody and Sankey when the control of my actions came within your province?" he said, with a strong effort at self-control.
"Don't take it in that way, old man. I'm sure you are ashamed of the other business, and – "
"What business?"
"You know what business. You can't go on with it. You would never have thought of it if you hadn't been drinking too much; and really, I was awfully glad when I saw that you were giving it up."
Leicester did not reply, but instead looked eagerly towards the waiter, who was coming towards him.
He poured out a large portion of whisky into a glass, and then, having added a small quantity of soda-water, he took a long draught.
"There," he said, when he set down the glass empty, "that for your pious platitudes, my friends."
The action seemed to restore something of his equanimity, and it also brought back the old bravado which had characterised him.
"The brave warrior appears to require Dutch courage," remarked Sprague, who seemed bent on arousing all that was evil in him.
"Better that than none at all," remarked Leicester quietly. "And let me tell you this, my friend, you can tell your mother that I shall not assist you in your drawing-room meetings. By the way, what line are you on now? Is it Hottentot children, anti-smoking, or the conversion of the Jews?"
The colour had risen to his cheeks, the old light had come back to his eyes.
"As if I cared for your Dorcas meeting standards of morality," he went on. "What, you thought the poor sinner was repenting, eh? And you had all your texts, and your rag-tags of advice to pour into my willing ears. Tell me, Sprague, have you selected one of your women speakers to speak a word in season? You know how partial I am to public women."
"You tried to give up the drink for a whole week for one," retorted Sprague angrily.
"Did I, now? Well, then, I'll make up for my past misdeeds. I repent of my backsliding, my dear pastor, and I return to my spiritual comforter."
He poured out more whisky, still with a steady hand, and looked at them with a mocking smile.
"Have faith, Sprague," he said; "have faith, as your favourite women speakers say so eloquently at those dear drawing-room meetings which you love so much, 'there's nothing done without faith.'"
Purvis, who was the better fellow of the two, looked really distressed. He was ashamed of what had taken place, and had sincerely hoped that Leicester had given up the wild scheme upon which they had embarked.
"I am sorry for all this, Leicester," he said, "and I confess frankly I hoped – "
"That I had been brought to the stool of repentance, that I was ashamed of my misdeeds, and that I was going to give up the game. No, my friends, I stand by what I said, and what is more, I am going to carry it through. I am not converted to your professed belief in the nobility of women, and as for being ashamed – tah, as though I cared for your copybook morality!"
Neither of the men spoke in reply. They were almost afraid of the man. He spoke quietly, and yet the strange light in his eyes showed how much moved he was.
"And what is more, dear Moody and Sankey," he went on, "I'll play the game honestly. I'll hide none of my sentiments. I'll win this woman under no false colours. Why should I? There is no need. What did I say? Let women have their selfish ambition gratified, and nothing else matters."
"Come now, Leicester, you know it is not so. I should think your visit to Mr. Castlemaine's would at least have caused you to drop that rubbish."
He had by this time finished his second glass of whisky, and while as on the former occasion it showed no effects on his perfect articulation, and while he spoke very quietly, it doubtless made him say and do what without its influence he would never think of doing.
"I say, Purvis," he said, lying back comfortably in his chair, and lighting a cigar, "did I hide my sentiments at Mr. Castlemaine's? Did I pose as a moral reformer? And what is more, did you spare me? Did you not, with great and loyal friendship, give both Mr. and Miss Castlemaine your views concerning me? Did you not tell Miss Castlemaine of my reputation at Oxford, and of my terrible opinions? Did you not tell Mr. Castlemaine that I was an atheist, that I had laughed at Christian morality, and that I was a hard drinker? Come now, deny it if you can."
"You know what you said to me," said Purvis, looking on the floor like a man ashamed.
"Of course I did, my dear fellow. Don't look so miserable about it. Well, I did my worst, and you did your worst. Now look at that!"
He threw a letter to Purvis as he spoke.
"Am I to read it?"
"Else why did I give it you?"
Purvis opened the letter and read it. It was an invitation to Mr. Castlemaine's to dinner.
"Are you going?" asked Purvis.
"Of course I am. Do you think I am going to let such an opportunity slip? Oh, you need not be afraid to show it to Sprague. It is not an invitation to a drawing-room meeting, it is only to a dinner."
"Well, that means nothing," said Sprague.
"No? I think it proves my statements to the hilt. That invitation would not have come from John Castlemaine without his daughter's consent – perhaps it was at her instigation. And yet she knows that I am – well – all you've described me to be. I am an atheist, I've thrown copybook morals overboard, I am a hard drinker. But what then? I conform to the conventions; no man has ever seen me drunk; but more than all that, I am mentioned as one who is going to have a brilliant career. Hence the invitation."
"An invitation to dinner means nothing," urged Sprague.
"Hence the invitation, and hence the future justification of my statements," he persisted. "Good-night, my friends, I am sorry I cannot stay longer."
He walked out of the room quite gaily. A casual passer-by, if he had met him, would at that moment have thought of him as a happy man.
And yet, although Sprague and Purvis did not know it, Leicester had entered the smoking-room of the club that night with a strong inclination to refuse the invitation to John Castlemaine's house. He had been ashamed of making a woman the subject of a wager, and more, he had for several days been fighting against the craving for alcohol. He realised more than any man the mastery which it had gained over him, and he knew that unless he conquered the habit, he would soon be a slave to it, body and soul. An evening spent in the society of a good woman, moreover, had aroused his latent manhood, and he felt that he could not degrade himself by standing by the challenge he had made. He knew as well as they that it was made under the influence of whisky, and that no man of honour should stand by it.
During the days he had been fighting his craving for drink, the thought of what he had done became more and more repugnant, and when he entered the room where Sprague and Purvis were, he intended telling them that nothing more must be said about it.
It seemed, however, that the fates were against him. He was in a nervous, irritable mood, caused by his abstention from the poison which had become almost a necessity to him, and the significant glances of the two men maddened him. Had they met him in the right spirit, it is possible that the affair, which did not reflect credit upon any of them, might have been dismissed as an idle joke. As we have seen, however, they had taunted him, they had aroused him to anger; these men whom he regarded as his inferiors had assumed an air of superiority, and this in the present state of his nerves was more than he could bear. He had ordered whisky, and after that his good resolutions went by the board. Radford Leicester would have died rather than have confessed himself beaten. Thus do great issues often rest upon unimportant events.
After he had gone a silence fell between the two young men for some time.
"I wish we hadn't been such fools, Sprague," said Purvis presently.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that we are as bad as he is, perhaps worse. We at least were sober."
"Yes, I know; but who would have thought that he would stand by his guns?"
"We know what he is. I believe if we had been wise to-night he might have been led to give it up. But now nothing will move him."
"Well, it may teach Miss Castlemaine a lesson," said Sprague, whose pride had not yet recovered from the wound which her refusal had made; "but there – it's all right. It'll never come to anything. For that matter, if anything serious came of it, I would tell her the whole history of the joke."
"No, you wouldn't."
"Why?"
"Because you dare not. Because she would despise us all to our last day, because she would never speak to us again. You know the kind of girl she is."
Sprague was silent.
"Is it a dinner-party which Mr. Castlemaine is giving, or is Leicester invited in a friendly way, I wonder?" he said presently.
"Evidently a friendly invitation, seeing Mr. Castlemaine has written the letter with his own hand."
"Was it true that you told Mr. Castlemaine the truth about him?"
Purvis looked uncomfortable.
"Evidently he did not believe it," he replied, after hesitating a few seconds. "You know Leicester's way. When you look into those wonderful eyes of his you cannot tell whether he's joking or whether he's in earnest. Besides, he's such a handsome, fascinating chap, and I saw that Mr. Castlemaine took to him. Then, although it is perfectly true that he talked in his usual mocking way during a part of the evening, he altered his tone before he left. Evidently he found Miss Castlemaine to be a congenial companion, for he grew quite earnest in his conversation, and you know that when he is earnest, he is nothing short of brilliant. In fact, he showed us two Radford Leicesters that night: we had Leicester the cynic, but we had also Leicester the scholar, the brilliant conversationalist, the man who has read everything worth reading, and seen everything worth the seeing. No one could help noticing how Miss Castlemaine admired him."
"And you believe he'll carry this thing through now?"
"I'm sure he'll propose to her. Didn't you see his eyes? And you know what a fellow he is. When once he sets his mind upon a thing he'll go straight on. Ordinary considerations do not daunt him. Refusals will only make him more determined. Besides, you wounded his pride to-night, and – well, I wish we had not been such fools. For my own part, I am ashamed of the whole business."
"I tell you we need not fear. We know what Miss Castlemaine is. She is not the kind of woman to be carried away by a handsome presence and clever speeches. It isn't as though this would be her first offer."
"No, but she admires strength. Do you know her favourite characters in history?"