The Far Horizon Part 37

"Mrs. Nevington heard from your kind sister only this morning," he continued. "Full of active helpfulness as usual, Mrs. Lovegrove.--She proposes that we should quarter ourselves upon you and her for a few days, Miss Serena, while we are seeking a temporary residence. She kindly gives us the names of several houses which she considers worth inspection."

Here by an adroit flank movement, rapidly executed, Serena managed to possess herself once again of the seat of honour upon the sofa, thereby interposing a thin but impenetrable barrier between her hostess and the latter's own particular fetish, the bishop-designate.

"You have enough room? I do not crowd you, Rhoda?" she remarked parenthetically. Then turning sideways, so as to present an expanse of neatly clad back and shoulder to her outraged relative, she continued:--"I wonder which, Dr. Nevington--I mean I wonder which houses Susan has recommended. Of course there is the Priory. But n.o.body has lived in it for ages and ages. It is in a very low neighbourhood, close to the ca.n.a.l and brickfields on the Tullingworth Road. I should think it was dreadfully damp and unwholesome. And there is old Mrs. Waghorn's in Abney Park. That is well situated and the grounds are rather nice. But the reception-rooms are poor, I always think. Susan was fond of Mrs. Waghorn.

I cannot say I ever cared for her myself; but there is a tower to it, of course."

"Ah! we hardly need towers yet, Miss Lovegrove. A 'suffering bishop'--you recall the well-worn joke?--such as myself, must not aspire to anything approaching castles or palaces, but be content with a very modest place of residence."

Here his unhappy hostess, sitting quite perilously near the edge of the sofa, craned round the interposing barrier.

"But that is only a matter of time, Dr. Nevington," she said, "surely.

There is but one voice all round the Green, and through the parish generally, that this is but the first step for you; and that it will lead on--though I am far from wis.h.i.+ng to hasten the death of the present archbishop--to the primacy."

"Hardly that, hardly that," he rejoined with becoming modesty. Yet the speech was not unpalatable to him. "Out of the mouth of babes," he said to himself, leaning back in his chair, and eyeing--in imagination--the chaste outline of an episcopal ap.r.o.n and well-cut black gaiter, while visions of Lambeth and Canterbury floated enticingly before him.--"Hardly that. This is little more than an embryo bishopric. Still, though it is a wrench to leave my dear old congregation, here in this wonderful London of ours, I cannot refuse the call to a wider sphere of usefulness. My views as a churchman are well known. I have never, even though it might have been professionally advantageous to me to do so, attempted any concealment."

"No, truly," Rhoda put in, still balancing and craning. "Everyone, I am sure, must bear witness you have always been most n.o.bly outspoken."

"I trust so," he returned. "I have never disguised the fact that I take my stand upon the Reformation Settlement. Therefore I cannot but think it a most hopeful sign of the times that I should receive this call to the episcopate.--Ah, here is Lovegrove. You find us deep in matters ecclesiastical. I only hope I am not taxing your ladies' patience too heavily by talking on such serious subjects.--In s...o...b.. itself that grand old stalwart, the late Dr. Colthurst--a positively Cromwellian figure--has left a sound Protestant tradition. But I hear--your good sister confirms the rumour, Miss Serena--that there is a strong ritualistic party at Tullingworth. I shall deal very roundly with persons of that persuasion.

My conviction is that we must suit our teaching to the progressive spirit of this modern world of ours. Personally I am willing, if necessary, to sacrifice very much so-called dogma to conciliate our worthy Nonconformist brethren; while I shall lose no opportunity of cutting at the roots of those Romanising tendencies which are so lamentably and insidiously active in the very heart of our dear old National Church."

While the great drum-like voice was thus rolling and booming, George Lovegrove had shaken hands with Serena. But there was none of the accustomed respectful enthusiasm in his greeting. He wore a preoccupied and dejected air. For once he looked upon that pearl of spinsterhood with a lack-l.u.s.tre and indifferent eye.

"I wonder what can have happened to George," the lady in question said to herself, in high displeasure. "I think his manner is really very odd--nearly as odd as Rhoda's. I wish I had not come. But then if I had not come I should have had no opportunity of showing Rhoda what intimate terms Susan and I are upon with the Nevingtons. And I think it is right she should know.--Oh! that detestable Miss Hart is going. What a dreadfully vulgar purple blouse she has on! And her hair is so unpleasant.

It always looks damp and shows the marks of the comb. I wonder why hair of that particular colour always does look damp." Here she bowed stiffly without rising.--"I shall simply ignore George, and not speak to him. I think that will be sufficiently marked. But I shall stay as long as Dr.

Nevington does--I don't for one moment believe Miranda Samuelson really intended to send the carriage--so I will just wait and go when he goes.

I think I owe it to myself to show George and Rhoda that they cannot drive me away against my will, however much they may wish to do so."

Having come to which amiable decision Serena turned her mind and conversation to questions of house-hunting in s...o...b... The subject, however, began to pall, before long, upon her companion. Dr. Nevington changed his position more than once. His replies became vague and perfunctory, while his attention evidently strayed to the conversation taking place at the other end of the sofa.

"I fear you did not find Mr. Iglesias very bright then to-day?" the wife was inquiring in her kindliest tones.

George Lovegrove shook his head sadly. "No, my dear, I am sorry to say not. I have been rather broken up. I will tell you all later."

The clergyman had risen.

"Iglesias?--ah yes," he said. "I remember meeting a person of that name here once, eh, Lovegrove? One of our parochial oversights, unfortunately.

He proved to be a dweller. His appearance pleased me and I proposed to call on him; and then in the press of my many duties the matter was forgotten."

Serena had risen likewise. A spot of colour burned on either of her cheeks. Her eyes snapped. She carried her small head high. Her presence a.s.serted itself quite forcibly. Her skirts rustled. At that moment she was young and very pa.s.sably pretty--an elegant spirited Serena of eighteen, rather than a faded and, alas! spiteful Serena of close upon fifty.

"Oh! really, I think it was just as well you did not call, Dr. Nevington,"

she cried. "I do not think it would have been in the least suitable. Of course I may be wrong, but I do not think you would have found anything to like in Mr. Iglesias. There was so much that was never really explained about him.--You know you acknowledged that yourself at one time, Rhoda.

But now you and George seem to have gone round again completely.--One cannot help knowing he a.s.sociated with such very odd people; and then the way in which he turned Roman Catholic, all of a sudden, really was disgraceful."

Dr. Nevington's cold, watchful glance steadied on to the speaker, then travelled to the two other members of the little company in sharp inquiry.

George Lovegrove's innocent countenance bore an expression of agonised entreaty, of yearning, of apology, yet of defiance. The corners of Rhoda's mouth drooped, her large soft cheeks shook; yet she stood firm, her sorrow tempered, and her whole warm-hearted person rendered stubborn, by virtuous indignation.

"You forget yourself greatly, Serena," she said, "and when you have time to think it over will repent having pa.s.sed such cruel remarks. They are liable to create a very wrong impression, and cannot fail to cause severe pain to others."

For an appreciable s.p.a.ce the clergyman hesitated. But s...o...b.. and the bishopric were ahead of him; Trimmer's Green and all its quaint unimportant little inhabitants behind. She was tedious, no doubt; but her sister promised to be very useful, so he threw in his lot with Serena.

"Ah, well, ah, well, for I my part I admire zeal, I must confess, Mrs.

Lovegrove," he said. "No doubt these terrible lapses will occur.

Superst.i.tion and bigotry will claim their victims even in our enlightened century, and this free England of ours. I would not judge the case of this poor fellow, Iglesias, too harshly. Race influences are strong; and we of the Anglo-Saxon stock, with our enormous advantages of brain, and grit, and hard-headed manliness of character, can afford--deeply though we deplore their weakness and errors--to be lenient toward the less favoured foreigner. Our mission is to educate him.--And this I think you should not have forgotten, Lovegrove. You should have acted upon it. You should have brought your unfortunate friend to me. I should have been quite willing to give him half an hour, or even longer. A few facts, a little plain speaking, might have saved him from more than I quite care to contemplate, both here and hereafter.--However, good-bye to you, Mrs. Lovegrove. You are starting, too, Miss Serena? a.s.sure your good, kind sister, when you write, how gladly Mrs. Nevington and I shall avail ourselves of her proffered hospitality."

"Don't fret, don't take it too much to heart, Georgie dear," the wife said soothingly later. "The vicar did seem very stern, but that was owing to Serena. I am afraid she's a terrible mischief-maker, is Serena. She turns things inside out so in saying them, that you do not recognise your own words again. All this afternoon she was most trying. If Dr. Nevington heard the real story, he would never blame you. You must not fret."

"I am not fretting about Dr. Nevington," he answered, "but about Dominic.

I am afraid we shall not have him with us very much longer, Rhoda."

"Oh! dear, oh! dear, you don't mean it? Never!" she cried in accents of genuine distress. "Did you see him, Georgie?"

"No, Miss St. John was there."

The wife's large cheeks shook again.

"You know," she said, "I am never very partial to hearing anything about that Miss St. John. Actresses are all very well in the theatre, I daresay, but they are out of place in private houses. And from what I hear, though there may be nothing really wrong with many of them, they are all sadly free in their manners. I should be very hurt if you got into the habit of frequenting their society much, Georgie.--But there, I'm sure I cannot tell what is coming to all the women nowadays! You don't seem as if you could be safe with any one of them. To think of a middle-aged person like Mrs. Porcher, for instance, taking up with that little snip of a Farge, and she old enough to be his mother!"

The wife bustled about the room straightening the chairs, patting cus.h.i.+ons into place, folding up the handkerchief which, in the interests of human conversation, had been thrown over the cage of the all-too-articulate parrot.

"I feel terribly stirred up somehow," she said, "what with the vicar, and Serena, and all the talk about Roman Catholics and Protestants, and Mrs.

Porcher's engagement, too, and then this bad news of Mr. Iglesias--not but that I am sure enough we shall meet him in heaven some day, if we can ever contrive to get there ourselves in all this chatter and worry--"

She laid the handkerchief away in the drawer of the work-table.

"Such an afternoon," she declared, "what with one thing and another! I always do say there's nothing for making unpleasantnesses like religion and marriages.--But, thank G.o.d, through all of it you are spared to me, Georgie."

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII

Outside, the slanting spring suns.h.i.+ne visited the sheltered strip of garden in clear lights and transparent shadows. The small gra.s.s-plat surrounding the rockery was brightly green. In the stone basin the surface of the water trembled, glistening in broken curves of silver white. Along the narrow border, beneath the soot-stained eastern wall, yellow and mauve crocuses and yellow aconites opened wide, greeting the gentle warmth.

Trees in the neighbouring gardens were thick with bud. Busily the sparrows and starlings came and went.

Within, the house--though not uncheerful, thanks to a scrupulous cleanliness, warm colourings, and the peculiar mellowness which comes to rooms and furnis.h.i.+ngs that, through prolonged a.s.sociation, have grown in a great mutual friendliness of aspect--was very still, with the strange, almost eerie, stillness which seems to listen and to wait.--A singular stillness, from which the rough utilitarian activities of ordinary life are banished, the rude noise of them suspended, while spiritual presences, rare apprehensions, exquisite memories and hopes, mysterious invitations of mingled alarm and ecstasy, come forth, taking on form and voice, pa.s.sing lightly to and fro--an enchantment, yet in a manner fearful from the subtlety of their being and piercing intimacy of their speech.

Personality, that supreme moral and emotional factor in human life, must of necessity create an atmosphere about it, permeated with its individual tastes and mental attributes, distinct and powerful in proportion to its individual distinction and its strength. And, without being overfanciful, it may be confidently a.s.serted that, for some weeks now, ever since indeed the specialists--summoned in consultation at the good Lovegroves' and the Lady of the Windswept Dust's urgent request--had p.r.o.nounced the cardiac affection, from which Dominic Iglesias suffered, likely to terminate fatally in the near future, this living stillness, this alert tranquillity, had been more or less sensible to all those who entered the house, offering an arresting contrast to the mult.i.tudinous rush and clamour of London without. But to-day the impression was no longer an intermittent and fugitive one, as heretofore. It was constant and complete, those spiritual visitants being, as it would seem, in full possession; so that the hours appeared to move reluctantly, and as though enjoining watchfulness, a carefulness and economy even in prevailing repose, lest any remaining moment and the message of it should be overlooked and lost.

It was characteristic of Iglesias that learning, in as far as the consultant doctors could diagnose it, the exact conditions of his physical state, he should refuse all experiment, however humane in intention or plausible in theory. For he had no sympathy with the modern greediness and wors.h.i.+p of physical life, which is willing to sacrifice the decencies and dignities of it to its possible prolongation. Courteously but plainly he bade his advisers depart. The body, though an excellent servant, is a contemptible master; and Iglesias proposed that, while his soul continued to inhabit it, it should, as always before, be kept very much in its place. It must remain un.o.btrusive, obedient, not daring to usurp, in its present hour of failure and impediment, an interest and consideration to which, in its full usefulness and vigour, it had not presumed to aspire.

Therefore Dominic Iglesias held calmly on his way, seeing the circle of his occupations, pleasures, and activities dwindle and decrease, yet maintaining not only his serenity of mind, but his accustomed self-respecting outward refinement of bearing and habit. To meet death with a gracious stoicism, well-dressed and standing upright, is, rightly considered, a very fine art, reflecting much credit upon the successful professor of it.

And it was thus that, on the day in question, Mr. Iglesias sat waiting, in the quaint irregularly shaped drawing-room of the old house in Holland Street, himself the centre of that peopled stillness, that alert tranquillity, which so strangely and sensibly filled it. Looking out of the low window, he could see the shadow of the houses shrink and the light broaden in the little garden below, as the sun travelled westward. Looking into the room itself, the many familiar objects and rich sober colours of it, quickened by a flickering of fire-light, were pleasant to his sense.

The images which pa.s.sed before him, whether actually visible or not he hardly knew, appeared beautiful. Words and phrases which occurred to him were beautiful likewise. But all were seen and heard remotely, as through some softly dazzling medium which, while heightening the charm of them, produced a delicate confusion leaving him uncertain whether he really slept or woke. More than once, not without effort, he roused himself; but only to slip back again into the same state of fair yet gently distracted vision.

At last the sound of opening cas.e.m.e.nts in the dining-room underneath and of a voice, touched with laughter, reached him.

"There, you absurdities--skip, scuttle, take exercise, catch birds, improve your figures!" Poppy cried, clapping her hands encouragingly as she stood at the head of the flight of iron steps down which, with her foot, she shot the toy spaniels unceremoniously into the sunny garden below.