Hetty Wesley Part 31

"Come away, Jack!" Hetty besought him in a whisper: but she knew that he would not.

"Surely," he said, "after so gross an offence you will lose no more time in begging my sister's pardon?"

"Look you now, master parson," growled the offender, "you are thin in the legs, but I am not too drunk to shoot snipe." With his gun he menaced John, who did not flinch.

But here d.i.c.k Ellison interposed. "Don't be a fool, Congdon! Put up your gun and say you're sorry, like a gentleman. Damme"--d.i.c.k in his cups was notoriously quarrelsome and capricious as to the grounds of quarrel--"she's my sister, too, for that matter. And Jack's my brother: and begad, he has the right of it. He's a pragmatical fellow, but as plucky as ginger, and I love him for it. Fight him, you'll have to fight me--understand? So up and say you're sorry, like a man."

"Oh, if you're going to take that line, I'm willing enough."

Mr. Congdon shuffled out an apology.

"_That's_ right," d.i.c.k Ellison announced. "Now shake hands on it, like good fellows. Jack's as good a man as any of us for all his long coat."

"Excuse me," John interrupted coldly, "I have no wish to shake hands with any of you. I accept for my sister Mr. Congdon's a.s.surance that he is ashamed of himself, and now you are at liberty to go your way."

"At liberty!" grumbled one: but, to Hetty's surprise, they went.

Jack might not understand women: he could master men. For her part she thought he might have shaken hands and parted in good-fellowship.

She listened to the sportsmen's unsteady retreat. At a little distance they broke into defiant laughter, but discomfiture was in the sound.

"Come," said John. She took his arm and they walked on together towards Wroote.

For a while neither spoke. Hetty was thinking of a story once told her by her mother: how that once the Rector, then a young man, had been sitting in Smith's Coffee House in the City and discussing the _Athenian Gazette_ with his fellow-contributors, when an officer of the Guards, in a box at the far end of the room, kept interrupting them with the foulest swearing. Mr. Wesley called to the waiter to bring a gla.s.s of water. It was brought. "Carry this," he said aloud, "to that gentleman in the red coat, and desire him to rinse his mouth after his oaths." The officer rose up in a fury, with hand on sword, but the gentlemen in his box pulled him down. "Nay, colonel, you gave the first offence. You know it is an affront to swear before a clergyman." The officer was restrained. Mr. Wesley resumed his talk. And her mother went on to tell that, years after, when the Rector was in London attending Convocation, a gentleman stopped him one day as he crossed St. James's Park. "Do you know me, Mr. Wesley?" "Sir, I have not that pleasure." "Will you know me, then, if I remind you that once, in Smith's Coffee House, you taught me a lesson? Since that time, sir, I thank G.o.d I have feared an oath and everything that is offensive to the Divine Majesty. I rejoiced, just now, to catch sight of you, and could not refrain from expressing my grat.i.tude."

And John inherited this gift of mastery. He could not understand women, nor could she ever understand him: but she felt that the arm she held was one of steel. To what end she and her sisters and her mother had been sacrificed she could not yet divine: but the encounter by the bridge had reawakened the Wesley pride in her, and she walked acquiescent in a fate beyond her ken. She knew, too, that he had dismissed the squabble from his mind and was thinking of her confession and her soul's danger. But here she would not help him.

"You have heard," she asked, "that we are leaving Lincoln?"

This was news to him.

"Yes; my husband thinks of opening a business in London: but first he must sell the shop and effects and pension off his father into lodgings at Louth. That is the old man's native home, and he wishes to end his days there. He is loth to leave the business; but truly he has brought it low, and we must move if William is to make his fortune."

"Moving to London will be a risk, and a heavy expense."

"Uncle Matthew is helping us, and it is settled that we move in the autumn. We go into lodgings at first, and shall live in the humblest way while we look about us for a good workshop and premises."

"Do you and your husband's father agree?"

"I at least try to please him. You would not call him a pleasant old man: and of course he charges this new adventure down to my influence, whereas it is entirely William's notion. I have had nothing to do with it beyond enlisting Uncle Matthew's help."

John glanced at her as though to read her face in the darkness.

"Was that also William's notion?" he asked.

But here again he betrayed his ignorance. True woman, though she may have ceased to love her husband, or may never have loved him, will cover his weakness. "We have our ambitions, Jack, although to you they seem petty enough. You must make William's acquaintance.

He has a great opinion of you. I believe, indeed, he thinks more of you than of me. And if he wishes to leave Lincoln for London, it is partly for my sake, that I may be happier in a great city where my fault is not known."

"If, as it seems, he thinks of your earthly comfort but neglects your soul's health, I shall not easily be friends with him."

By this time they were close to the garden gate.

"Is that you, Jack?" Charles's voice hailed over the dark hedge of privet.

The pair came to a halt. Hetty's eyes were fastened imploringly on her brother. He did not see them. If he had, it would have made no difference. He pitied her, but in his belief her repentance was not thorough: he had no right to invite her past the gate.

"Good-bye," he whispered.

She understood. With a sob she bent her face and kissed him and was gone like a ghost back into the darkness.

Charles met him at the gate. "Hallo," said he, "surely I heard voices? With whom were you talking?"

"With Hetty."

"Hetty?" Charles let out a whistle. "But it is about her I wanted to speak, here, before you go indoors. I say--where is she? Cannot we call her back?"

"No: we have no right. To some extent I have changed my mind about her: or rather, she has forced me to change it. Her soul is hardened."

"By whose fault?"

"No matter by whose fault: she must learn her responsibility to G.o.d.

Father has been talking with you, I suppose."

"Yes: he is bitterly wroth--the more bitterly, I believe, because he loves you better than any of us. He says you have him at open defiance. 'Every day,' he cried out on me, 'you hear how he contradicts me, and takes your sister's part before my face. And now comes this sermon! He rebukes me in the face of my parish.'

Mind you, I am not taking his part: if you stand firm, so will I.

But I wanted to tell you this, that you may know how to meet him."

For a while the brothers paced the dark walls in silence. Under the falling dew the scent of honeysuckle lay heavy in the garden.

Years later, in his country rides, a whiff from the hedgerow would arrest Charles as he pondered a hymn to the beat of his horse's hoofs, and would carry him back to this hour. John's senses were less acute, and all his thoughts for the moment turned inward.

"I have done wrong," he announced at length and walked hastily towards the house.

In the hall he met his father coming out. "Sir," he said, "I have behaved undutifully. I have neglected you and set myself to contradict you. I was seeking you to beg your forgiveness."

To his amazement the Rector put a hand on either shoulder, stooped and kissed him.

"It was a heavy sorrow to me, Jack. Now I see that you are good at bottom; and to-morrow, if you wish, you shall write for me.

Nay, come into the study now, and see the work that is ready for you."

In the light of the study lamp John saw that his father's eyes were wet.

CHAPTER XVI.

Late in September, having been chosen to preach on St. Michael's Day in St. Michael's Church the sermon annually delivered by a Fellow of Lincoln, John travelled up to Oxford, whither Charles followed him a week or two later, to take up his residence in Christ Church, and be matriculated on the first day of the October term.

John had deferred his journey to the last moment, in order to stand G.o.dfather to Nancy's healthy firstborn. John Lambert--honest man and proud father--had honoured the event with a dinner, and very nearly wrecked his own domestic peace by sending out the invitations in his own hand and including Mr. and Mrs. Wright. For weeks after, Nancy shuddered to think what might have happened if Hetty and her father had come face to face at the ceremony or the feast. By good luck--or rather by using her common sense and divining the mistake--Hetty refused. Her husband, however, insisted on attending, and she let him go. With _his_ presence the Rector could not decently quarrel.

"But look here," said he, "I am getting tired of the line the old man takes. It wasn't in our bond: he waited to spring it on me after the wedding. If I can overlook things, he should be able to, and I've a mind to tell him so." He urged her to come. But Hetty pleaded that she could not; it was now past the middle of September, and her baby would be born early in the new year. "Well, well," he grumbled, "but 'tis hard to have married a lady, and a beauty to boot, and never a chance to show her." The speech was gracious after his fashion, as well as honest: but she shivered inwardly. For as time wore on, she perceived this desire growing in him, to take her abroad and display her with pride. Failing this, he had once or twice brought his own cronies home, to sit and smoke with him while he watched their uneasy admiration and enjoyed the tribute. She blamed herself that she had not been more genial on those occasions; but in truth she dreaded them horribly. By sheer force of will she had managed hitherto, and with fair success, to view her husband as a good honest man, and overlook his defects of breeding. In her happiest moods she almost believed in the colours with which (poor soul, how eagerly!) she decked him. But she could not extend the illusion to his friends.

"You shall show _him_ off," she pleaded, meaning the unborn babe.

"We will show him off together." But her face was white.