The young man breathed hard, as if in physical pain. His eyes were fixed in a wide absent gaze. Mrs. Eldon had lost all the severity of her face; the profound sorrow of a pure and noble nature was alone to be read there now.
What, she continuedwhat is this class distinction upon which we pride ourselves? What does it mean, if not that our opportunities lead us to see truths to which the eyes of the poor and ignorant are blind? Is there nothing in it, after allin our pride of birth and station? That is what people are saying nowadays: you yourself have jested to me about our privileges. You almost make me dread that you were right. Look back at that man, whom I came to honour as my own father. He began life as a toiler with his hands. Only a fortnight ago he was telling me stories of his boyhood, of seventy years since. He was without education; his ideas of truth and goodness he had to find within his own heart. Could anything exceed the noble simplicity of his respect for me, for you boys? We were poor, but it seemed to him that we had from nature what no money could buy. He was wrong; his faith misled him. No, not wrong with regard to all of us; my boy Godfrey was indeed all that he believed. But think of himself; what advantage have we over him? I know no longer what to believe. Oh, Hubert!
He left his chair and walked to a more distant part of the room, where he was beyond the range of lamp and firelight. Standing here, he pressed his hand against his side, still breathing hard, and with difficulty suppressing a groan.
He came a step or two nearer.
Mother, he said, hurriedly, I am still far from well. Let me leave you: speak to me again to-morrow.
Mrs. Eldon made an effort to rise, looking anxiously into the gloom where he stood. She was all but standing uprighta thing she had not done for a long timewhen Hubert sprang towards her, seizing her hands, then supporting her in his arms. Her self-command gave way at length, and she wept.
Hubert placed her gently in the chair and knelt beside her. He could find no words, but once or twice raised his face and kissed her.
What caused your illness? she asked, speaking as one wearied with suffering. She lay back, and her eyes were closed.
I cannot say, he answered. Do not speak of me. In your last letter there was no account of how he died.
It was in church, at the morning service. The pew-opener found him sitting there dead, when all had gone away.
But the vicar could see into the pew from the pulpit? The death must have been very peaceful.
No, he could not see; the front curtains were drawn.
Why was that, I wonder?
Mrs. Eldon shook her head.
Are you in pain? she asked suddenly. Why do you breathe so strangely?
A little pain. Oh, nothing; I will see Manns to-morrow.
His mother gazed long and steadily into his eyes, and this time he bore her look.
Mother, you have not kissed me, he whispered.
And cannot, dear. There is too much between us.
His head fell upon her lap.
Hubert!
He pressed her hand.
How shall I live when you have gone from me again? When you say good-bye, it will be as if I parted from you for ever.
Hubert was silent.
Unless, she continuedunless I have your promise that you will no longer dishonour yourself.
He rose from her side and stood in front of the fire; his mother looked and saw that he trembled.
No promise, Hubert, she said, that you cannot keep. Rather than that, we will accept our fate, and be nothing to each other.
You know very well, mother, that that is impossible. I cannot speak to you of what drove me to disregard your letters. I love and honour you, and shall have to change my nature before I cease to do so.
To me, Hubert, you seem already to have changed. I scarcely know you.
I cant defend myself to you, he said sadly. We think so differently on subjects which allow of no compromise, that, even if I could speak openly, you would only condemn me the more.
His mother turned upon him a grief-stricken and wondering face.
Since when have we differed so? she asked. What has made us strangers to each others thoughts? Surely, surely you are at one with me in condemning all that has led to this? If your character has been too weak to resist temptation, you cannot have learnt to make evil your good?
He kept silence.
You refuse me that last hope?
Hubert moved impatiently.
Mother, I cant see beyond to-day! I know nothing of what is before me. It is the idlest trifling with words to say one will do this or that, when action in no way depends on ones own calmer thought. In this moment I could promise anything you ask; if I had my choice, I would be a child again and have no desire but to do your will, to be worthy in your eyes. I hate my life and the years that have parted me from you. Let us talk no more of it.
Neither spoke again for some moments; then Hubert asked coldly
What has been done?
Nothing, replied Mrs. Eldon, in the same tone. Mr. Yottle has waited for your return before communicating with the relatives in London.
I will go to Belwick in the morning, he said. Then, after reflection, Mr. Mutimer told you that he had destroyed his will?
No. He had it from Mr. Yottle two days before his death, and on the day afterthe MondayMr. Yottle was to have come to receive instructions for a new one. It is nowhere to be found: of course it was destroyed.
I suppose there is no doubt of that? Hubert asked, with a show of indifference.
There can be none. Mr. Yottle tells me that a will which existed. before Godfreys marriage was destroyed in the same way.
Who is the heir?
A great-nephew bearing the same name. The will contained provision for him and certain of his family. Wanley is his; the personal property will be divided among several.
The people have not come forward?
We presume they do not even know of Mr. Mutimers death. There has been no direct communication between him and them for many years.
Huberts next question was, What shall you do, mother?
Does it interest you, Hubert? I am too feeble to move very far. I must find a home either here in the village or at Agworth.
He looked at her with compassion, with remorse.
And you, my boy? asked his mother, raising her eyes gently.
I? Oh, the selfish never come to harm, be sure! Only the gentle and helpless have to suffer; that is the plan of the worlds ruling.
The world is not ruled by one who thinks our thoughts, Hubert.
He had it on his lips to make a rejoinder, but checked the impulse.
Say good-night to me, his mother continued. You must go and rest. If you still feel unwell in the morning, a messenger shall go to Belwick. You are very, very pale.
Hubert held his hand to her and bent his head. Mrs. Eldon offered her cheek; he kissed it and went from the room.
At seven oclock on the following morning a bell summoned a servant to Huberts bedroom. Though it was daylight, a lamp burned near the bed; Hubert lay against pillows heaped high.
Let someone go at once for Dr. Manns, he said, appearing to speak with difficulty. I wish to see him as soon as possible. Mrs. Eldon is to know nothing of his visityou understand me!
The servant withdrew. In rather less than an hour the doctor made his appearance, with every sign of having been interrupted in his repose. He was a spare man, full bearded and spectacled.
Let someone go at once for Dr. Manns, he said, appearing to speak with difficulty. I wish to see him as soon as possible. Mrs. Eldon is to know nothing of his visityou understand me!
The servant withdrew. In rather less than an hour the doctor made his appearance, with every sign of having been interrupted in his repose. He was a spare man, full bearded and spectacled.
Something wrong? was his greeting as he looked keenly at his summoner. I didnt know you were here.
Yes, Hubert replied, something is confoundedly wrong. I have been playing strange tricks in the night, I fancy.
Fever?
As a consequence of something else. I shall have to tell you what must be repeated to no one, as of course you will see. Let me see, when was it?Saturday to-day? Ten days ago, I had a pistol-bullet just here,he touched his right side. It was extracted, and I seemed to be not much the worse. I have just come from Germany.
Dr. Manns screwed his face into an expression of sceptical amazement.
At present, Hubert continued, trying to laugh, I feel considerably the worse. I dont think I could move if I tried. In a few minutes, ten to one, I shall begin talking foolery. You must keep people away; get what help is needed. I may depend upon you?
The doctor nodded, and, whistling low, began an examination.
CHAPTER III
On the dun borderland of Islington and Hoxton, in a corner made by the intersection of the New North Road and the Regents Canal, is discoverable an irregular triangle of small dwelling-houses, bearing the name of Wilton Square. In the midst stands an amorphous structure, which on examination proves to be a very ugly house and a still uglier Baptist chapel built back to back. The pair are enclosed within iron railings, and, more strangely, a circle of trees, which in due season do veritably put forth green leaves. One side of the square shows a second place of worship, the resort, as an inscription declares, of Welsh Calvinistic Methodists. The houses are of one storey, with kitchen windows looking upon small areas; the front door is reached by an ascent of five steps.
The canalmaladetta e sventurata fossastagnating in utter foulness between coal-wharfs and builders yards, at this point divides two neighbourhoods of different aspects. On the south is Hoxton, a region of malodorous market streets, of factories, timber yards, grimy warehouses, of alleys swarming with small trades and crafts, of filthy courts and passages leading into pestilential gloom; everywhere toil in its most degrading forms; the thoroughfares thundering with high-laden waggons, the pavements trodden by working folk of the coarsest type, the corners and lurking-holes showing destitution at its ugliest. Walking northwards, the explorer finds himself in freer air, amid broader ways, in a district of dwelling-houses only; the roads seem abandoned to milkmen, cats-meat vendors, and costermongers. Here will be found streets in which every window has its card advertising lodgings: others claim a higher respectability, the houses retreating behind patches of garden-ground, and occasionally showing plastered pillars and a balcony. The change is from undisguised struggle for subsistence to mean and spirit-broken leisure; hither retreat the better-paid of the great slave-army when they are free to eat and sleep. To walk about a neighbourhood such as this is the dreariest exercise to which man can betake himself; the heart is crushed by uniformity of decent squalor; one remembers that each of these dead-faced houses, often each separate blind window, represents a home, and the associations of the word whisper blank despair.
Wilton Square is on the north side of the foss, on the edge of the quieter district, and in one of its houses dwelt at the time of which I write the family on whose behalf Fate was at work in a valley of mid-England. Joseph Mutimer, nephew to the old man who had just died at Wanley Manor, had himself been at rest for some five years; his widow and three children still lived together in the home they had long occupied. Joseph came of a family of mechanics; his existence was that of the harmless necessary artisan. He earned a living by dint of incessant labour, brought up his family in an orderly way, and departed with a certain sense of satisfaction at having fulfilled obvious dutiesthe only result of life for which he could reasonably look. With his children we shall have to make closer acquaintance; but before doing so, in order to understand their position and follow with intelligence their several stories, it will be necessary to enter a little upon the subject of ancestry.
Joseph Mutimers father, Henry by name, was a somewhat remarkable personage. He grew to manhood in the first decade of our century, and wrought as a craftsman in a Midland town. He had a brother, Richard, some ten years his junior, and the two were of such different types of character, each so pronounced in his kind, that, after vain attempts to get along together, they parted for good, heedless of each other henceforth, pursuing their sundered destinies. Henry was by nature a political enthusiast, of insufficient ballast, careless of the main chance, of hot and ready tongue; the Chartist movement gave him opportunities of action which he used to the utmost, and he became a member of the so-called National Convention, established in Birmingham in 1839. Already he had achieved prominence by being imprisoned as the leader of a torch-light procession, and this taste of martyrdom naturally sharpened his zeal. He had married young, but only visited his family from time to time. His wife for the most part earned her own living, and ultimately betook herself to London with her son Joseph, the single survivor of seven children. Henry pursued his career of popular agitation, supporting himself in miscellaneous ways, writing his wife an affectionate letter once in six months, and making himself widely known as an uncompromising Radical of formidable powers. Newspapers of that time mention his name frequently; he was always in hot water, and once or twice narrowly escaped transportation. In 1842 he took active part in the riots of the Midland Counties, and at length was unfortunate enough to get his head broken. He died in hospital before any relative could reach him.
Richard Mutimer regarded with detestation the principles to which Henry had sacrificed his life. From childhood he was staid, earnest, and iron-willed; to whatsoever he put his hand, he did it thoroughly, and it was his pride to receive aid from no man. Intensely practical, he early discerned the truth that a mans first object must be to secure himself a competency, seeing that to one who lacks money the world is but a great debtors prison. To make money, therefore, was his aim, and anything that interfered with the interests of commerce and industry from the capitalists point of view he deemed unmitigated evil. When his brother Henry was leading processions and preaching the Peoples Charter, Richard enrolled himself as a special constable, cursing the tumults which drew him from business, but determined, if he got the opportunity, to strike a good hard blow in defence of law and order. Already he was well on the way to possess a solid stake in the country, and the native conservatism of his temperament grew stronger as circumstances bent themselves to his will; a proletarian conquering wealth and influence naturally prizes these things in proportion to the effort their acquisition has cost him. When he heard of his brothers death, he could in conscience say nothing more than Serve him right! For all that, he paid the funeral expenses of the Chartistangrily declining an offer from Henrys co-zealots, who would have buried the martyr at their common chargesand proceeded to inquire after the widow and son. Joseph Mutimer, already one- or two-and-twenty, was in no need of help; he and his mother, naturally prejudiced against the thriving uncle, declared themselves satisfied with their lot, and desired no further connection with a relative who was practically a stranger to them.