Kitabı oku: «The Man Who Rose Again», sayfa 7

CHAPTER VIII
THE FOUR MEN MEET AGAIN

The wedding was arranged for an early date. Leicester pleaded for a month's engagement only, and although that month was multiplied by five, he yielded with good grace, especially as he spent a great deal of time at The Beeches. Not that he was idle during those five months. Rather he worked as he had never worked before. He was anxious to prove himself worthy of the woman he loved. To his casual acquaintances he did not seem to alter much. If he was not cynical, he was satirical; he laughed, as of old, at what he called the humour of politics and religion. He professed but little faith in either philanthropy or self-sacrifice. More than once he offended some of his constituents by his remarks about their institutions, which they said were for the good of humanity. All the same, he rose greatly in the estimation of the people as a whole. They recognised something like moral earnestness behind his brilliant speeches, while at every meeting he attended he seemed to strike a deeper, truer note.

Especially was this true at a meeting which Olive attended. She paid a visit to her old friend at Taviton Grange, and during the time she was there a demonstration was arranged for in the Public Hall. Olive had never heard Leicester speak in public, and she looked forward to the gathering with great eagerness. There were to be two speeches on the occasion, besides that of the chairman. One was by one of the most important leaders of the Opposition, and the other by Leicester, who was to speak as the accepted candidate. Of course the hall was packed. The ex-Cabinet Minister was spoken of as the ablest speaker in the party, and his name was a household word. Naturally, moreover, the ex-Cabinet Minister had the place of honour. For more than an hour he spoke, leading the thoughts of the people from one point to another, until, as some one remarked, he had covered the whole field of politics, leaving nothing for Leicester to say. Olive Castlemaine, who was naturally keenly interested in the meeting, felt this more than any one. She wanted to hear her lover at his best, and when the circumstances should be of the most favourable nature.

"How can Radford be at his best after the people have been listening to this great man for more than an hour?" she said to herself. "Oh, I wish he would stop!"

He came to an end at length, and the people cheered heartily. His speech was a strong vindication of his own policy, and a stronger condemnation of the doings of the Government. In truth, there seemed nothing more to say. Still Leicester, as the accepted candidate, was called upon to speak, and as he rose the people gave him a great welcome. The air was hot and stifling, the audience had listened attentively for more than an hour to the speaker of the evening, but in a few sentences Leicester led them to forget their weariness, and to be unconscious of the stifling atmosphere of the hall.

In turning to address the chairman he saw Olive's eyes fixed on him, and he realised that this was the first time they had ever been together on such an occasion. He must prove worthy of her confidence, of her hope, of her love. He had told her that he could do anything with her by his side, and he longed to show her that he had not uttered an empty boast. Besides, his heart thrilled at the thought that she was his promised wife – this, the one woman in all the world to him.

Men said afterwards that the great speech of the ex-Cabinet Minister was only worthy of being called an introduction to the real speech of the evening. Never had Leicester spoken as he spoke that night, for in addition to brilliant epigram, scathing criticism, and searching analysis there was a great moral fervour. For the moment he cast aside his old hopelessness; and his words were glowing with warmth, and convincing because of the ardent sincerity of his own beliefs. The meeting forgot that an ex-Cabinet Minister had been speaking for more than an hour, and remembered only that the present speaker was lifting them into a higher realm of thought, and presently, when he sat down, the audience rose en masse, and gave him an ovation.

Directly he went into the ante-room a crowd gathered around him to congratulate him, but he took but little notice of them. Their praise to him was merely words. Even the congratulations of the ex-Cabinet Minister seemed nothing to him: his eyes were keenly scanning the faces of those present, in order to see some one who had not yet spoken. She came presently, and as Leicester saw her, his heart beat with a great joy. He knew what she thought – it was evident from the look she gave him.

Forgetful of all else he rushed to her side; he did not speak, but waited anxiously for what she might say.

"I am proud," she said in a whisper.

"Are you satisfied?" he asked.

"That is only a suggestion of what I feel," was her reply.

And she spoke the truth. Never did she feel towards him as she did that night. She forgot the impression he had first made upon her, forgot all the stories she had heard about him. She thought only of her pride in him, and the great future which lay before him. And with it all came the consciousness that she had caused the change. She was giving him nobler thoughts of life; she was making him realise the great powers which had been lying dormant. It was something to be proud of. To be the means of making a possible great man to realise his greatness, and of bringing into life latent powers of which even he had not been conscious.

Visions rose before her mind of what he would be. She had read the history of the career of men like the younger Pitt, of John Bright, of Disraeli, of Gladstone, and she believed that Leicester was equal to the best of them. She saw him the leader of a people, voicing their wants, and interpreting their language; she saw him a prophet, revealing to the world the deeper meanings of a nation's life. And she was the instrument chosen for his salvation. He had learnt to love her, he had declared that if he was to be anything but a cynic, a scoffer, it must be through her. She was his inspiration, his lode-star, his hope. For her, and with her by his side, he could do anything.

She believed it now. In her excitement she compared his speech with the brilliant orations of the great leaders. She was sure that Leicester's powers were of the same order as the powers of Macaulay and Burke. And she —she was the instrument used by God to make everything possible.

As she walked back to Taviton Grange, her hand resting on his arm, she seemed to be treading on air. Her life seemed enlarged, her purpose in living seemed greater. She was willing to forget herself, to sink her own personality, so that the man she had accepted as her husband might be the man God intended him to be.

John Castlemaine had been at the meeting also, and while not a believer in all his political doctrines, was also carried away by the brilliance of Leicester's speech. He felt proud of his future son-in-law; and he was sure that Olive had done wisely in accepting him as her husband.

So far Leicester had been true to his promise to Olive. He had never touched alcohol since the day he had asked her to be his wife. Sometimes the craving had been terrible, but he had resisted. He had even borne the covert sneers of his acquaintances without retort. What had begun in a grim and unworthy joke had become to him the great motive power of his life.

Indeed, but for one thing, Leicester was supremely happy. He could never think of the compact which led to his introduction to her without shame, and he had a great dread lest in some way it should come to her ears. More than once, after his engagement had become known, he had sought to obtain an interview with Purvis and Sprague and Winfield; but for a long time the opportunity which he sought did not come, and he was too proud to seek them for the ostensible purpose of speaking to them about it.

One day in February, however, he saw them together. He had come to his club late one night, and found them alone in the smoking-room. He had spent the evening with Olive, and had come back by the last train. As may be imagined, neither Sprague nor Purvis felt very kindly towards him. No man looks kindly on a successful rival. It angered them also when they remembered that it was through their instrumentality that the engagement had come to pass.

They had been talking about Leicester before he came in. Like many others, they did not believe in his sincerity. How could Leicester, the cynic, the scoffer at women, the man who when under the influence of whisky had made a wager that he could win a woman, love the woman he had won? Was it not simply to win his wager that he was playing this part?

"For my own part," said Winfield, "I believe him to be sincere. What begun in a jest has ended in earnest. When he met Miss Castlemaine, he, who for years had avoided women, realised how wrong he had been. He has evidently fallen deeply in love, and I for my part am glad that she accepted him. Leicester will be a fine fellow, and will have a great future. I hear he never touches drink now."

"I do not believe it," said Sprague. "The Ethiopian cannot change his skin, nor the leopard his spots. I believe he is simply playing a game. As for his giving up the drink, yes, that may be possible. I believe Leicester is capable of doing anything whereby he can have his way. You'll find that at the end he'll wriggle out of it."

"I don't say that," said Purvis. "Why should he? As we know, she will be a great heiress. There must be pots of money, and Leicester means to have the handling of it."

"It ought to be stopped," said Sprague.

"But how can it be stopped?" asked Winfield. "Even if we desired, we cannot hinder them from marrying. I am told that Miss Castlemaine is deeply in love with him."

"All the more reason why she should be told the truth."

"But she can't be. We have promised to hold our tongues, and – well, a promise is a promise."

"Not when given under such circumstances. We have no right to allow a woman to wreck her life. For Leicester will wreck her life."

"Personally I don't believe it," said Winfield. "Leicester is in love, and Leicester in love will be a model husband."

"Leicester in love! He is not capable of knowing what love means. The man who is capable of such a wager is not capable of making such as Miss Castlemaine happy."

"Anyhow, it is not our affair," said Winfield. "Besides, we've promised to hold our tongues, and we can do no other than keep our promise."

"But to ruin such a life as hers because of a mistaken idea of honour – well, isn't that worse than breaking a promise?"

"My own feeling is, let the affair go on," said Purvis. "At any rate, it may do her good."

At this moment Leicester entered the room. Seeing them together he made his way towards them. He was, as we have said, anxious for an opportunity of speaking to these men together.

The months which had elapsed since we first saw Leicester in this room had made a great change in him. Hope gleamed in his eyes, and with that look of hope had come a happier, healthier expression. It is true he often suffered from nervous attacks. Mother Nature will not be abused as he had abused her without exacting a terrible penalty. Still, his change of life was having its effect, and as a consequence the Leicester of a few months before was no longer the man who stood before them now.

"I am glad to meet you chaps," he said, as he came up to them, "and I think myself lucky in finding you all together. I want to speak to you."

Purvis and Sprague exchanged glances, and from the eyes of the latter an evil look shone. He had not forgiven Leicester for the many times he had held him up to ridicule, neither did he forgive him for being successful where he, Sprague, had failed.

"When last we were all together in this clubroom," said Leicester, speaking with an effort, for as may be imagined the thoughts in his mind were far from pleasant, "we – well, as you know, a kind of wager was made."

They waited for him to go on.

"As you know," he continued presently; "I – I – have – "

"Won the wager," said Sprague. "That being so, I shall be prepared to give my cheque to – what was it? Guy's Hospital. All the same, I think it is time that this farce should cease. It was unworthy of us all and for my own part I regret having had anything to do with it."

Sprague's tones, rather than his words, angered Leicester. The thought of the woman he loved more than all on earth being associated with a wager maddened him.

"To whom shall I send my cheque, Leicester?" went on Sprague. "Purvis also wants to know. Having fulfilled our part of the business, you will, of course, also finish yours. It reflects no credit upon any of us."

"No," said Leicester, speaking very quietly. "If any cheque is sent, I will send it myself."

"You mean then that all we have heard is false, and that the young lady has refused you."

"What I mean does not affect you, providing I send the cheque," replied Leicester, still speaking quietly.

"Leicester has been converted at a drawing-room meeting, after all," said Sprague, with a sneer. "I hear he has adopted quite a different tone in his speeches. We shall see him addressing mothers' meetings yet."

Still Leicester kept himself under control, although Sprague tried him sorely.

"Come, Leicester," want on Sprague, "if you are converted, you ought to give up this unworthy business; if you are not, then you have no right to ruin a woman's life."

"I think I can mind my own business," said Leicester.

"But the question is, are you converted from the error of your ways? Have you turned moral reformer, temperance lecturer, and the rest of it?"

"And if I have?"

"Oh, nothing – only I think it ought to be duly reported in the religious papers."

Leicester still kept himself under control, nevertheless Sprague's sneers were telling on him.

"Besides," went on his tormentor, "you've hardly played the game, Leicester. The understanding was that you were to win her as an atheist, hard drinker, and a cynic, whereas you've turned moral reformer. You've been wearing a mask."

"Well, that's not your business."

"I think it is. Anyhow, you admit that this engagement is a grim joke."

"I repeat that that is not your business," said Leicester; "if I send the cheque to the hospital, the matter is done with, as far as you are concerned."

"And you really mean to say that you are a reformed character? I sincerely congratulate you."

"If you mean by that that I believe in your profession or your drawing-room meetings, no. I regard them as I always did."

"Then you have been simply playing a part with Miss Castlemaine?"

"And if I have, what is that to you?"

He was scarcely master of himself now, or he would not have allowed the conversation to drift into such a channel. But the man angered him almost beyond words, all the more so because he was mixed up in the affair, of which he felt ashamed.

"You admit it, then. All this teetotalism, this tone of moral earnestness which you have introduced into your speeches – it's all to win your wager."

"And if it is!" he cried. "Have I ever pretended to believe in any of the whining sentimentality of the world? Have I not all along insisted that everything is a matter of price!"

He had meant to have said exactly opposite to this when he saw these men, but they had, in spite of himself, aroused him to a kind of unreasoning anger.

"I think Miss Castlemaine ought to know," said Sprague.

"Perhaps you mean to tell her?" he asked.

"I have thought of it, certainly."

"Then let me tell you this, you fellows," he said, "if ever you do, I'll crush you, as I would crush an empty egg-shell. I'll make life a hell for you. I mean it! I have no fear of Winfield. He makes no profession of religion, and therefore will act squarely; but I say this to you two fellows – you, Sprague, and Purvis – if ever Miss Castlemaine hears of it, I know it will come from one of you two. No one else knows of it, and I shall quickly find out which of you two has told her. Well, I tell you this, no lost soul in the hell about which you preach to sinners shall suffer as you shall suffer."

He had taken the wrong line, and he knew it, yet he did not think, at that time, of a way in which he could make them feel what he felt. His pride forbade him telling them that he was really in earnest now, and that he was ashamed of the compact they had made. He did try to bring himself to it; but to go to Sprague and Purvis and to tell them that he really loved Miss Castlemaine, and to ask them to refrain from mentioning what had passed between them, was too much. Had they been men of a different order, he might have done it; but after the way he had regarded them, after he had laughed to scorn their religious notions, and their professed faith in women, he could not. He would maintain his old character, and he would make them fear to divulge the secret, which had now become the great fear of his life.

For the first time Sprague felt that he had pierced the weak place in Leicester's armour. He knew now that the man who had laughed at him was afraid of him, and he determined to take advantage of the position he held. It would help him to pay off old scores.

"If you will assure us that you are sincere in this new role you are playing," said Sprague, "and if you will promise never to touch drink of any sort again, it might be that – "

But Leicester did not allow him to finish the sentence. He rose to his feet in his passion.

"Promise you!" he cried, "Promise you!" He laughed bitterly, and scornfully. Then he sat down again, ashamed of himself for having allowed a man like Sprague to anger him so. "You mistake yourself," he said. "A gentleman does not argue with a cabman, or invite his laundress to dinner. You are presuming too far." He hesitated again for a second. "No," he went on, "I shall not promise anything, nor profess anything. I simply tell you that no word of this affair must pass your lips."

Sprague, stung by Leicester's words, was about to retort angrily.

"No, no, wait a minute," said Leicester, who now spoke very quietly. "Look at me for a moment – that's it. Now, you know me. You know that I am not tied down to claptrap morality. And you know this, too, when I say a thing I'll do it, ay, even if I have to swing for it. I'll do it. Whatever part I play elsewhere, I'm not playing a part now. I am in deadly earnest, and the devil always helps the man who is faithful to him. Well, I say this: if either of you breathe one word concerning that compact of ours – one word, mark you, especially to Miss Castlemaine – then no leper on a leper island shall suffer what you shall suffer, no victim of the Inquisition invented by your religious teachers has ever gone through the torments which you shall go through; no hell that was ever invented shall be as ghastly as the hell I will drag you through."

"You mean she would throw you over if she knew."

"No matter what I mean; but remember this, I am a man of my word, and I am in earnest about this. Winfield I know is safe, he is a gentleman, and he's not a rejected lover; but you others – well, I have said my say."

He left the club as he spoke, while the three men looked at each other wonderingly.

For some time after this nothing happened to disturb the serenity of Leicester's life. Little by little he was mastering the drink craving, while his outlook on life made him more and more cheerful. Olive Castlemaine had indeed wrought a wondrous change. When he was in her presence, at all events, the old Leicester was gone, and a new and happier man had taken his place. It is true Olive was not demonstrative in her affection towards him, but he was content, and as the wedding-day drew near it seemed to him that his happiness could not continue. The sky of his life was too bright, the joy was too great. Especially did he feel this on the evening before the day fixed for their wedding. He had come down from town to dinner, and when, after he had smoked a cigar with John Castlemaine, he and Olive were alone, it seemed to him as though his present happiness were a dream, and that he would presently awake to grim and stern realities.

"Why are you so sad, Radford?" asked Olive; "is anything worrying you?"

"Yes, no – I don't know."

She looked at him keenly.

"Something is troubling you," she said. "Won't you tell me?"

"Olive," he said, "to-morrow is our wedding-day. I – I want to ask you something. I want you to promise me something."

She looked at him wonderingly, and then waited for him to continue.