CHAPTER IV.
GEORGE DELANY--DECEASED.
"It is a good thing to be alive," Natalie Brande repeated slowly,gazing, as it were, far off through her half-closed eyelids. Thenturning to me and looking at me full, wide-eyed, she asked: "A goodthing for how many?"
"For all; for everything that is alive."
"Faugh! For few things that are alive. For hardly anything. You say itis a good thing to be alive. How often have you said that in your life?"
"All my life through," I answered stoutly. My constitution was a goodone, and I had lived healthily, if hardily. I voiced the superfluousvitality of a well nourished body.
"Then you do not know what it is to feel for others."
There was a scream in the underwood near us. It ended in a short,choking squeak. The girl paled, but she went on with outward calm.
"That hawk or cat feels as you do. I wonder what that young rabbitthinks of life's problem?"
"But we are neither hawks nor cats, nor even young rabbits," I answeredwarmly. "We can not bear the burthens of the whole animal world. Our ownare sufficient for us."
"You are right. They are more than sufficient."
I had made a false move, and so tried to recover my lost ground. Shewould not permit me. The conversation which had run in pleasant channelsfor two happy hours was ended. Thenceforth, in spite of my obstructiveefforts, subjects were introduced which could not be conversed on butmust be discussed. On every one Miss Brande took the part of the weakagainst the strong, oblivious of every consideration of policy and evenethics, careful only that she championed the weak because of theirweakness. Miss Metford abetted her in this, and went further in theirjoint revolt against common sense. Miss Brande was argumentative,pleading. Miss Metford was defiant. Between the two I fared ill.
Of course the Woman question was soon introduced, and in this I made thebest defence of time-honoured customs of which I was capable. But myoutworks fell down as promptly before the voices of these young women asdid the walls of Jericho before the blast of a ram's horn. Nothing thatI had cherished was left to me. Woman no longer wanted man's protection.("Enslavement" they called it.) Why should she, when in the evolution ofsociety there was not now, or presently would not be, anything fromwhich to protect her? ("Competing slaveowners" was what they said.) Whenyou wish to behold protectors you must postulate dangers. The first arevalueless save as a preventive of the second. Both evils will beconveniently dispensed with. All this was new to me, most of my thinkinglife having been passed in distant lands, where the science of ethics iscodified into a simple statute--the will of the strongest.
When my dialectical humiliation was within one point of completion, MissMetford came to my rescue. For some time she had looked on at mydiscomfiture with a good-natured neutrality, and when I wasmetaphorically in my last ditch, she arose, stretched her shapelyfigure, flicked some clinging grass blades from her suit, and declaredit was time to return. Brande was a man of science, but as such he wasstill amenable to punctuality in the matter of dinner.
On the way back I was discreetly silent. When we reached the house Iwent to look for Herbert Brande. He was engaged in his study, and Icould not intrude upon him there. To do so would be to infringe the onlyrigid rule in his household. Nor had I an opportunity of speaking to himalone until after dinner, when I induced him to take a turn with meround the lake. I smoked strong cigars, and made one of these my excuse.
The sun was setting when we started, and as we walked slowly thetwilight shadows were deepening fast by the time we reached the furthershore. Brande was in high spirits. Some new scientific experiment, Iassumed, had come off successfully. He was beside himself. Hisconversation was volcanic. Now it rumbled and roared with suppressedfires. Anon, it burst forth in scintillating flashes and shot outstreams of quickening wit. I have been his auditor in the three greatepochs of his life, but I do not think that anything that I haverecollected of his utterances equals the bold impromptus, the masterlyhandling of his favourite subject, the Universe, which fell from him onthat evening. I could not answer him. I could not even follow him, muchless suppress him. But I had come forth with a specific object in view,and I would not be gainsaid. And so, as my business had to be donebetter that it should be done quickly. Taking advantage of a pause whichhe made, literally for breath, I commenced abruptly:
"I want to speak to you about your sister."
He turned on me surprised. Then his look changed to one of such completecontempt, and withal his bearing suggested so plainly that he knewbeforehand what I was going to say, that I blurted out defiantly, andwithout stopping to choose my words:
"I think it an infernal shame that you, her brother, should allow her tomasquerade about with this good-natured but eccentric Metford girl--Ishould say Miss Metford."
"Why so?" he asked coldly.
"Because it is absurd; and because it isn't decent."
"My dear Abraham," Brande said quietly, "or is your period so recent asthat of Isaac or Jacob? My sister pleases herself in these matters, andhas every right to do so."
"She has not. You are her brother."
"Very well, I am her brother. She has no right to think for herself; noright to live save by my permission. Then I graciously permit her tothink, and I allow her to live."
"You'll be sorry for this nonsense sooner or later--and don't say Ididn't warn you." The absolute futility of my last clause struck mepainfully at the moment, but I could not think of any way to better it.It was hard to reason with such a man, one who denied the fundamentalprinciples of family life. I was thinking over what to say next, whenBrande stopped and put his hand, in a kindly way, upon my shoulder.
"My good fellow," he said, "what does it matter? What do the actions ofmy sister signify more than the actions of any other man's sister? Andwhat about the Society? Have you made up your mind about joining?"
"I have. I made it up twice to-day," I answered. "I made it up in themorning that I would see yourself and your Society to the devil before Iwould join it. Excuse my bluntness; but you are so extremely candidyourself you will not mind."
"Certainly, I do not mind bluntness. Rudeness is superfluous."
"And I made it up this evening," I said, a little less aggressively,"that I would join it if the devil himself were already in it, as I halfsuspect he is."
"I like that," Brande said gravely. "That is the spirit I want in theman who joins me."
To which I replied: "What under the sun is the object of this Society ofyours?"
"Proximately to complete our investigations--already far advanced--intothe origin of the Universe."
"And ultimately?"
"I cannot tell you now. You will not know that until you join us."
"And if your ultimate object does not suit me, I can withdraw?"
"No, it would then be too late."
"How so? I am not morally bound by an oath which I swear without fullknowledge of its consequences and responsibilities."
"Oath! The oath you swear! You swear no oath. Do you fancy you arejoining a society of Rechabites or Carmelites, or mediaeval rubbish ofthat kind. Don't keep so painstakingly behind the age."
I thought for a moment over what this mysterious man had said, over thehidden dangers in which his mad chimeras might involve the most innocentaccomplice. Then I thought of that dark-eyed, sweet-voiced, young girl,as she lay on the green grass under the beech-tree in the wood andout-argued me on every point. Very suddenly, and, perhaps, in a mannersomewhat grandiose, I answered him:
"I will join your Society for my own purpose, and I will quit it when Ichoose."
"You have every right," Brande said carelessly. "Many have done the samebefore you."
"Can you introduce me to any one who has done so?" I asked, with aneagerness that could not be dissembled.
"I am afraid I can not."
"Or give me an address?"
"Oh yes, that is simple." He turned over a note-book until he found ablank page. Then he drew the pencil from its
loop, put the point to hislips, and paused. He was standing with his back to the failing light, soI could not see the expression of his mobile face. When he paused, Iknew that no ordinary doubt beset him. He stood thus for nearly aminute. While he waited, I watched a pair of swans flit ghost-like overthe silken surface of the lake. Between us and a dark bank of wood thelights of the house flamed red. The melancholy even-song of a blackbirdwailed out from a shrubbery beside us. Then Herbert Brande wrote in hisnote-book, and tearing out the page, he handed it to me, saying: "Thatis the address of the last man who quitted us."
The light was now so dim I had to hold the paper close to my eyes inorder to read the lines. They were these--
GEORGE DELANY, Near Saint Anne's Chapel, Woking Cemetery.