The Gods Arrive

Front matter

The Gods Arrive popular Sis ©billing 1Kox>eI$ Edward Bellamy Equality Hall Caine The Christian The Manxman The Scapegoat The Bondman Richard Harding Davis Soldiers of Fortune Harold Frederic Illumination Sarah Grand The Heavenly Twins Ideala Our Manifold Nature M. Hamilton McLeod of the Camerons A Self-Denying Ordinance Robert Hichens Flames The Folly of Eustace An Imaginative Man Henry James What Maisie Knew The Other House The Spoils of Poynton Embarrassments Terminations Annie E. Holdsworth The Years that the Locust hath Eaten W. E. Norris Marietta's Marriage The Dancer in Yellow A Victim of Good Luck The Countess Radna Flora Annie Steel Other Subjects On the Face of the Waters The Potter's Thumb From the Five Rivers Robert Louis Stevenson St. Ives The Ebb Tide I. Zangwill The Master The King of Schnorrers Children of the Ghetto The Premier and the Painter LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN 21 Bedford Street, W.C. And all Booksellers and Bookstalls Xhe Gods Arrive By Annie E. Holdsworth Author of " Joanna Traill, Spinster ; " " The Years that the Locust hath Eaten," "Spindles and Oars," etc. London William Heinemann .897 All rights reserved TO MY FRIEND July 20, 1897. Heartily know, When half-gods go The gods arrive. EMER50N. CONTENTS.

Part I

Chapter Pagi: I. When Half-Gods go i II. The Voice of the People 12 III. Katherine stands in the Wings ... 23 IV. The Key of the Spring 41 V. And behold ! it was a Dream .... 53 VI. The Horsehair Pricks 65 VII. "To Katherine, on Leaving" .... 81 VIII. A-foot to Great Lowlands 93 IX. A Return to Nature 109 X. Peggy at the Fair 121 XL The Ethics of the Situation 132 XII. Gods or Mortals ? 153

Part II

I. Oh, what a Plague is Love ! 163 II. Woman's Independence 183 III. Katherine claims her Friend .... 195 IV. There is always a Way out CONTENTS. Chapter Page V. On the Eve of Defeat 229 VI. The White Gate 241 VII. A Man's Love 250 VIII. Reapers 262 IX. Shall we taste this Wonderful Wine ? 267 X. Martha's Advice is sound 276 XL Vigil 295 XII. Where Two love true 308 XIII. A Mecca-Window in the Temple . . . 316 XIV. The Book is a Masterpiece 325 XV. The Gods arrive !

PART I CHAPTER

I WHEN HALF-GODS GO " STILL, the end spells triumph," said Franklin, gloomily. H;s voice roused the girl, huddled up, asleep, in the chair beside the window. In a minute she was wide awake, but she did not move or speak. She smiled to herself. " If I were so certain of triumph I should at least have the gaiety of my convictions," she thought. "They win who laugh, yet he has won already, in spite of his seriousness." Tender lines gathered round her mouth as she thought of the story that had first attracted her to Richard Franklin. He had beggared himself to feed the starving women and children in a great dock-strike. A book lover, he had sacrificed his library for them; his furni ture, his savings, even his clothes had been offered up. Finally, to save himself from starvation he had been forced to take a humble post in the Labour movement. i I The story made him a hero and even a saint in Katherine Fleming's eyes.

In the dim light she could not see his face, but she knew the look that in his present mood it would wear. By a quick turn of thought she threw his pro file against the dusk: the sharp outline that ex pressed the eagerness and dissatisfaction of the enthusiast; the straight forehead, the nose clear cut and powerful, the firm lips above the firmer chin. And seeing her idea of him only half com plete, her glance wandered to the man himself. But twilight had fallen between them, and the dying fire showed neither her brother's friend nor her brother. " Your triumph will be the ' victory of the van quished,' " laughed Mark Fleming. There was as little prophecy of success in his mirth as in Franklin's melancholy, but it pricked the other man's mood. He sat up sharply, and thc edge in his voice cut like a knife through Kathe rine's musing.

" We must triumph ! " he cried. " The next cen tury will see the end of the aristocracy, and then — " He stopped, knit his brows, and finished his sentence in a lower key. And then, " ' Heartily know, When half-gods go The gods arrive 1 ' " " Meanwhile, " said Mark, discontentedly, " we are face to face with a crisis like this ; and the people you would say the gods — are powerless." " ' Powerless to be born,' " said Franklin, sadly, in the slow voice that contrasted so oddly with the eagerness of his face. " But it can't be always so ! If we only had a historian. . . . You see," he went on more quickly, " we have no book that has ever brought the subject before the thinking world. Our story is yet on the knees of the gods — If it were only written. . . ." His singers drummed impatiently on the arm of his chair. ..."

But there is n't a man among us who could write it ! " he finished. "There isn't a man," said Mark; "but there might be a woman, — Katherine, for instance." " Your sister!" Franklin said incredulously; and his tone sent the blood galloping in Katherine's veins. She opened her lips to tell them she could hear what they were saying, but she remained silent. What did it matter? They knew she was there. ... If they chose to discuss her. . . . She shrugged her shoulders and did not speak. "Your sister?" Franklin repeated, but in a more guarded tone, throwing a glance at the figure beside the window. "She is asleep, — she won't hear," said Mark, also lowering his voice. " Yes, I mean Kit — Why should n't she write this book ? She has heart and brains ; she is clever and enthusiastic." "Cleverness and enthusiasm; humph!" said Franklin, disparagingly.

" It is easy to be an enthusiast when one feels the grip of a movement. That does not imply power to grasp its details and its meaning. ... As to cleverness, that is an easy feminine virtue. . . ." His eyes darkened ; he was silent a minute. " Let me see ; how long has your sister been in town?" he added suddenly. " Three years," Mark answered. " And she came fresh from Newnham. What can she know of life, let alone the problems of life ? " " Oh, come, old man, as much at any rate as you, shut up among your books for twenty years ! A girl can't be a journalist without learning some thing of life; and as to problems, it's women who make the problems of life. . . . Besides, Kit 's clever, successful too ; and success is not an easy feminine virtue. Did you see that article of hers in 'The Flight'? ....

Coates says she will get on. Newnham has given her balance and a trained mind. You might do worse than suggest that she should write the History of the Labour movement." Franklin pursed up his lips : " A trained mind is not necessarily a strong mind. The science tripos won't solve the problems of existence. Your sister looks at things from the sentimental side; and sentimentalists weaken the force of great movements." " They make 'em popular though," said Mark, " We must have knowledge, " Franklin returned. He bent his brows toward the end of the room, where Katherine made a patch of deeper shadow on the shadow. The light from a lamp outside streamed through the window, and showed her eyes on him, scornful and indignant. She sprang up, and crossed the room and faced Franklin, her figure drawn to full height.

" So this is your opinion of me ! " she cried passionately. " And all the time I thought. I thought. . . . But you are wrong! I am not a sentimental enthusiast. The people's cause is everything to me. ... I would give all I have to make a better life for them. . . ." Her voice broke. She steadied herself against the table, twisting the corner of the table-cloth in shaking fingers. "And I thought you believed in me . . . understood me. . . ." Her eyes appealed to Franklin. " Yes ? " he said. The interrogation in his voice was maddening. It lashed the girl. "Ah! you don't believe in me?" she gasped. " But I will make you. ... I will become a power in the Labour movement. ... I will write that book. You shall see I am not a weak-minded woman. You think I haven't balance and judgment — I will make you own your mistake."

" I am always obliged to anybody who makes me do anything, " said Franklin, gravely, stroking his moustache to hide his amusement. The kindly gleam in his grey eyes was lost on Katherine. She amused him by her independence and spirit, though these were not in his category of feminine virtues. He had only studied woman through the medium of Schopenhauer; and he had no wish to study her for himself. But Katherine intruded on his thoughts — he told himself that her type was objectionable; nev ertheless, he listened to her frank utterances, and approved of her life with her brother. He kept his eyes on her now till the anger died out of her face and left it only resolute. "Vou doubt if I have the power?" she said quietly. " You shall see. The end will spell triumph for me, too." " We thought you were asleep, Kit," said Mark, with a halting apology in his voice.

" I was dreaming," she said ; " but Mr. Franklin woke me. How cold and dark it is ! ... Is it you who have let the fire go out, Mr. Franklin? " She turned to him with a casual, indifferent manner. " It is not out," he answered; and he dug his heel into the coal, and sent the flames roaring up the chimney. Katherine kneeled down and held her fingers to the blaze, her attitude almost inviting the criticism Franklin was giving her. He had never thought about her seriously enough to be critical. Her enthusiasm for the people was only a phase; she supported herself by journalism, — and a woman must be ambitious, clever, unscrupulous, to succeed there. Was there a strong side to her character? He looked at her curiously. The flames showed him a girl with a strained, passionate face, and a mass of bright hair on a small head.

His eyes wandered to the hands she held to the fire. They were so slight and thin they touched his pity ; but his eyes remained critical. " Her brain is not solid enough, her nature is not large enough for real work," he said to himself. " She can feel, but she hasn't begun to feel. She thinks she is thinking, but she does n't even know when other people are thinking. If she were not so young she would not take herself so seriously, and then she might be a nice little thing." His severity relaxed ; the gentler expression came back to his eyes. " After all, she is very young," he added, from the standpoint of his two-score years. Mark lighted the gas, and Franklin realised that at least twenty-five years must have gone to the moulding of Katherine's face. " You are looking haggard, Kit," said Mark.

" Too much work, as usual. How much have you done to-day?" " I have reported a wedding, the opening of Marylebone Concert-hall, and Mrs. Bland's reception," she answered, in a voice whose evenness was a glove thrown down to Franklin. " Great Scott ! and she calls that work ! " he said to himself. " And does it pay, Miss Katherine? " he asked cynically. " It pays so that I can dress well enough to make Mrs. Bland's footman take me for one of the guests," she answered, glancing at her smart green frock. " And is that worth doing? " "Anything is worth doing that gives power;" looking up, her eyes met his steadily. She rose slowly and stood beside the mantelpiece, her figure slim and straight, ambition in the set of her head. Her attitude irritated as much as it amused Franklin. To hide his vexation he walked to the window and stood in silence while Mark and Katherine talked together.

Out in the night the people kept the carnival of want. Goodge Street was ablaze with light ; over the stalls that edged the pavement, the naphtha flames flashed and flared, shaming the steadier glow of the lamps. On the stalls Plenty lay riot ing, mocking the hungry crowd that hustled each other on the pavement. It was Saturday night, when the curtain is lifted on the tragedy of the poor; and Franklin knew that Katherine was used to make one of the spec tators of the drama. On Saturday night she sat at the window to take notes of all she saw. The scenes stirred imagination and pity, waking comprehension of the struggle of life. They had turned her thoughts to the problem of the people. It was this that had coloured her writing so that a red glow in her articles flashed strange lights across the society news and gossip.

Now and then a deeper red betrayed heart. The tinge was unusual, and attracted notice. Katherine Fleming began to be known as a daring and original journalist. But Franklin had never read her articles. He gave her credit only for the fashionable chron icle. He stood looking out with darkened eyes. The streams of people flowed steadily along the street. The cry of the salesmen at the stalls rose shrilly; the murmurs of those that bought struck the lower keys of sound. A child's cry pierced through the noise and broke on the upper silence. In the middle of the road a quarrel blazed and spluttered. A woman went past, a despairing figure swaying to her doom. . . . The man noticed nothing. He was annoyed that Katherine had heard his criticism of her. He did not like modern women, and had no faith in their pretensions; but he had never let Katherine see that.

She was bright and clever, and he had come to take Mark's opinion of her, and to share Mark's comradeship with her. They had been good friends, and he had not meant to quarrel with her. In fact, he had liked the girl. But to-night she had disappointed him. A woman who loved power and sought it invariably became unsexed. He did not wish to think of Katherine as unsexed. He turned suddenly round and caught her in the act of kissing Mark's head. She lifted herself and gave him a defiant look, while she reddened. He lounged across the room, as if he had seen nothing. " And what will you do with your power if you should ever get it, Miss Katherine? " he said carelessly. " I will make you recognise it," she answered. " I think you would not be so cruel," he laughed. His teasing fired her resentment.

" Good-night," she said coldly, and swept from the room. In her bedroom her self-control failed. She paced the floor, hurt, angry, indignant. " He doubted her power. He said her love for the people was all a matter of sentiment with her ! " Thc word sentiment bit into her thoughts like acid on steel. Was it true? Had she never touched modern questions on their practical side? She listened to the ideas round her and gave them currency when she talked or wrote her articles. But were they any more than the small change of her interests by which she paid her way among the workers? She was ready with sympathy for the people's cause ; but was it for the cause or for the sake of Franklin, to whom it was life? She thrust the thought from her. No, it had not been for his sake ! She had studied the subject for itself, and because it opened a new world to her.

She had given it the same interest she had given to her Newnham studies. . . . She drew herself up sharply. . . . Those absorbing studies no longer interested her. Was her interest in social questions only another phase to be lived through? Would it follow her interest in Franklin, which the last hour had killed? Shallow, incapable, insincere ! This was his idea of her, while she had thought him impressed and attracted by her qualities. . . . All these months she had been sharing his interests, consult ing his opinion, deferring to him on all points, showing openly her admiration of him ; and for what? To find that she was nothing to him but a sentimental woman, probably a bore ! Her heart sank. She tasted the bitterness of the woman's lot, — to wait in silence while love passed by; to make no sign while happiness stumbled past blindfolded.

She clinched her hands as she paced the room. Then she lifted her head proudly. Well, so much the better that she knew it; so much the better that he should go before he had made himself necessary to her life. Now she could prove to him and to herself that she had joined the Labour Movement for the sake of the people. She would give herself to it with no weak womanish desire to share Franklin's work. . . . Yes ! let him go. What was it he had said? " When half-gods go The gods arrive ! "

Chapter II The Voice Of The People

The next day was Sunday. Katherine woke feeling sore and bruised. Conscious of a strange misery, she stayed for a moment in the borderland between sleeping and waking. Then she opened her eyes, and the outer world clashed into the world of dreams. She was. in her own room, surrounded by the pictures and books that told of her success. She spent a good part of each year's income on books, and her library was growing. That, and the etch ings, were eloquent of the phases through which she had passed. In art, beginning with the dawn of Dante, Rossetti, and the other pre-Raphaelites, through the noonday of Botticelli and the Masters, she had travelled into the twilight of Impressionism. And the same movement could be traced in her reli gious life. It had passed from the " De Imitatione " through High-Churchism into the desert of the Ma terialist.

The path she had travelled was strewn with relics, — the well-worn Thomas a Kempis, the shrines and rosary, the crucifix over her desk, the works of Comte and Frederic Harrison. It was a curious collection of past moods, and characteristic. Even her furniture betrayed prog ress, from the sofa-bed and oak of Newnham days to the luxurious cushions and rugs of a later date. Her eyes went round the room, but found nothing to account for her wretchedness. Success shouted a contradiction of Franklin's estimate of her abilities. Then she remembered what had happened, and forgot her misery in disdain of his opinion. She was to address a Labour meeting in the Park that afternoon ; and she sprang from her bed, eager for the hour that should show him what she could do. The tingling cold of her bath braced her still further; and by the time she had dressed, her face had lost the haggard look it had worn the night before.

Her eyes were bright and alert, her face was full of movement and charm. While she dressed, the colour had come rosily to her cheeks. She stood before the glass, twisting the heavy coils of hair about her head, and she nodded and smiled at the face that looked at her. " There is nothing of the lovelorn woman in you, Katherine Fleming. I even begin to doubt that it was love you felt. Thank goodness ! the modern woman is not dependent on the emotions for in terest in life. Power is a greater thing than love." She finished her dressing hurriedly, and walked up and down, repeating aloud her speech for the afternoon. It was true there was nothing of the lovelorn woman in her appearance. She was disturbed by Sarah the maid. Would Miss Fleming be so kind as to let her do the bed room now? Katherine was scarcely conscious that she spoke.

" Come in after breakfast, Sarah ; I don't want to go into the sitting-room yet." Sarah looked appealingly at her. " If you please, miss, I 'm going with my young man to Ampton, and Mrs. Gumtion says I can't go without the rooms is all done ; and the boat starts at nine, and it 's gone eight now. . . ." Katherine had not listened at all. " Don't inter rupt me now," she said impatiently. " Go away, Sarah, I 'm busy." She was walking up and down, muttering to herself, and Sarah dared not speak again. She knew that Miss Fleming had a temper. A few hours later, and Katherine, grave and self possessed, stood on the platform in Hyde Park, listening to the applause that greeted her name. Above the clapping she could hear the women's voices: "That's our Miss Fleming!" "Kitty Fleming, bless her sweet face !

" " She 's the friend of the workingwoman, she is ! " "The voice of the people is the voice of God," Katherine thought, hearing them. Franklin was on the platform close to her. Would this convince him? She breathed fast; her face flushed, and her eyes grew soft. She could not speak at once, and there was a minute's silence. Then she leaned for ward and stretched out her hands to the crowd. " Dear hearts ! " she said, " God bless you, God bless you ! " The directness and unexpectedness of the words, the little graceful gesture, were charming. She was always popular; to-day she had touched the people's hearts, and while she spoke she held them. Her triumph was fitly set in the twilight of the wintry afternoon, among leafless trees spectral in mist. The picture itself, the platform with its group of workingmen, the girl, the massed faces like a key-board swept by her voice, — this was real enough, and stood out in the foreground in living impressionism.

Franklin sat on the plat form, his scholarly air marking him out among the Labour leaders. His lips were pursed; his eyes, apparently seeing nothing, raked the faces below the platform. He was listening to Kathe rine, wondering at her graciousness and earnest ness. Was this the girl who had defied him last night? Where were her pride and her passion? She was speaking simply, earnestly, effectively. " She is doing pioneer work," he said to himself. " She inspires faith in the cause, makes it popular, as Mark said. It is true she has no grip of the movement; but the movement has taken hold of her. And what a clever little face it is ! " Her closing words interrupted his thoughts. His eyes brightened with cynical amusement; he leaned forward, listening with a half-smile to her elaborate peroration.

" I ask you to believe that the Labour movement is leavening the nations," she was saying. " A strong force working silently for the lifting of the masses ; a complex power, far-reaching and inevitable, stirring peoples still unborn; a life uncrusted by the tyranny of wealth, untrammelled by the bands of property. The movement, an unseen tide, is carrying its healing waters to every shore, bearing life to the nations far off; and with irresistible force — a mighty current of God — is laving our shores with the first onset of a wide industrial peace." She stopped, threw out her arms, and her voice rose to a cry, ringing and passionate. " Yes, the tide is coming in. But oh, dear men and women, are we waiting for it to lift us into new conditions? But the new conditions are within us; and the movement will only raise the individual when the life within the individual has touched the movement."

She sat down, trembling and breathless. Franklin was the next speaker, but he came too late. His voice, following Katherine's, was like a cold mist after a glowing sunrise. It was useless for him to expound his pet theory, — a policy of THE VOICE OF THE PEOPLE alliance with constituent movements, in vain to show the impossibility of trades-unionism working unaided the miracle of the workingman. His plea for co-operation and socialism was so much waste. His facts were like sucked bones thrown to well fed dogs. In three minutes the audience had scat tered, leaving one or two of the hungrier sort to wrestle with the dry data of Franklin's reasonable ness. Katherine was still on the platform, but she had forgotten that he was speaking. She was intoxicated with her first taste of leadership. She could not even recall the words that had moved the people.

At that near view memory was blurred and indistinct ; but the " Bravo ! " of the men round her, Franklin's " Hear, hear! " and the hands held out were high lights in her remembrance. To morrow she would see the whole clearly ; to-day she was content with the bare outline of the picture. The fierce, hopeless faces seen through the veil of the mist were but eyes into which she had brought a gleam of hope. The human side of the question had touched her. The workers were no longer mere mathematical signs — noughts and crosses — ■ for presenting the problem of civilisation to the country. She saw in each unit the desperate, unquenched life of the whole; in each individual she imagined a lonely fight for the mere right of being, and she was honestly moved. She did not doubt the sincerity of her feeling; she knew that it had told.

The people listened to her, not to Franklin. Her quick glance lighted on him, and on his poor handful of listeners, and her eyes sparkled. " So much for knowledge," she thought. " He hasn't learned that love counts. Brains? What are brains? To reach the people one only needs a heart." Suddenly her mood changed to pity. How pale he looked! His face had lost its eagerness. He was speaking slowly and wearily, with that cynical intonation that marked his bitter moods. She understood how galling it must be to him to see that he could not hold his audience. " I wish I had not spoken first," she thought with passionate regret ; " I would have given up my success to see him succeed ! " The mood was quickly over. Her changing colour and excited air conquered the pity in her eyes. Mark laughed at the spring in her feet as she hung on his arm going through the Park homeward.

" Well, are you satisfied, Kit ? " he smiled. " What do you think of your triumph?" Her eyes brightened. " You call it a triumph? " " Rather ! Brace and Coates said we have had no speech like that since Mrs. Sturge left us." " Did Franklin hear that?" she asked eagerly. " Yes. He could n't have been over-pleased after what he said last night." "Did he seem vexed? "No; he is n't small. He told Brace your last sentence was worth the whole of what had gone before. That's his cussedness. 1 thought the end an anti-climax. You should have stopped at ' the first onset of a wide industrial peace.' " Katherine lost what he was saying; her brows were puckered. " I can't remember my last sentence. What was it, Mark?" " Oh, ask Franklin ! It did n't strike me. How ever, you did splendidly, Kit, and I am proud of you."

She gave his arm a grateful squeeze. " Dear old boy ! you are always so good to me. Mark, I wonder" — she hesitated — " Would n't it be splendid if some day we two led the whole movement? " Mark shrugged his shoulders. "That will never be so long as Franklin is in it. He 's bound to come to the top. Besides, I don't hanker after leadership. I fancy some one has other ideas for my future." Katherine looked up sharply. The tone of the last words was not Mark's usual tone. " Other ideas for your future?" she echoed, staring at him. " To give up the people ! You can't mean that mother wants you to go back to Great Lowlands? What do you mean, Mark?" Mark flushed. His eyes dropped before Katherine's. He smiled vaguely, deliberated a moment, while he bit the end of his moustache, then de cided to put off explanations till events forced them.

" What would be the use of my going home?" he asked ; " my genius does n't lie in farming, as the poor old dad saw when he made that ridiculous will of his. But I fancy they are in a bad way at home. That young Tom is a lazy beggar; the farm has done nothing since he has been on it. He wants a pushing person like you over him. You should have been the farmer, Kit." Katherine made a grimace. " I a country farmer? Imagine it ! No, thank you. I mean to be a La bour leader." Mark laughed. " Well, stranger things have hap pened, but, you see, there 's Franklin. You are an ambitious small person to want to rival him. Still, you scored over him to-day." Her eyes flashed. " And yet he says I have no ability. Mark," she went on quickly, " I shall never rest untjj I have proved to Franklin that he was wrong."