CHAPTER XV
FOR EVER
Godfrey managed to be late again, and only reached home five minutesafter his father, who had bicycled instead of walking from the stationas he supposed that he would do.
"I forgot to give orders about your lunch," said Mr. Knighttentatively. "I hope that you managed to get some."
"Oh, yes, Father; that is, I lunched out, at the Hall."
"Indeed! I did not know that Sir John had arrived."
"No, he hasn't; at least I have not seen him. I lunched with Isobel."
"Indeed!" remarked Mr. Knight again, and the subject dropped.
Next day, Godfrey, once more arrayed in his best clothes, attended theprize-giving and duly was made to look foolish, only getting home justin time for dinner, after which his father requested him to checkcertain examination papers. Then came Sunday and church at which Isobeldid not appear; two churches in fact, and after these a tea party tothe churchwardens and their wives, to whom Godfrey was expected toexplain the wonders of the Alps. Before it was over, if he could havemanaged it, these stolid farmers with their families would have lain atthe bottom of the deepest moraine that exists amid those famousmountains. But there they were, swallowing tea and munching cake whilethey gazed on him with ox-like eyes, and he plunged into wildexplanations as to the movements of glaciers.
"Something like one of them new-fangled machines what carry hay up onto the top of stacks," said Churchwarden No. 1 at length.
"Did you ever sit on a glacier while it slided from the top to thebottom of a mountain, Master Godfrey, and if so, however did you get upagain?" asked Churchwarden No. 2.
"Is a glacier so called after the tradesman what cuts glass, becauseglass and ice are both clear-like?" inquired Churchwarden No. 1, filledwith sudden inspiration.
Then Godfrey, in despair, said that he thought it was and fled away,only to be reproached afterwards by his father for having tried topuzzle those excellent and pious men.
On Monday his luck was better, since Mr. Knight was called awayimmediately after lunch to take a funeral in a distant parish of whichthe incumbent was absent at the seaside. Godfrey, by a kind ofinstinct, sped at once to the willow log by the stream, where, throughan outreaching of the long arm of coincidence, he found Isobel seated.After casually remarking that the swallows were flying neither high norlow that day, but as it were in mid-air, she added that she had notseen him for a long while.
"No, you haven't--say for three years," he answered, and detailed histribulations.
"Ah!" said Isobel, "that's always the way; one is never left at leisureto follow one's own fancies in this world. To-morrow, for instance, myfather and all his horrible friends--I don't know any of them, exceptone, but from past experience I presume them to be horrible--are comingdown to lunch, and are going to stop for three days' partridgeshooting. Their female belongings are going to stop also, or some ofthem are, which means that I shall have to look after them."
"It's all bad news to-day," remarked Godfrey, shaking his head. "I'vejust had a telegram saying that I must report myself on Wednesday,goodness knows why, for I expected to get a month's leave."
"Oh!" said Isobel, looking a little dismayed. "Then let us make thebest of to-day, for who knows what to-morrow may bring forth?"
Who indeed? Certainly not either of these young people.
They talked awhile seated by the river; then began to walk throughcertain ancient grazing grounds where the monks used to run theircattle. Their conversation, fluent enough at first, grew somewhatconstrained and artificial, since both of them were thinking of mattersdifferent from those that they were trying to dress out in words;intimate, pressing, burning matters that seemed to devour theirintelligences of everyday with a kind of eating fire. They grew almostsilent, talking only at random and listening to the beating of theirown hearts rather than to the words that fell from each other's lips.
The sky clouded over, and some heavy drops of rain began to fall.
"I suppose that we must go in," said Isobel, "we shall be soakedpresently," and she glanced at her light summer attire.
"Where?" exclaimed Godfrey. "The Abbey? No, my father will be back bynow; it must be the Hall."
"Very well, but I dare say _my_ father is there by now, for Iunderstand that he is coming down this afternoon to arrange about theshooting."
"Great heavens!" groaned Godfrey, "and I wanted to--tell you a storywhich I thought perhaps might interest you, and I don't know when Ishall get another chance--now."
"Then why did you not tell your story before?" she inquired with someirritation.
"Oh! because I have only just thought of it," he replied rather wildly.
At this moment they were passing the church, and the rain began to fallin earnest. By some mutual impulse they entered through the chanceldoor which was always unlocked, and by some mutual folly, left it open.
Advancing instinctively to the tombs of the unknown Plantagenet ladyand her knight which were so intimately connected with the littleevents of their little lives, they listened for a while to the rush ofthe rain upon the leaden roof, saying nothing, till the silence grewirksome indeed. Each waited for the other to break it, but with awoman's infinite patience Isobel waited the longer. There she stood,staring at the brass of the Plantagenet lady, still as the bones ofthat lady which lay beneath.
"My story," said Godfrey at last with a gasp, and stopped.
"Yes," said Isobel. "What is it?"
"Oh!" he exclaimed in an agony, "a very short one. I love you, that'sall."
A little quiver ran through her, causing her dress to shake and thegold Mexican gods on her necklace to tinkle against each other. Thenshe grew still as a stone, and raising those large and steady eyes ofhers, looked him up and down, finally fixing them upon his own.
"Is that true?" she asked.
"True! It is as true as life and death, or as Heaven and Hell."
"I don't know anything about Heaven and Hell; they are hypothetical,are they not? Life and death are enough for me," and she stopped.
"Then by life and death, for life and death, and for ever, I love you,Isobel."
"Thank you," she said, and stopped once more.
"You don't help one much. Have you nothing to say?"
"What is there to say? You made a statement for which I thanked you.You asked no question."
"It is a question," he exclaimed indignantly. "If I love you, of courseI want to know if you love me."
"Then why did you not say so? But," she added very deliberately, "sinceyou want to know, I do and always have and always shall, in life ordeath--and for ever--if that means anything."
He stared at her, tried to utter something and failed. Then he fellback upon another very primitive and ancient expedient. Flinging hisarms about her, he pressed her to his heart and kissed her again andagain and again; nor, in her moment of complete surrender, did shescruple to kiss him back.
It was while they were thus engaged, offering a wonderful spectacle oflove triumphant and rejoicing in its triumph, that another person whowas passing the church bethought him of its shelter as a refuge fromthe pouring rain. Seeing the open door, Mr. Knight, for it was he,slipped into the great building in his quiet, rather cat-like fashion,but on its threshold saw, and stopped. Notwithstanding the shadows, herecognised them in a moment. More, the sight of this pair, the son whomhe disliked and the woman whom he hated, thus embraced, thus lost in asea of passion, moved him to white fury, so that he lifted his clenchedhands above his head and shook them, muttering:
"And in my church, _my_ church!"
Then unable to bear more of this spectacle, he slipped away again,heedless of the pouring skies.
By nature, although in obedience to a rash promise once he had married,Mr. Knight was a true woman-hater. That sex and everything to do withit were repellent to him. Even the most harmless manifestations ofnatural affection between male and female he considered disgusting,indeed indecent, and if these were carried any further he he
ld it to beamong the greatest of crimes. He was one of those who, if he had thepower, would have hounded any poor girl who, in the country phrase,"had got into trouble," to the river brink and over it, as a creaturenot fit to live; or if she escaped destruction, would have, and indeedoften had, pursued her with unceasing malignity, thinking that therebyhe did God service. His attitude towards such a person was that of anInquisitor towards a fallen nun.
Moreover, he could do this with a clear conscience, since he couldtruly say that he was qualified to throw the first stone, being ofthose who mistake personal aversion for personal virtue. Because hiscold-hearted nature rejected it, he loathed this kind of human failingand felt good in the loathing. Nor did it ever occur to him to reflectthat others, such as secret malice, jealousy and all uncharitablenesson which his heart fed, might be much worse than the outrush of humanpassion in obedience to the almighty decree of Nature that isdetermined not to die.
These being his views, the feelings that the sight awoke in him of thispair declaring their holy love in the accustomed, human fashion, canscarcely be measured and are certainly beyond description. Had he beenanother sort of man who had found some devil flogging a child to death,the rage and indignation aroused in his breast could not have beengreater, even if it were his own child.
The one thing that Mr. Knight had feared for years was that Godfrey,who, as he knew, was fonder of Isobel than of any other livingcreature, should come to love her in a fuller fashion: Isobel, a girlwho had laughed at and flouted him and once told him to his face that astudy of his character and treatment of others had done more to turnher from the Christian religion than anything else.
In a sense he was unselfish in this matter, or rather his hate masteredhis selfishness. He knew very well that Isobel would be a great matchfor Godfrey, and he was by no means a man who underrated money andposition and their power. He guessed, too, that she really loved himand would have made him the best of wives; that with her at his side hemight do almost anything in the world. But these considerations did notin the least soften his loathing of the very thought of such amarriage. Incredible as it may seem, he would rather have seen Godfreydead than the happy husband of Isobel.
Mr. Knight, drunk with rage, reeled rather than walked away from thechurch door, wondering what he might do to baulk and shame that living,loving pair who could kiss and cling even among the tombs. A thoughtcame to him, a very evil thought which he welcomed as an inspirationsent straight from an offended Heaven. Sir John Blake had come home; heknew it, for he had passed him on the road seated alone in a finemotor-car, and they had waved their hands to each other not ten minutesbefore. He would go and tell him all; in the character of an uprightman who does not like to see his rich neighbour harmed by theentanglement of that neighbour's daughter in an undesirablerelationship. That Sir John would consider himself to be harmed, he wassure enough, being by no means ignorant of his plans and aspirationsfor the future of that daughter, who was expected to make a greatalliance in return for the fortune which she would bring to her husband.
No sooner said than done. In three minutes he was at the Hall and, asit chanced, met Sir John by the front door.
"Hullo, Reverend! How are you? You look very wet and miserable; takingrefuge from the rain, I suppose, though it is clearing off now. Have abrandy and soda, or a glass of port?"
"Thank you, Sir John, I am an abstainer, but a cup of hot tea would bewelcome."
"Tea--ah! yes, but that takes time to make, so I should have to leaveyou to drink it by yourself. Fact is I want to find my daughter. Someof those blessed guests of mine, including Mounteroy, the young Earl,you know, whom I wish her to meet particularly, are coming downto-night by the last train and not to-morrow, so I must get everythingarranged in a hurry. Can't make out where the girl has gone."
"I think I can tell you, Sir John," said Mr. Knight with a sicklysmile; "at least I saw her a little while ago rather peculiarlyengaged."
"Where, and how was she engaged?"
Without asking permission Mr. Knight entered the house and stepped intoa cloak-room that opened out of the hall. Being curious, Sir Johnfollowed him. Mr. Knight shut the door and, supporting himself againstthe frame of a marble wash-basin with gilded taps, said:
"I saw her in the chancel of the Abbey Church and she was kissing myson, Godfrey; at least he was kissing her, and she seemed to beresponding to his infamous advances, for her arms were round his neckand I heard sounds which suggested that this was so."
"Holy Moses!" ejaculated Sir John, "what in the name of hell are theyafter?"
"Your question, stripped of its unnecessary and profane expletives,seems easy to answer. I imagine that my immoral son has just proposedto your daughter, and been accepted with--well, unusual emphasis."
"Perhaps you are right. But if he had I don't see anything particularlyimmoral about it. If I had never done anything worse than that Ishouldn't feel myself called to go upon my knees and cry _peccavi_.However, that ain't the point. The point is that a game of this sortdon't at all suit my book, but," here he looked at the clergymanshrewdly, "why do _you_ come to tell about it? I should have thoughtthat under all the circumstances _you_ should have been glad. Isobelisn't likely to be exactly a beggar, you know, so it seems devilishqueer that you should object, as I gather you do; unless it is to thekissing, which has been heard of before."
"I do object most strongly, Sir John," replied Mr. Knight in his iciesttones. "I disapprove entirely of your daughter, whose lack of anyChristian feeling is notorious, and whose corrupting influence will, Ifear, make my son as bad as herself."
"Damn her lack of Christian feeling, and damn yours and your impudencetoo, you half-drowned church rat! Why don't you call her Jezebel atonce, and have done with it? One of the things I like about her is thatshe has the pluck to snap her fingers at such as you and all yourignorant superstitions. What are you getting at? That is what I want toknow."
"I put aside your insults to which as a clergyman it is my duty to turnthe other cheek," replied Mr. Knight, with a furious gasp. "As to therest I am trying to get at the pure and sacred truth."
"You look as though you would do better to get at the pure and sacredbrandy," remarked Sir John, surveying him critically, "but that's youraffair. Now, what is the truth?"
"Alas! that I must say it. I believe my son to be that basest ofcreatures, a fortune-hunter. How did he get that money left to him byanother woman?"
"Don't know, I'm sure. Perhaps the old girl found the young chapattractive, and wished to acknowledge favours received. Such thingshave been known. You don't suppose he forged her will, do you?"
"You are ribald, Sir, ribald."
"Am I? Well, and you are jolly offensive. Thank God you weren't myfather. Now, from what I remember of that boy of yours, I shouldn'thave thought that he was a fortune-hunter. I should have thought thathe was a young beggar who wished to get hold of the girl he fancies,and that's all. Still, you know him best, and I dare say you are right.Anyway, for your own peculiar and crack-brained reasons, you don't wantthis business, and I say at once you can't want it less than I do. Doyou suppose that I wish to see my only child, who will have half amillion of money and might be a countess, or half a dozen countesses,to-morrow, married to the son of a beggarly sniveller like you, for asyou are so fond of the pure and sacred truth, I'll give it you--afellow who can come and peach upon your own boy and his girl."
"My conscience and my duty----" began Mr. Knight.
"Oh! drat your conscience and blow your duty. You're a spy and abackbiting tell-tale, that's what you are. Did you never kiss a girlyourself?"
"Never until after I was married, when we are specially enjoined by thegreat Apostle----"
"Then I'm sorry for your wife, for she must have had a lot to teachyou. But let's stop slanging, we have our own opinions of each otherand there's an end. Now we have both the same object, you because youare a pious crank and no more human than a dried eel, and I because Iam a man of the world who want to see my d
aughter where she ought tobe, wearing a coronet in the House of Lords. The question is: How isthe job to be done? You don't understand Isobel, but I do. If her backis put up, wild horses won't move her. She'd snap her fingers in myface, and tell me to go to a place that you are better acquainted withthan I am, or will be, and take my money with me. Of course, I couldhold her for a few months, till she is of age perhaps, but after that,No. So it seems that the only chance is your son. Now, what's his weakpoint? Can he be bought off?"
"Certainly not," said Mr. Knight.
"Oh! that's odd in one who, you say, is a fortune-hunter. Well, what isit? Everyone has a weak point, and another girl won't do just now."
"His weakest point is his fondness for that treacherous and abominablesex of which I have just had so painful an example; and in the churchtoo, yes, in my church."
"And a jolly good place to get to in such a rain, for of course theydidn't know that you were hiding under the pews. But I've told you thatcock won't fight at present. What's the next?"
At these accumulated insults Mr. Knight turned perfectly livid withsuppressed rage. But he did suppress it, for he had an object to gainwhich, to his perverted mind, was the most important in the wholeworld--namely, the final separation of his son and Isobel.
"His next bad point," he went on, "is his pride, which is abnormal,although from childhood I have done my best to inculcate humility ofspirit into his heart. He cannot bear any affront, or even neglect. Forinstance, he left me for some years just because he did not considerthat he was received properly on his return from Switzerland; alsobecause he went into a rage, for he has a very evil temper if roused,when I suggested that he wanted to run after your daughter's money."
"Well, it wasn't a very nice thing to say, was it? But I think I seelight. He's proud, is he, and don't like allusions to fortune-hunting.All right; I'll rub his nose in the dirt and make him good. I'm justthe boy for a job of that sort, as perhaps you will agree, my reverendfriend; and if he shows his airs to me, I'll kick him off the premises.Come on! I dare say we shall find them still in the church, where theythink themselves so snug, although the rain has stopped."
So this precious pair started, each of them bent, though for differentreasons, upon as evil a mission as the mind of man can conceive. Forwhat is there more wicked than to wish to bring about the separationand subsequent misery of two young people who, as they guessed wellenough, loved each other body and soul, and thereby to spoil theirlives? Yet, so strange is human nature, that neither of them thoughtthat they were committing any sin. Mr. Knight, now and afterwards,justified himself with the reflection that he was parting his son froma "pernicious" young woman of strong character, who would probably leadhim away from religion as it was understood by him. One also whom helooked upon as the worst of outcasts, who deserved and doubtless wasdestined to inhabit hell, because hastily she had rejected his form offaith, as the young are apt to do, for reasons, however hollow, thatseemed to her sufficient.
He took no account of his bitter, secret jealousy of this girl, who, ashe thought, had estranged his son from him, and prevented him fromcarrying out his cherished plans of making of him a clergyman likehimself, or of his innate physical hatred of women which caused him todesire that Godfrey should remain celibate. These motives, although hewas well aware of them, he set down as naught, being quite sure, inview of the goodness of his aims, that they would be overlooked or evencommended by the Power above Whom he pictured in his mind's eye as afurious old man, animated chiefly by jealousy and a desire to wreakvengeance on and torture the helpless. For it is the lessons of the OldTestament that sink most deeply into the souls of Mr. Knight and hiskind.
Sir John's ends were quite different. He was the very vulgarest ofself-made men, coarse and brutal by nature, a sensualist of the typethat is untouched by imagination; a man who would crush anyone whostood in his path without compunction, just because that person didstand in his path. But he was extremely shrewd--witness the way he sawthrough Mr. Knight--and in his own fashion very able--witness hissuccess in life.
Moreover, since a man of his type has generally some object beyond themere acquiring of money, particularly after it has been acquired, hehad his, to rise high, for he was very ambitious. His naturaldiscernment set all his own failings before him in the clearest light;also their consequences. He knew that he was vulgar and brutal, andthat as a result all persons of real gentility looked down upon him,however much they might seem to cringe before his money and power, yes,though they chanced to be but labouring men.
For instance, his wife had done so, which was one of the reasons why hehated her, as indeed had all her distinguished relatives, after theycame to know him, although he lent them money. He knew that even if hebecame a peer, as he fully expected to do, it would be the same story;outward deference and lip service, but inward dislike and contempt. Inshort, there were limits which he could never hope to pass, andtherefore so far as he was concerned, his ambitious thirst must remainunslaked.
But he had a daughter whom Nature, perhaps because of her mother'sblood, had set in quite a different class. She had his ability, but shewas gentle-born, which he was not, one who could mix with and bewelcomed by the highest in the world, and this without the slightestquestion. If not beautiful, she was very distinguished; she hadpresence and what the French call "the air." Further, she would be oneof the richest women in England. Considered from his point of view,therefore, it was but natural that he should desire her to make abrilliant marriage and found a great family, which he would thus haveoriginated--at any rate, to some extent. Night and day he longed thatthis should come about, and it was the reason why the young LordMounteroy was visiting Hawk's Hall.
Mounteroy had met Isobel at a dinner-party in London the other day andadmired her. He had told an old lady--a kind of society tout--who hadrepeated it to Sir John, that he wished to get married, and that IsobelBlake was the sort of girl he would like to marry. He was a clever man,also ambitious, one who had hopes of some day ruling the country, butto do this he needed behind him great and assured fortune in additionto his ancient but somewhat impoverished rank. In short, she suited hisbook, and he suited that of Sir John. Now, the thing to do was to bringit about that he should also suit Isobel's book. And just at thecritical moment this accursed accident had happened. Oh! it was toomuch.
No wonder that Sir John was filled with righteous wrath and a sterndetermination to "make things hot" for the cause of the "accident" as,led to the attack by the active but dripping Mr. Knight whom hedesignated in his heart as that "little cur of a parson," much as anoverfed and bloated bloodhound might be by some black and viciousmongrel, he tramped heavily towards the church. Indeed they made aqueer contrast, this small, active but fierce-faced man in his sombre,shiny garments and dingy white tie, and the huge, ample-paunchedbaronet with his red, flat face, heavy lips and projecting butintelligent eyes, clothed in a new suit, wearing an enormous blackpearl in his necktie and a diamond ring on his finger; the very idealof Mammon in every detail of his person and of his carefully advertisedopulence.
Isobel, whose humour had its sardonic side, and who was the first tocatch sight of them when they reached the church, Mr. Knight trippingahead, and Sir John hot with the exercise in the close, moist air,lumbering after him with his mouth open, compared them in her mind to afierce little pilot fish conducting an overfed shark to some helplessprey which it had discovered battling with the waters of circumstance;that after all, was only another version of the mongrel and thebloodhound. Also she compared them to other things, even lesscomplimentary.
Yet none of these, perhaps, was really adequate, either to the evilintentions or the repellent appearance of this pair as they advancedupon their wicked mission of jealousy and hate.