Love, the Pilgrim

Front matter

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Chapter I. Ave Maria

! The church-clocks in Westcliff were striking five one Christmas evening. These watchmen of day and night sounded their message to the busy world below from out of a thick darkness of sea-fog and night, that hid not only spires and towers, but also houses, footpaths, and even passers-by, from human sight. It was as if Egypt's three days' plague had come back on earth. No star of Bethlehem, or any other candle of heaven, could be seen this night. The street-lamps showed only a faint, ghostly glimmer, like farthing rushlights. The smoke of the town, pressed down by the mist, filled the nostrils and lungs of any persons abroad with a choking atmosphere. It was as dismal a Christmas as could be remembered. But inside the Roman Catholic Church of Westcliff was a very different scene. Vespers had begun, and the high altar was a blaze of lights, occasionally veiled by incense fumes.

From screened galleries came the chanting of sweet voices, in high relief against the grandly solemn background of sound of the organ. The whole effect of the Christmas service was the more impressive and subduing to the senses by contrast with the outside gloom. So thought at least one spectator there — a man who watched with all the keen interest of one somewhat a stranger to the scene, to whom custom had staled none of its sights and sounds. ' I like the beautiful expressions they use towards the Virgin Mary,' he said to himself. ' House of gold ! Mystical Rose ! Star of the morning ! . . . Star of the sea !' Then he chuckled in himself with quiet humour, remembering the faint horror of the evangelistic and old-fashioned relatives with whom he was staying on hearing whither he had been bound this evening. ' Not to the club ? — even that would have been better.

People generally used to think it right to keep their Christmas Day together.' So it had been hinted to him, neither austerely nor sourly, yet with a sort of regretfully righteous shaking of the head over the falling-off of good old customs 'in these days.' He had, however, mutely made it felt without a word of argument — was it by the gently weary expression of face with which he had looked momentarily out of the window, stroking his moustache (a rarely-seen sight in that clean-shaven or feminine household), or by the sigh changed to a smothered yawn ? — that a man who has been roaming the world must not be too much expected to conform in these little matters. Then he had answered, with sweet reasonableness, that he would be back for dinner and the evening. (The roast-beef, plum pudding, and all that now drearily, no longer cheerily, reminded him that he and these good people were but the last odd members of a once happy family circle.)

So, without more opposition, Christopher Kenyon had gone on his way. Most men would have done the same. But it was slightly peculiar in him that he never so much seemed to take his way, or perhaps cared to have it, as that he drifted thereunto. He would give in to others' small foibles and tiresome habits with most praiseworthy kindness and a humorous resignation, although of all things in life he dreaded — hated — could hardly endure being bored! But in larger affairs all the passionate vehemence of people who were altogether set on influencing him — and that as often for his own good as theirs — and knew only his good-humour and almost womanish tenderness in some ways, was absolutely vain. It was not, he used to aver, that they could not stir him AVE MARIA! 3 because his mind was a rock, but because it was as a fluid.

Their arguments seemed never able to take a grip on his intelligence, nor the latter to be arrested long by them. Then such persons were angry, and said his heart beneath the pleasant surface was hard as the hardest kernel from selfishness. He knew their opinion, and was grieved ; but seemed unable to explain himself further. He knew they meant the best towards him. If they would only believe he told them the truth about himself; for, indeed, no cleverest logic nor array of facts could hold him from drifting towards what vaguely seemed to be his fate, not his happiness. Nobody did believe him. So clever a man, such a brain, so well informed — nonsense! Few would have entered into his feelings of disgusted effort that morning, as of one told it was a duty to eat, and then who tried duly to receive water-gruel administered with a leaden spoon.

It was during a long evangelistic sermon he had attended in kindness towards his old relations ; now what a refreshment and consolation to him was the present service. And yet he was quite Protestant in opinion — -only refined and sensual in tastes. Neither would they have understood the veritable pain that Christmas days now gave him in heart. The dreary efforts to be jolly: the many 'happy returns of the day ' — which only made him muse with melancholy that life was dismal enough, so why need he want much more of it ? He was so handsome ; so agreeable ; so gentle ! Who would have believed his so-called selfish heart ached at the terrible efforts to be ' gay ' of most victims of habit on this anniversary ? Relatives pretending to join hands in a circle where he remembered only too well the gaps.

His two sisters, now passed from his ken, the ' dear dead women ' who had best understood him of all living beings ; so pretty and graceful, too, and he liked pretty women even as such only (though they had been far more) with a degree of weakness beyond that of most men. ' I am told this world is governed for the best in these matters,' he now sighed to himself. 'I can't believe it is — • i — can only vaguely try to hope it may be. But, in truth, it all seems to me to be topsy-turvydom. For instance, I needed my sisters. I am a worse man by far since my brother died who was my stronger, better self, and yet I am told to believe (which is to feel) it is all for our ultimate good. Heigh-ho !' Very irreligious, some may say. After all, this so-called weak man only said out to himself what others felt ; which, if crystallizing into thought, they virtually gulped down again, and still felt and felt.

It is far better to face such problems and fight them, and be beaten maybe to the ground, and rise a truer Christian or an honest unbeliever. ' But I don't fight them. I only look them round and round curiously,' thought Kit Kenyon, sighing to himself. No pride in him. Yet the man was called conceited, and vain of his looks and qualities, by many other men. ' Ave Maria ... . !' Kenyon felt desolate and lonely in the world this Christmas evening. A man feels so more on coming back to England after long absence, and having no one left of the best-beloved, familiar faces to welcome him. There were no smiles for himself alone ; no ears always ready to hear what he had to say. He was looking round vaguely at the stranger faces, and his eyes had wandered to the Christmas crib at the right side of the entrance near where he sat.

There his gaze was arrested. A young girl was kneeling near the door, with such a happy, dreaming expression on her face that it was no wonder if, having seen it once, one should try to steal a second glance at her. Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes raised to the representation before her, but were seeing far beyond it, away, away into happy, vague regions of fancy. Before her was the crib, railed in to prevent the faithful approaching too near in adoration. It was the usual scene of the stable — the Virgin holding the Babe on her knees ; the three magi adoring, and a horned head or two of cows at either side. Above was a dark-blue transparency of night-sky ; a twinkling star • and a tiny angel hovering from a wire. It was pretty but childish. AVE MARIA ! 5 Yet, seeing that girlish face, Kenyon felt half ashamed of his own amused late cynicism when wondering how the crib would look a month hence — thrust into a corner ; rolled up anyhow ; the reverse of the canvas seen ; and the holy stable housing church-mice, spiders, and dust till next year.

But to young Hester kneeling there, the pictured scenery had so appealed to her imagination that she was wrapped in bliss ful worship, not of the actual objects before her, but of all they suggested. She was away in Palestine, seeing the shepherds out on the hills in a starry night, all remembrance of Westcliff and the fog forgotten. The music in her ears was from the heavenly spheres at that moment ; the chanting was that of angels' voices, while their forms, lo there ! were floating down from the dark-blue sky — 'as they came, we know they came !' So her fancy had, as it were, appealed to her mind, which had confirmed her flight of thought. And now she was in the stable among the gentle beasts, and realized before her eyes no mimic Babe or Virgin Mother of wood or canvas, but the most beautiful thought that ever was whispered to mind of man.

The thought of the God-child come down to earth ; living, softly breathing on a mother's lap ; the glorious life just beginning, like an opening flower. ' Ave Maria ....!' Highly-strung persons are conscious sometimes by a peculiar, uneasy feeling of when they are looked at long and earnestly. Hester felt constrained to look round, she knew not why, and met a pair of dark eyes watching her from a seat close by. As if roused from a trance, she gazed back dreamily for a second or so ; then, almost immediately recovering herself, returned to her devotions. She had seen a very handsome man's face, a bronzed face, as of one come of late from hot, tropical lands, and set in this face were those dark, glowing eyes that had met hers with momentary intentness ; for it had been, indeed, two moments — no more.

That was all she had seen. Hester sought to watch the crib once more, and to fancy herself back into the former beatitude befitting this Christmas night ; but the subtle spell was dissolved. So she tried to pray with bent head. She tried most devoutly, and succeeded at first ; but — but — — Now a splendidly-robed procession is passing down the aisle. The bishop in gold vestments, with his chaplain gorgeously arrayed, and all the other priests, are coming down to ' visit the infant Jesus ' in His crib. Nearer and nearer. Surely, young Hester thinks, she might look just once more round. Stolenwise. The little acolytes swung their thuribles, a cloud of incense filled the space around. And through that cloud for one brief instant Hester once more met the dark eyes again watching her. Then the white incense-fumes intervened ; she buried her shamed face in her hands and saw the unknown no more.

Are Maria . . . . I Such a terrible night as it was, when all the worshippers streamed out. Yet Hester stopped short at the nearest corner to give a penny to a poor beggar-woman who stood under a lamp, the light shining on her wretchedly damp forlornness. ' Oh, miss ! it is such a bad night to stop. Best hurry back to your aunt,' respectfully murmured the servant-maid with her. A few minutes later, out came Christopher Kenyon. No thought had he of stopping for the beggar. He shook his head, raising his collar to his ears, and hardening his heart, hurried on. The woman had not spoken, but given a mute, wistful look. Down two streets, half-way across a square he hurried ; then, by fits and starts, his steps slackened. Why had that woman looked at him so ? It was of no use trying — he could not feel happy to-night.

It was too bad ! Yes ; her face would haunt him— plague upon it, such an awful night to go back that long way ! Yes ; Christopher Kenyon was trudging now back along the square and the two streets, shivering like an Eastern with cold, and striving to pierce the fog and darkness with his eyes. The beggar would be gone, of course ! Just like his luck, and he must feel remorseful for many an evening, remembering the mute misery of her face. No ! there she was ! AVE MARIA ! 7 He crossed the street rather miserably, trying to pick his steps, although up to the ankles in mud, and gave the woman abruptly half a crown. The mud and the extra money seemed to himself a just punishment for his late hard-heartedness. The beggar, an Irishwoman, stood amazed a second, recognising him again. Then she broke out in voluble blessings. ' Might the blessed Mary and all the holy saints be good to him many and many a long day, for the generous heart he had shown to her this night !' ' It is such a gruesome farce trying to be happy one's self at Christmas once childhood has fled.

One ought only to try to make others happy, I believe ; there might be some success there,' thought Kenyon, as he once more turned down the two streets already passed and repassed, pressing his hat lower down and pulling his coat higher up than ever. He was not sorry to have lightened his purse and his con science, but wished he had done so sooner. How dreary sea-fogs were ! He would leave Westcliff next week for some where else — anywhere.

Chapter II

'CANST THOU SPEAK GREEK?' Easter had come, an early one that year. And with Easter, and longer days and Lent-lilies blowing shyly in bleak hedge rows, came also an outburst of the mild festivities at Westcliff after the still season and penitential appearances of Lent. Westcliff lay, as its name denoted, on the western coast. It was a pretty town, sought by invalids and old Indians for its mild climate ; but it was not a large town, and at times could be dull — very dull. So thought mere sojourners in its walls, at least — of whom was the girl already seen at Christmas vespers. But just at present the inhabitants all met each other once a day at least, and stopped to say, 'Oh, are you going to Mrs. Here's or Lady There's this week? Westcliff is really quite gay.' At one of these gaieties, a ' small and early ' dance, beginning at eight and ending at midnight, but which really was as late as any other, and numbered all the ' best ' people in the town, Hester Armytage was standing against the wall. 1 Dear child, it quite vexes me, I declare, to see you standing there ; you should be dancing ! — yes, whirling round with the rest and among the best !' whispered a large, pleasant-looking matron to her with hearty, kindly emphasis. 'Never mind, Aunt Bessie.

How can you or I expect it? We are strangers in the land, and look round now; there are, at least, twenty forlorn maidens to every dozen of men.' There was certainly a treble row of girls, mostly pretty, young, and pleasant, standing before Hester partnerless. They were all striving by various little wiles to move in front of their neighbours, to be seen, to be chosen by their swains. Hester was behind them all, perfectly aware of the little stratagems around her, not blaming these (she was too much a woman for that), but simply indifferent to the prizes coveted, even superbly disdainful of them in her heart. Her aunt, Mrs. Armytage, disdained no one. She had too warm a sympathy for all of human-kind, felt with their joys and troubles. She liked everyone around her — more or less. And if she truly disliked or despised anybody, which was rare, she held her peace about them simply, or might with close observation be seen betaking herself away from their neighbourhood with wonderful nimbleness and dexterous quietness in one of her size.

It really grieved her kind heart now to see her charge ?iot enjoying herself, so she fancied. This in spite of Hester's assurances that she did not care ; that she was well enough pleased. ' It all comes of having only an old vagrant of an aunt to look after your interests !' she sighed, with a merry twinkle in her eye. ' You see, I've been in Westcliff such a short time, and been out so little since then. But, if we were in India, now, instead of here, ah P Hester smiled back and held her head up, conscious of being the ' tallest deer in all the herd ' around. She could f 9 overlook almost all around her, and had a well-bred head beautifully placed on a very white neck. Her shoulders, slightly drooping, were unusually broad, her waist wonderfully, naturally slender. Her whole figure and appearance one of the country-bred young Westcliff beaux had described as ' game looking.' Why was she not more sought out, then?

Simply because, though several of the youths watched her with admiring eyes, they were perpetually reminded by conscience, and their mothers and sisters, of the environing, really native Westcliff girls whose parents had dined them, given afternoon teas, garden-parties, and so forth. Duty required that so many waltzes should pay back these little civilities. Hester knew all this perfectly well, being sensible. A bolder minded damsel, with such beauty, might have spread havoc among the Westcliff proprieties, and caused a rebellion against these petty by-laws. Hester hardly gave such a poor victory a thought. Like Gallio, she cared for none of these things. The girl came from a beautiful and most happy nest of a home, up by the lakes of the north country. There she had been born and bred. Twice or three times she had sipped brief draughts of London pleasures, in visits delightful to remember afterwards in the lovely solitudes she inhabited.

Short as these visits had been, she was vaguely looked on in Westcliff as a London young lady, and therefore conceited, no doubt, and proud. Poor Hester gave herself no airs : she, a very child of Nature ! Only she ardently loved what was pleasure to her, and here felt disappointed. The good youths who led her out to dance all asked her how long she had been in Westcliff; and how she liked it; and would she stay some time ? If she began a few topics of more general interest than the weather or the local cricket, they looked alarmed, and murmured that Westcliff did not ' go in ' for these sort of clever subjects. 'Aunt Bessie, it is terrible for a girl to be condemned as " clever " in this sort of town, and it is especially hard when one feels so innocent of the guilt,' murmured the girl, in an amused, half-veiled voice. ' It is, dear.

It's a positive stigma in Westcliff; and, though you may have latent possibilities that way, I never found you offensively learned. I really have thought at times you were quite a pleasant goose — just a slight improvement on an old goose like me.' Mrs. Armytage's warmth of manner and drollery of quiet humour made her a most pleasant duenna ; perhaps too sympathetic to be worldly-wise. She felt with Hester now, like any girl-friend, though she had only lately seen her niece again after her own long expatriation in India. She knew Hester's feet were dancing secretly to the music, that the girl's eyes were watching the dancers with a feeling, ' How I could enjoy myself, if ' Just so had Bessie felt, not so many years ago. And, eying her charge lovingly, the kind soul knew also there were very few among the Westcliff men there whom Hester ' cared two straws to dance with ; and, I declare, I agree with the child,' thought the chaperon to herself. ' It is hard at her age, and with her face, to be a wall-flower — dear, dear, we'll hope it's good for her I' This was Mrs. Armytage's way, with a silent laugh, of trusting that some good might be deduced from disagreeable circumstances.

She was practically a most religious woman, always ' visiting the fatherless and the widow in their affliction ' with cheering consolation ; but she seldom talked about religion. Although quite ready to grant that many young girls (and awkward youths, too) are apt to think themselves of too much importance in the world, so that her temporary neglect was probably beneficial to Hester — who was a petted orphan, adored in her northern home by her old grandparents — nevertheless, resisting the blandishments of a line of dowagers smiling and nodding to her, for she was a general favourite, Mrs. Armytage's small merry eyes were roving round the room, trying to relieve the young girl from her (perhaps) salutary chastisement. Hester herself has not yet been described in appearance. The girl had an oval face, with a white low brow, broad and full over the eyes.

It was a peculiarly imaginative face, though she had shown no especial powers of intellect in learning nor genius in painting, music, or so forth. At times she had a strange look of calm resolution — strange, only because of the great gentleness of her eyes and whole expression, which showed hers would be a resistance of endurance, not op position. Hester's golden-brown hair was very silky, slightly waved, and flecked with chestnut lights. She wore it slightly brushed back and loosely coiled, suggesting at times the thought how lovely it would look if it would but fall down upon her shoulders. But Hester's eyes were her chief beauty. They were only bluish-gray eyes, slightly touched with orange spots on close inspection, but large, almond-shaped, and so softly, deeply liquid. Her eyelashes and eyebrows were far darker than her hair, and the eyebrows, which were strongly pencilled and long, drooped a little on the temples as if with a premonition of sadness.

A long nose, with a slight rise, and delicate nostrils. A mouth, of which the short upper lip would quiver and move (as indeed did her eyebrows) with every shade of passing emotion ; while the lower one was more full and warmly rosy, as if 'a bee had newly stung it.' Hester's exquisitely clear complexion was rather pale. But then — in a moment — at the least gladness, surprise, or slight annoyance, it would flush with a quick, vivid, yet as easily fading colour. The blue veins on her temples were very ap parent. A seer of such signs, or prophetess, might easily have traced her supposed future fate there. And at moments two veins could be seen, joining like a V, in the middle of her white forehead. Was it a mark she was fated to remain vowed to virginity all her days, or to be a victim ? Aunt Bessie had noticed the sign, and they had laughingly disputed over it.

The former now remarked, with an apologetic sigh : ' There is good Mrs. Thompson nodding at me so vigorously, like a Chinese mandarin, I almost fear she will do her head an injury. And Mrs. Brown-Johnson is patting the chair beside herself. Oh dear ! If you don't much mind being left alone, my child, I must go to them a moment. I'll tear myself away very soon.' So Hester stood alone in the crowd of girls, few of whom she knew. It was dull, and she looked with a weary, slightly disdainful gaze around. A pair of dark eyes met her glance. For a moment, with a little thrill that was almost a visible start, Hester seemed to notice only those eyes, but to recognise, nevertheless, that the handsome face they lit was that of the stranger she had seen for a moment at Christmas vespers. Immediately after wards he had turned away.

Still Hester felt convinced that, for the second time, he had been watching her unperceived, as he imagined. ' Aunt Bessie !' she eagerly whispered, when presently that lady came back to her post, ' I have seen that handsome man again — the one, you know, I saw once here, at Christmas vespers, and never again ! You remember .... There ! there he is to your right. Don't pretend to be looking ; take care ! Oh, he has seen you !' ' My goodness ! I declare it is Christopher Kenyon.' With both hands eagerly ready, and beaming eyes, Mrs. Armytage seemed prepared to burst, as might a large cushion propelled from a cannon, through the crowd towards the stranger. Meanwhile, he, with as eager a gleam of friendship in his face, Was dexterously and rapidly making his way to wards her. 'My dear Kit! Is it really yourself?' cried Bessie Army tage, who was an Irishwoman by birth, as her question be trayed, and perhaps also the genial warmth and slightly rolling r's of her accent. ' Really myself !

There are doubtless several other persons in the world whom I should not object to being instead : but as it is, this is I,' he slowly answered, smiling ; and feeling like one who wants to enjoy a sudden unexpected pleasure, tasting its relish at some length, and not to gulp it down all in a sudden. But that was not Mrs. Armytage's plan. She almost be wildered him with a flood of rapid questions. He had only time to insert monosyllables of ' yes ' or ' no,' till, pausing for breath, she ended in a reproachful voice : 'And so, I suppose, you are spending your leave at Cleeve Court with your old uncle. How could you never let me know you were here, all this time?' ' I have only come down this very afternoon. I was merely here before for three days at Christmas,' uttered the accused, in emphatic self-exculpation. ' Spare me !

If I had known you were here, it would have been indeed an oasis in the desert, and I might not have been so hasty to shake off the mud of Westcliff from my boots.' ' Tut, tut ! you always had a flattering tongue. Don't waste your compliments on an old woman like me. Here, let me introduce you instead to my niece. Hester, my child, this is Captain Kenyon, one of my oldest friends in India.' ' What a Methuselah you make me out !' returned her friend, in an amused murmur. Then, as Captain Kenyon fully recognised, looking at Hester, that this was the girl he had twice seen before, wondering who she might be, he took her hand. Neither could ever afterwards rightly explain to themselves how it was, but their first mutual greeting was a strange one. Hester had silently given him her hand, and — there they stood !