Under St Paul's: A Romance
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CHAPTER III.
MOTHER AND SON
By an early train Osborne and Nevill left London for Stratford-on-Avon next day. Marie did not see him after that brief interview in the drawing-room the previous evening. Nevill asked Osborne if he had any objection to travel in a smoking compartment. Osborne answered, not the least. They started with two other men in the compartment. Thus private conversation was impossible, and neither cared to talk of general matters. Each read, or affected to read, a newspaper. When they arrived at Stratford, Osborne took Nevill to The Falcon, and went straight to his mother's. He found Mrs Osborne at home. She was surprised to see him; but she was one of those placid, lymphatic natures not easily disturbed or ruffled. She took off her gold-rimmed spectacles and placed them on the open page of Tillotson's Sermons lying on the table at her elbow. 'I did not expect you, George. You did not write to say you were coming. Where is your sister Kate?' 'I had no reason to think I was coming until it was too late to write last night, and I did not like telegraphing, lest you might be alarmed. Kate is in London, and quite well. Where is little Alice?' 'She is gone over to Mrs Craven, who is very bad-believed to be dying. I do not expect her to be back for an hour or two. Mrs Craven has been a great sufferer while you have been away. The doctor says she may die at any moment. Mr Craven is greatly to be pitied.' 'As you may guess, mother, I have not come for nothing. I wish to speak with you on a matter of importance.' Mrs Osborne took a letter out of her pocket, opened it on her lap, and, holding her finger on the sheet, said quietly, – 'I got this letter from you, my son, in which you say you have met a lady in London whom you intend making your wife, or proposing marriage to. I daresay it is about that matter you wish to speak with me.' 'It-it is not about that I wish to speak with you now, but another matter of importance.' 'Very well, my son. I thought now you are in Stratford, now you have come back to your old home, you might care to say something to your mother about the lady you are going to make your wife, and about your approaching marriage. George, you are not looking well. I hope you are not breaking bad news to me?' 'No, no, mother. I am quite well, and bear no bad news. You must excuse my not entering upon the-the subject of my-of my mar-of my own affairs just now.' 'I know you too well, my son, to think you act without sufficient reason or judgment, and I am certain you act on good reasons when you do not wish to tell me of this haste-I mean this engagement of yours to a lady who was quite unknown to you, as I understand, a few weeks ago. I cannot help my feelings, for I am your mother. You, of course, are old enough and sensible enough to arrange your marriage yourself; but, as I said, not wishing, my son, to hurt you, I cannot help having a mother's feeling in the matter. You are my son.' 'Mother, mother, take my word for it I have good reason for not alluding to my own affairs at present. I know it must look very strange to you that I should not open my mind to you on that matter; but, trust me, I have good reason for not doing so just now.' 'You say no more for yourself than I say for you. Do not for a moment think I am suspecting you of having poor reasons for your silence. When you asked Kate to go up to London, I said, – "We know George has always good reasons for what he does and says." I say so still. I think it a little strange you should ask Kate up to London-say you wanted her most particularly-become engaged to a strange lady, and then come home saying, "I have nothing to tell you about my own marriage." My son, I do not blame or reproach you. I have the fullest faith in your good sense and judgment, but good sense and judgment are not feeling, and you are my son.' He was sitting in front of her, at the opposite side of the table on which Tillotson lay. He dropped his head on his hand, and, turning his white, worn face to the window, looked out at the bare wet trees standing up in the bare wet winter day. 'I am very sorry, mother, very sorry,' he said, after a long pause. 'Very sorry for what, George?' 'For what I cannot say.' 'You are changed, my child, greatly changed. London has altered you more in a few days than all the years before. I pray it may be a wholesome change.' 'Mother, you used, when we were little children, before my father died, to come into the room we slept in, and pray in a loud whisper, so that you should not wake us, but that God might know you were in great earnest.' 'Yes, my child; you were a little fellow then, not up to my elbow.' 'Do you, now that we are grown up, pray for us, mother?' 'Daily, my child, daily, day and night, and often when I am alone in the daytime, and always when I hear of evil or danger. What have I to do now, my child, but pray for my children while I am on earth, and ask God to show me grace and lead me to Him and to the presence of your good father by-and-by?' 'I have told you I do not care to speak of my own affairs just now. I ask you, mother, to pray for me. I am in sore trouble.' 'In sore trouble, and will not tell me! In sore trouble about your marriage? I hope not, my boy.' 'Yes and no. You must not press me, mother. I am troubled, and you must not press me. Pray for me. All may be right yet, but up to this all is not right.' 'My dear son, my dear George, you may count on my prayers. What can be the matter? I hope, George, you have not given away your affections to any unworthy person. You tell me nothing about her or your marriage, and now you ask me to pray for you. I hope it is not as I fear?' 'No, no, no, mother. It is I who am unworthy, and need the help of Heaven towards worthiness, not she. She is all that is good and amiable.' 'You unworthy, George! Why, no woman alive could be too good for you. What can have put such a notion in your head? I hope you are not going to marry anyone with new-fangled religious notions. I hope she is not one of those for whom the simple religion of the English Church and England's Queen is not satisfactory; who must set up some foolish superstition of their own.' 'She was brought up, mother, as you and I were-in the Church of England; and she now holds the same faith as you. Be not uneasy on that account; and, mother, as a great favour, let us talk no more of my affairs for the present. I have other matters on which the happiness of two people depends, to speak to you about.' He turned his face away from the window, and looked gravely into his mother's eyes. She simply bowed in token that he was to proceed. 'When I went to London, as you know, I had neither friend nor acquaintance there. I stopped at the private hotel Garvage recommended. I arrived in London on Saturday night, and on Sunday I made the acquaintance of a man named Nevill-William Nevill. I have seen a great deal of him since. I have met him every day since, and I do not think I am misled when I say he is a respectable man, one whom you would be glad to know and receive. He has come down to Stratford expressly to see you, and is now at The Falcon awaiting your permission to call upon you.' 'I shall be very glad to receive any friend of yours, George. Why did you not bring him here direct? It scarcely looks hospitable to leave your friend at an hotel, when you know we have plenty of room and welcome.' 'He wishes to speak to you on a very important subject, and, as much will depend on your answer, he and I thought it best he should for the present put up at The Falcon.' 'Is he any relative of the lady you propose making your wife?' 'No, mother. He has no relatives alive. He is alone in the world, and thinks of settling down in England. He is an Englishman, but has spent much time travelling, and has been only a short time in England. He will settle down somewhere in the Midlands, perhaps here in Stratford, and he hopes you and he will get on very well together.' 'I am sure I hope so too, with all my heart. I shall always be glad to meet any friend of yours, and try to be friendly to him. You said he had some question to ask me, George. What is it? Do you know what it is?' 'Yes, I know. It may take you by surprise, mother, but it is only in the nature of things such a request should be made. I think he means to ask you to allow him to pay his addresses to Kate.' 'What!' cried Mrs Osborne, rising to her feet. 'He wants to take Kate away from me? London has taken you, and now it is going to take away my darling Kate. Oh, this is too bad, too bad!' She sank into her chair and covered her face for a moment. 'He does not mean to take Kate away. On the contrary, he means to live here in Stratford, close to you.' 'But why need Kate marry an interloping London man, or a traveller? Was not Mr Garvage good enough for her-an old neighbour, and most respectable man and family? Surely he is good enough for her. For, of course, this man would never come to me unless Kate told him; and, of course, Kate would not tell him to come to me unless she was willing to have him.' 'When he spoke to Kate, she told him she could give him no answer until he had spoken to you.' 'I know, of course, Kate would act properly in any such case; but that is not enough. I think-I think she had no right to favour a stranger who wants to take her away from me, instead of a settled, respectable, well-known man like Mr Garvage.' 'But, mother, I have explained to you that he has no intention of taking Kate away from you. Would you not be glad to see Kate well settled in Stratford?' 'Yes, in Stratford?' 'Well, you may be easy on that subject. He has money. He will buy a house in this neighbourhood, and Kate will live close to you.' 'What is this man like?' 'He is not very good-looking. His complexion is dark, and he is thin.' 'What in the name of wonder did Kate see in him?' 'He is very amiable and agreeable and amusing. I don't think you ever met a man of exactly his kind.' 'I am prepared to meet a man I shall not like.' 'Then I am certain you will be disappointed.' 'What are his means and his family?' 'He is in very fair circumstances. He has thirty thousand pounds.' 'Well, and what family is he of?' 'He has no living relative, as I told you. His father was in trade-a merchant in New York.' 'A merchant of New York! This is very bad, George. The Americans who come here are not the kind of people I should care to select a husband for my daughter from. And a merchant?' 'I don't think he is in trade himself. In fact, I don't think he ever has been; so great a traveller cannot have had any time for business matters.' 'I cannot understand how Kate could like him. An American, whose father, any way, has been in trade, and who is not himself good-looking. Now, Mr Garvage is a gentleman, and of a good stock and good property. I can't understand Kate. I can't indeed. Do you think she has fully made up her mind to accept him?' 'I only know, mother, what I have told you. I am sure Kate has not made up her mind to anything that does not depend on your decision.' 'I understand that. What I mean is, do you think Kate has made up her mind to accept this man if I give my consent to his paying her his addresses?' 'From the fact that Kate refers him to you, I should think so.' 'She has not told you so herself?' 'No, mother. I have not, I must tell you, seen her alone since she referred Nevill to you.' 'Not seen your sister Kate since this new acquaintance of yours proposed to her! Indeed, George, you astonish me. What am I to think of all this? I can scarcely credit my ears.' 'The fact is, I have been and am in such a distracted state of mind about my own affairs, I could not do anything rational in London. I am calmer down here. I wish, with all my heart and soul, I had never left this.' 'My son! What, am I listening to the words of my sane son, or those of a man whose brain is turned?' 'I think my brain is a little out of order. I fear I greatly exaggerate things; but they are bad enough with me now. When I came to you about Kate I had two objects in view-first, to tell you about that matter, and second, to get away from London, if even for only a few hours. Coming here has done me good. Until now I had no intention of telling you; but somehow the peace of this place, and being with you once again, the silence and freshness, give me ease and comfort me. And you, mother, above all-you, with your dear kind face and your simple goodness, have made me a new man almost, although I am still sorely perplexed.' 'Tell me, child, all your trouble. Am I not your best and most unselfish friend?' 'Oh yes, mother. But what I have to tell you will shock and pain you even more than anything I have yet told you. When I left Stratford I had strong religious feelings.' 'Yes, my son.' 'Well, mother, would you not be greatly shocked if I told you I felt, since I left this, a strong tendency to join-abandon my creed for some other?' 'Why do you ask so absurd a question? Of course I should be shocked and grieved beyond measure.' 'It is worse then even that. I have lost all I had, and have got nothing back in return.' 'My son, my son, this strange woman has stolen away your brain.' 'No, mother, it is still more desperate. She has stolen my heart, and God has taken away my reason and wholesomeness, and I wish it would please God to take away my life too.' 'My son!' She rose and threw her arms round his neck. 'My son, my darling son! My child, my child! How can you say such things to me, your mother?' 'Mother, for all sakes, it would be well if I died.'
CHAPTER IV.
A NERVOUS SUITOR
It was impossible for George's mother to mistake him. She looked at his face, and found it pale and careworn and full of definite sorrow. The tones of his voice left her no choice but to believe he really was in deep, in desperate mental and spiritual trouble. He sat back in his chair and looked vacantly at the small table lying between them. She took up her gold-rimmed spectacles and softly rapped the volume of Tillotson with them. Mother and son were both silent for a long time. She broke the silence. 'I have forgotten the name of this gentleman who wishes to see me about Kate. What is his name?' 'Nevill. William Nevill,' answered Osborne, brightening up and looking at his mother with more animation than he had yet shown. 'When does he wish to see me?' 'Whenever you please. He would call at any time that may be convenient to you.' 'This evening?' 'Yes. I am certain he would call this evening, if you give him leave.' 'Then bring him to me this evening. As soon as you have introduced us you can leave us for an hour, and then come back for your friend.' From this George took his dismissal, and went back to The Falcon, where he found Nevill nervously fiddling with a daily paper. 'Well,' asked the parishioner of Stepney eagerly, 'what luck?' 'I can't tell. At first, of course, she seemed shocked-my own affair being so fresh-I mean that she was a bit taken aback, the thing coming so suddenly on her. Kate, you know, is a great favourite-always has been.' Nevill looked grave. 'No wonder Kate has been a great favourite at home; but she's a great favourite with me too, Osborne. I hope there will be no final objection on your mother's side. I am prepared for anything short of final objection.' 'I don't fear that. My mother is very staid and calm, Nevill.' 'I know. Not a bit like me. But I am staid and far from calm now. I don't think there is any fear of my old levity breaking out. Do you?' 'No. I think not. I imagine you may rely upon yourself so far.' 'Ay, I may rely on myself, and I may fail, eh, Osborne?' He screwed up his eyes and peered into the face of the other, as though trying to recollect who George was. 'Oh, I am sure you may count on yourself. You are not to fancy my mother is sour or cross-tempered. On the contrary, she is very sweet and wonderfully even.' 'But suppose I made a pun, eh? Wouldn't that be against me? Suppose I bounced out some roaring lie? Suppose I was to rap out some story of my adventures early in life in the slave-trade-' 'Have you ever been in the slave-trade?' asked George apprehensively. 'No, no. My people were Yankees to the backbone, and strong Abolitionists. But suppose I did blurt out that famous adventure of mine when in the slave-trade, upon the occasion of our being pursued by an eighteen-gun British brig? How I, at the head of forty daredevils, boarded the brig, drove the crew before me like sheep-sent all the crew below, battened down the hatches, pulled down the Union Jack and ran up the star-spangled banner of liberty, set fire to the brig, sent her and her eighty-five hands sky high when the magazine exploded, and gave five hundred dollars to build a new church out of the profits of the cargo I then had aboard my own vessel, called the Niggers' Paradise. If I told her that adventure, what effect do you think it would have?' 'Disastrous.' 'Disastrous! Ah, then there is but one thing to do. I must take precautions against the chance of making a fool of myself.' George looked up at him inquisitively for a moment. 'And how are you to take precautions against the danger of a too inventive mind and a too inventive tongue?' 'My dear George, you have much to learn. When we are all settled down here-' George shook his head gravely. 'I say,' persisted Nevill, 'when we are all settled down here quietly, I shall take you in hand. I shall become your tutor at a salary of one hundred and fifty pounds a year-you to find rattans for your own chastisement.' 'I shall never need to find others than I now have,' said George quietly. 'Nonsense, Osborne! you want only a few days in the country, and a tonic.' 'Never mind me just now, Nevill, I'd much prefer you would not say anything about me just now.' 'Then I shall have to choose, contrary to the sound old advice, the greater evil, and stick to myself. What was I saying about myself? Oh, ay, I must adopt precautions. Do you know, Osborne, I already feel greatly refreshed and invigorated since I have come here. That is very extraordinary, if one thinks that when we set out from London I could have given you ten out of a hundred in dismals and beaten you hands down. But stay now. Wait here for me. I am going out for a few minutes. I sha'n't be long. I want to get something. Here's a newspaper to amuse you while I am away.' He took up his hat, and had left the room before Osborne could question him as to his destination or his plans. He asked his way to the nearest druggist's, and, having found the shop, entered it. In less than a quarter of an hour he was back at the hotel, carrying a small vial in his pocket. He called for a wineglass, poured the contents of the vial into the glass, and swallowed the fluid. Then, with a sigh, said, 'Now I'm ready.' 'Nevill, are you ill? What have you swallowed?' asked Osborne apprehensively. 'Never in better physical health in all my life. I have taken a powerful sedative to calm me. The result will be marvellous, revolutionary. I shall now be in no danger of repeating my exploits in the Gulf of Cabes when I was in the service of an Algerine pirate, or of the way in which we treated the Christian prisoners who would not renounce the errors of their faith and become Mussulmans. Ah, Osborne, that was a bad time, and often since have I regretted it-deeply, bitterly regretted it. But I am an altered, a reformed man now, Osborne. I would not now oppress a Christian unless he was a personal enemy. I would not now take service under the red flag again, for the thing is too full of risk. Had we not better set out at once?' 'Yes, my dear Nevill; but none of this nonsense over the way.' 'Nonsense! Nonsense! My dear fellow, who gave you liberty to apply such a word to what I have said? But let us not discuss that. Let us go. Ah, the air does so improve one. It freshens one up, and makes one feel one and a half. Osborne, I think I was destined by nature for a philosopher of-' 'The peripatetic school.' 'No, the platonic. I have a natural genius for writing dialogue and constructing spiritual theories. I think there is room for a new philosophy. After all, I don't know that I should follow old Plato. I could start a new philosophy of my own. Don't you think something could be done with a philosophy called the dynamitic-psychic philosophy, which would teach there are only two things in the world, namely, force and soul? If anyone chose to question your theory, you could fill his heretical mouth with dynamite and blow his infamous opinions down his throat. Upon my word, Osborne, I think there is something in the thing. Eh?' 'Now stop this nonsense, Nevill. Here we are. This is the house.' 'Is that it? Oh, confound it!' 'What's the matter?' 'That wretched sedative has not gripped me yet, and if I went in now I'd be sure to relate the history of my life when I was one of the Mormons, and loved my eleven wives most dearly. That would never do; would it, George?' 'No, certainly not. I really wish you would try and be reasonable.' 'Oh, blame not the bard if he fly to the bower where a narcotic lies carelessly smiling at pirates. Don't let us go in yet. That drug has not fetched me, and I am all adrift. But how much better I feel upon coming back to my native air!' 'I thought you told me you were born at sea?' asked Osborne. 'Oh, bother! What a fellow you are for detail! If I come here and settle down, does not this become my native air? Do you mean to say that if a doctor ordered me to my native air I should be obliged to learn navigation to find out the exact position of the ship I was born in at the moment I first saw the light, and that I should then have a kind of raft built and towed there, and that I should have to live on that raft until my health was fully restored or a devil-fish ate me? Or do you think if I was recommended to turn myself loose in my native wilds I'd go and drag out a miserable existence at Stepney? Rubbish! A man's native place is the place he loves best. At least that is my definition of it; and in any discussion a man has a right to make his own definitions, has he not?' 'Undoubtedly. He has a right to his own definitions until they are challenged.' 'Talking of discussions makes me think of argument, and argument naturally takes me back to discussion, and backing and filling in that latitude brings me, Osborne, upon a profound reflection. Let us walk on awhile till that sedative turns up. You will be able to recognise its exhibition by a slightly nasal twang and a slightly pious tone. When you find these symptoms, lead me back. But as I was going to say, I have come upon a fine rule for the discussion of the future. We all know a man may start by defining everything to be nothing. Very good. We also know that never in the history of man has one discussion caused one man to alter his mind. Now if a man has a right to his definitions, and if his arguments and deductions can have no influence on the mind of his adversary, why not postulate his arguments and deductions at once, and be done with the whole matter? But, Osborne, this is no better than trifling. In fact, Osborne, it is not even trifling; it is deliberate folly. I am awfully nervous, and I am in mortal terror that my nervousness will betray me into some mischief or other in this coming interview. Do you detect a pious odour? Do you notice a nasal twang?' 'I think if you intend calling this afternoon you had better go now.' 'Very well. Lead on. Osborne, I never, knew what nervousness was until now.' They retraced their steps, and in a few minutes entered the house. The servant said Mrs Osborne would be down in a short time. Miss Alice was in the drawing-room. 'You will like little Alice, as we call her, Nevill. She is gayer than Kate.' 'I am sure I shall like her; but her differing from Kate is not what will make me like her, but her resembling Kate. What a still quiet home you have lived in all your life, Osborne, while I have had the noises of the bustling world about my ears!' George opened the drawing-room door. 'My sister Alice. Mr Nevill.' She bowed, ran to her brother, threw her arms round his neck, and cried out, – 'Oh, dear George, 'Tilda told me you had been here, and that you would be back some time in the afternoon. And when I came over from Mrs Craven's and heard you would be here soon, I couldn't spare time to run up and take off my hat. Where is Kate? Why didn't she come back with you? Is she quite well? Will you take me to London with you when you go?' 'We'll see, Alice; we'll see. Kate is quite well. I left her behind me in London. I am going back there again almost immediately.' She unclasped her arms, and looked at the stranger. George said, – 'Mr Nevill met Kate in London; so, little Alice, we shall all be as old friends.' 'Do you like Kate?' asked Alice, looking at Nevill. 'Yes, very much indeed,' he answered, with a quiet smile. 'Oh, George, I am so wretched and lonely since Kate went away. It is such misery to have no one to tease. Will she come back soon? You saw mother when you were here before. I have not seen her since I came back from Mrs Craven's. Do tell me all the news?' 'Mr Nevill,' said George, with a smile, 'you must not mind little Alice. She seems rudely inattentive to you; but she does not mean to be rude at all. She generally is what she does not mean to be.' 'Then she must mean never to be charming,' said Nevill, with a suave bow. Alice coloured slightly, and looked at the stranger fixedly for the first time. She thought: 'What a plain-looking man! He isn't ugly enough for an ornament. What can have induced George to make friends with him? I declare if Kate were at home I'd give up chaffing her about Mr Garvage, and say Mr Nevill was the real victim. Oh, my poor Kate, after all I don't know that I could be so cruel as that.' She said aloud, 'I hope Mr Nevill will forgive me. I did not mean to be rude. I am delighted to meet any friend of yours, George, anyone that knows and likes our foolish Kate. Here's mother.' 'Mother, allow me to introduce to you my friend Mr William Nevill.' Mrs Osborne looked at the thin man, with his plain sallow face; held out her hand to him, sighed, and said, 'Welcome to Stratford-on-Avon, Mr Nevill. I hope you will like the place.' 'I am sure I shall. I have already learned to like some of the people.' 'By Jove!' he thought, 'that sedative has turned up at last. I am even in doubt now as to whether I shall pin my fate to my works as a missionary in Central Africa or my scheme that the English should take China, Japan, and Eel-pie Island, with a view to converting the Inhabitants to Christianity.'