The Fortunate Youth Part 35

"Do you remember, sonny, when I left you alone that night and went to the other side of the brickfield? It was to think it out," said Bill.

"To think out my duty as a man."

Paul nodded. He was listening, with death in his heart. The whole fantastic substructure of his life had been suddenly kicked away, and his life was an inchoate ruin. Gone was the glamour of romance in which since the day of the cornelian heart he had had his essential being. Up to an hour ago he had never doubted his mysterious birth. No real mother could have pursued an innocent child with Polly Kegworthy's implacable hatred. His pa.s.sionate repudiation of her had been a cardinal article of his faith. On the other hand, the prince and princess theory he had long ago consigned to the limbo of childish things; but the romance of his birth, the romance of his high destiny, remained a vital part of his spiritual equipment. His looks, his talents, his temperament, his instincts, his dreams had been irrefutable confirmations. His mere honesty, his mere integrity, had been based on this fervent and unshakable creed. And now it had gone.

No more romance. No more glamour. No more Vision Splendid now faded into the light of common and sordid day. Outwardly listening, his gay, mobile face turned to iron, he lived in a molten intensity of thought, his acute brain swiftly coordinating the ironical sc.r.a.ps of history. He was the son of Polly Kegworthy. So far he was unclean; but hitherto her blood had not manifested itself in him. He was the son of this violent and pathetic fanatic, this ex-convict; he had his eyes, his refined face; perhaps he inherited from him the artistic temperament--he recalled grimly the daubs on the man's walls, and his purblind gropings toward artistic self-expression; and all this--the Southern handsomeness, and Southern love of colour, had come from his Sicilian grandmother, the nameless drab, with bright yellow handkerchief over swarthy brows, turning the handle of a barrel organ in the London streets. Instinct had been right in its promptings to a.s.sume an Italian name; but the irony of it was of the quality that makes for humour in h.e.l.l. And his very Christian name--Paul--the exotic name which Polly Kegworthy would not have given to a brat of hers--was but a natural one for a Silas to give his son, a Silas born of generations of evangelical peasants. His eyes rested on the photograph of his Princess. She, first of all, was gone with the Vision. An adventurer he had possibly been; but an adventurer of romance, carried high by his splendid faith, and regarding his marriage with the Princess but as a crowning of his romantic destiny. But now he beheld himself only as a base-born impostor. His Princess was gone from his life. Death was in his heart.

He saw his familiar, luxurious room as in a dream, and Jane, anxious-eyed, looking into the fire, and Barney Bill a little way off, clutching his hard felt hat against his body; but his eyes were fixed on the strange, many-pa.s.sioned, unbalanced man who claimed to be--nay, who was--his father.

"When I first met you that night my heart went out to you," he was saying. "It overflowed in thankfulness to G.o.d that He had delivered you out of the power of the Dog, and in His inscrutable mercy had condoned that part of my sin as a father and had set you in high places."

With the fringe of his brain Paul recognized, for the first time, how he brought into ordinary talk the habits of speech acquired in addressing a Free Zionist congregation.

"It was only the self-restraint," Silas continued, "taught me by bitter years of agony and a message from G.o.d that it was part of my punishment not to acknowledge you as my son--"

"And what I told you, and what Jane told you about him," said Barney Bill. "Remember that, Silas."

"I remember it--it was these influences that kept me silent. But we were drawn together, Paul." He bent forward in his chair. "You liked me. In spite of all our differences of caste and creed--you liked me."

"Yes, I was drawn to you," said Paul, and a strange, unknown note in his voice caused Jane to glance at him swiftly. "You seemed to be a man of many sorrows and deep enthusiasms--and I admit I was in close sympathy with you." He paused, not moving from his rigid att.i.tude, and then went on: "What you have told me of your sufferings--and I know, with awful knowledge, the woman who was my mother--has made me sympathize with you all the more. But to express that sympathy in any way you must give me time. I said you had played h.e.l.l with my life.

It's true. One of these days I may be able to explain. Not now. There's no time. We're caught up in the wheels of an inexorable political machine. I address my party in the const.i.tuency to-night." It was a cold intelligence that spoke, and once more Jane flashed a half-frightened glance at him. "What I shall say to them, in view of all this, I don't quite know. I must have half an hour to think."

"I know I oughtn't to interfere, Paul," said Jane, "but you mustn't blame Mr. Finn too much. Although he differs from you in politics and so on, he loves you and is proud of you--as we all are--and looks forward to your great career--I know it only too well. And now he has this deep conviction that he has a call from on High to ruin your career at the very beginning. Do understand, Paul, that he feels himself in a very terrible position."

"I do," said Mr. Finn. "G.o.d knows that if it weren't for His command, I should myself withdraw."

"I appreciate your position, perfectly," replied Paul, "but that doesn't relieve me of my responsibilities."

Silas Finn rose and locked the fingers of both hands together and stood before Paul, with appealing eyes. "My son, after what I have said, you are not going to stand against me?"

Paul rose too. A sudden craze of pa.s.sion swept him. "My country has been my country for thirty years. You have been my father for five minutes. I stand by my country."

Silas Finn turned away and waved a haphazard hand. "And I must stand by my G.o.d."

"Very well. That brings us to our original argument. 'Political foes.

Private friends.'"

Silas turned again and looked into the young man's eyes. "But father and son, Paul."

"All the more honourable. There'll be no mud-throwing. The cleanest election of the century."

The elder man again covered his face with both hands, and his black and white streaked hair fell over his fingers and the great diamond in his ring flashed oddly, and he rocked his head for a while to and fro.

"I had a call," he wailed. "I had a call. I had a call from G.o.d. It was clear. It was absolute. But you don't understand these things. His will must prevail. It was terrible to think of crushing your career--my only son's career. I brought these two friends to help me persuade you not to oppose me. I did my best, Paul. I promised them not to resort to the last argument. But flesh is weak. For the first time since--you know--the knife--your mother--I lost self-control. I shall have to answer for it to my G.o.d--" He stretched out his arms and looked haggardly at Paul. "But it is G.o.d's will. It is G.o.d's will that I should voice His message to the Empire. Paul, Paul, my beloved son--you cannot flout Almighty G.o.d."

"Your G.o.d doesn't happen to be my G.o.d," said Paul, once more suspicious--and now hideously so--of religious mania. "And possibly the real G.o.d is somebody else's G.o.d altogether. Anyway, England's the only G.o.d I've got left, and I'm going to fight for her."

The door opened and Wilton, the man-servant, appeared. He looked round.

"I beg your pardon, sir."

Paul crossed the room. "What is it?"

"Her Highness, sir," he said in his well-trained, low voice, "and the Colonel and Miss Winwood. I told them you were engaged. But they've been waiting for over half-an-hour, sir."

Paul drew himself up. "Why did you not tell me before? Her Highness is not to be kept waiting. Present my respectful compliments to Her Highness, and ask her and Colonel and Miss Winwood to have the kindness to come upstairs."

"We had better go," cried Jane in sudden fear.

"No," said he. "I want you all to stay."

CHAPTER XVIII

IN the tense silence of the few moments of waiting Paul pa.s.sed from the boy to whom the earth had been a fairyland to the man grappling with great realities. In those few moments he lived through his past life and faced an adumbration of the future.

The door was thrown open and the Princess appeared, smiling, happy, a black ostrich feather in her hat and a sable stole hanging loose from her shoulders; a great and radiant lady. Behind her came the Colonel and Ursula Winwood. Paul bent over the Princess's, outstretched hand.

"A thousand pardons for keeping you waiting. I did not know you had come. I was engaged with my friends. May I have the honour of presenting them? Princess, this is Mr. Silas Finn, the managing director of Fish Palaces Limited. These are two very dear friends, Miss Seddon--Mr. Simmons. Miss Winwood--Colonel Winwood, may I?"

He waved an introductory hand. The Princess: bowed; then, struck by their unsmiling faces and by Paul's strange manner, turned to him quickly.

"'Qu'est ce qu'il y a?"

"Je vais vous le dire."

He pushed a chair. She sat down. Ursula Winwood sat in Paul's writing chair. The others remained standing.

"Mr. Finn called to inform me that he has been adopted as the Liberal candidate for Hickney Heath."' "My felicitations," said the Princess.

Silas bowed to her gravely and addressed Colonel Winwood.

"We have been, sir--Mr. Savelli and I--for some time on terms of personal friendship in the const.i.tuency."

"I see, I see," replied the Colonel, though he was somewhat puzzled.

"Very polite and friendly, I'm sure."

"Mr. Finn also urges me to withdraw my candidature," said Paul.

The Princess gave a little incredulous laugh. Ursula Winwood rose and, with a quick protective step, drew nearer Paul. Colonel Winwood frowned.

"Withdraw? In Heaven's name why?"

Silas Finn tugged at his black-and-white-streaked beard and looked at his son.

"Need we go into it again? There are religious reasons, which perhaps, Madam"--Silas addressed the Princess--"you might misunderstand. Mr.

Savelli possibly thinks I am a fanatic. I can't help it. I have warned him. That is enough. Good-bye, Mr. Savelli."

He held out his hand; but Paul did not take it. "You forget, Mr. Finn, that I asked you to stay." He clutched the sides of his jacket till his knuckles grew white, and he set his teeth. "Mr. Finn has another reason for wishing me not to oppose him--"

"That reason you need never give," cried Silas in a loud voice, and starting forward. "You know that I make no claims whatsoever."