Demos Part 104

'It is a great pleasure to me to see you, Mrs. Mutimer. I trust that my few comments on your admirable letter were of a nature to afford you satisfaction.'

'Thank you very much, Mr. Keene,' Adela replied. 'You wrote very kindly.'

'I am amply rewarded,' he said, bowing low. 'And now that I have had my desire, permit me to hasten away. My duty calls me into the town.'

He again bowed low to Adela, smiled a farewell to Alice, and departed.

The two walked together in the garden. Adela turned to her companion.

'I think you knew Mr. Keene a long time ago?'

'Yes, a long time. He once asked me to marry him.'

Adela replied only with a look.

'And he's asked me again this morning,' Alice pursued, breaking off a leaf from an elder bush.

'And you--?'

'I didn't refuse him this time,' Alice replied with confidence.

'I am very glad, very glad. He has been faithful to you so long that I am sure he will make you happy.'

Alice no longer concealed her joy. It was almost exultation. Natural enough under the circ.u.mstances, poor, disinherited Princess! Once more she felt able to face people; once more she would have a name. She began to talk eagerly.

'Of course I shall just go back to tell mother, but we are going to be married in three weeks. He has already decided upon a house; we went to see it this morning. I didn't like to tell you, but I met him for the first time a week ago--quite by chance.'

'I'm afraid your mother will be lonely,' Adela said.

'Not she! She'd far rather live alone than go anywhere else. And now I shall be able to send her money. It isn't fair for you to have to find everything.'

'I have wanted to ask you,' Adela said presently, 'do you ever hear of Harry?'

Alice shook her head.

'The less we hear the better,' she replied. 'He's gone to the bad, and there's no help for it.'

It was true; unfortunate victim of prosperity.

Next morning Adela and Alice travelled to town together. The former did not go to Wilton Square. On the occasion of Richard's death she had met Mrs. Mutimer, but the interview had been an extremely difficult one, in spite of the old woman's endeavour to be courteous. Adela felt herself to be an object of insuperable prejudice. Once again she was bidden sound the depth of the gulf which lies between the educated and the uneducated. The old woman would not give her hand, but made an old-fas.h.i.+oned curtsey, which Adela felt to be half ironical. In speaking of her son she was hard. Pride would not allow her to exhibit the least symptom of the anguish which wrung her heart. She refused to accept any share of the income which was continued to her son's widow under the Wanley will. Alice, however, had felt no scruple in taking the half which Adela offered her, and by paying her mother for board and lodgings she supplemented the income derived from letting as much of the house as possible.

Once more under the roof of her dearest friend, Adela was less preoccupied with the sad past which afflicted her mind with the stress of a duty ever harder to perform. After an hour pa.s.sed with Stella she could breathe freely the atmosphere of beauty and love. Elsewhere she too often suffered from a sense of self-reproach; between her and the book in which she tried to lose herself there would come importunate visions of woe, of starved faces, of fierce eyes. The comfort she enjoyed, the affection and respect with which she was surrounded, were often burdensome to her conscience. In Stella's presence all that vanished; listening to Stella's voice she could lay firm hold on the truth that there is a work in the cause of humanity other than that which goes on so clamorously in lecture halls and at street corners, other than that which is silently performed by faithful hearts and hands in dens of misery and amid the horrors of the lazar-house; the work of those whose soul is taken captive of loveliness, who pursue the spiritual ideal apart from the world's tumult, and, ever ready to minister in gentle offices, know that they serve best when nearest home.

She was far from spiritual arrogance; her natural mood was a profound humility; she deemed herself rather below than above the active toilers, whose sweat was sacred; but life had declared that such toil was not for her, and from Stella she derived the support which enabled her to pursue her path in peace--a path not one with Stella's. Before that high-throned poet-soul Adela bent in humble reverence. Between Stella and those toilers, however n.o.ble and devoted, there could be no question of comparison. She was of those elect whose part it is to inspire faith and hope, of those highest but for whom the world would fall into apathy or lose itself among subordinate motives. Stella never spoke of herself; Adela could not know whether she had ever stood at the severance of ways and made deliberate choice. Probably not, for on her brow was visible to all eyes the seal of election; how could she ever have doubted the leading of that spirit that used her lips for utterance?

On the morning after her arrival in London Adela took a long journey by herself to the far East End. Going by omnibus it seemed to her that she was never to reach that street off Bow Road which she had occasion to visit. But at last the conductor bade her descend, and gave her a brief direction The thoroughfare she sought was poor but not squalid she saw with pleasure that the house of which she had the number in mind was, if anything, cleaner and more homelike in appearance than its neighbours. A woman replied to her knock.

She asked if Miss Vine was at home.

'Yes, mum; she's at 'ome. Shall I tell her, or will you go up?'

'I will go up, thank you. Which room is it?'

'Second floor front you'll find her.'

Adela ascended. Standing at the door she heard the hum of a sewing-machine. It made her heart sink, so clearly did it speak of incessant monotonous labour.

She knocked loudly. The machine did not stop, but she was bidden to enter.

Emma was at work, one of her sister's children sitting by her, writing on a slate. She had expected the appearance of the landlady; seeing who the visitor was, she let her hands fall abruptly; an expression of pain pa.s.sed over her features.

Adela went up to her and kissed her forehead, then exchanged a few words with the child. Emma placed a chair for her, but without speaking. The room was much like the other in which the sisters had lived, save that it had a brighter outlook. There were the two beds and the table covered with work.

'Do you find it better here?' Adela began by asking.

'Yes, it is better,' Emma replied quietly. 'We manage to get a good deal of work, and it isn't badly paid.'

The voice was not uncheerful; it had that serenity which comes of duties honestly performed and a life tolerably free from sordid anxiety. More than that could not be said of Emma's existence. But, such as it was, it depended entirely upon her own effort. Adela, on the evening when she first met her in the room where Mutimer lay dead, had read clearly Emma's character; she knew that, though it was one of her strongest desires to lighten the burden of this so sorely tried woman, direct aid was not to be dreamt of. She had taken counsel with Stella, Stella with her husband. After much vain seeking they discovered an opportunity of work in this part of the East End. Mr. Westlake made it known to Emma; she acknowledged that it would be better than the over-swarmed neighbourhood in which she was living, and took the advice gratefully.

She had hopes, too, that Kate might be got away from her evil companions. And indeed the change had not been without its effect on Mrs. Clay; she worked more steadily, and gave more attention to her children.

'She's just gone with the eldest to the hospital,' Emma replied to a question of Adela's. 'He's got something the matter with his eyes. And this one isn't at all well. He ought to be at school, only he's had such a dreadful cough we're afraid to send him out just yet. They're neither of them strong, I'm afraid.'

'And you--isn't your health better since you have lived here?' Adela asked.

'I think so. But I never ail much as long as I have plenty of work to do.'

'I am staying with a friend in London,' Adela said after a pause. 'I thought I might come to see you. I hoped you would still be in the same house.'

'Yes, we are very comfortable, very,' Emma replied. 'I hope we shan't need to move for a long time; I'm sure we couldn't do better.'

She added, without raising her eyes:

'Thank you for coming.'

Adela knew that constraint between them was inevitable; it was enough that Emma spoke with good-will.

'If ever you should have to move,' she said, 'will you let me know where you go? I have written on this paper the address of my mother's house; I live with her. Will you show me so much friends.h.i.+p?'

Emma glanced at her, and saw a look which recalled to her something she had seen in those eyes before.

'I will write and tell you if we do move,' she said.

Adela went away with a heart not altogether sad; it was rather as though she had been hearing solemn music, which stirred her soul even while it touched upon the source of tears.

It was only on certain days that Stella sat to receive during visitors'

hours. To-day was not one of them; consequently when Hubert Eldon called, about half-past four, the servant came up to the drawing-room to ask if Mrs. Westlake would be at home to him. Adela was in the room; at the mention of the name she rose.

'I must write a letter before dinner,' she said. 'I win go and get it done whilst you are engaged.'

'Won't you stay? Do stay!'