Clenched Antagonisms

Front matter

a BY L E \V IS IRAM LONDON DIGBY, LONG & CO.. PUBLISHERS 18 BOUVERIE STREET, FLEET STREET, E.C. P RE FA C E. WHEN bright ideals of youth were slain, by reality, stern and cold ; And as dead sea fruit showed those delights, that had charmed in days of old ; I strained sad eyes, to see some hope, that future hours might hold. When the love, that had gleamed all fair and bright, its worthlessness displayed ; And truth, and trust, and pure belief in the dust of the earth were laid ; I closed to a cruel world the heart it had crushed, and scorned, and betrayed. When, day by day, life grew more dark, and Death heard not my prayer, A great temptation fell on me, and haunted my despair ; By day and night, where'er I turned, Death's beckoning eyes were there ! What use to fight ? At last I yield ; when a voice I dared not spurn, Spoke to my heart, " Pause, stay your hand ; to life and work return. Though sunk in the slough of a deep despair, look up, and listen, and learn.

Preface

. VIII " Crush out all selfish love for one, mount upward from your fall ; And cease to worship one fellow-man, that your love may be large for all. What right have you to the joys of life, while for help the wretched call ? Love not because one is worthy, and not because one loves you ; But love because of the need of the world, for a steadfast heart and true ; And because, where sin and sorrow are rife, there your heart's blood is due ! " But I said, " I am crushed and broken, my youth and strength are fled ; What use can I be to a living world, whose heart and soul are dead ? My life is one great failure — I am fit for nought," I said. True, you have failed in all your aims, because all your aims were wrong ; To the ways of pleasure, and love, and fame, your life must not belong ; Unfetter your soul from the chains of earth, stand free, alone, and strong."

And a light breaks in on my wakening mind, while the sound my ears doth greet Of the throbbing heart of the world, with which my heart henceforth shall beat ; As up to a higher and nobler life, I mount on the wings of defeat ! Lewis I ram.

Chapter I

" Society everywhere is in conspiracy against the manhood of everyone of its members. The virtue in most request is conformity. Self-reliance is its aversion. It loves not realities and creators, but names and customs. . . . For non-con formity the world whips you with its displeasure." — Emerson. "Yes, of course, I'm very fortunate to have this property all left me so unexpectedly. You see, my father was disin herited ; so I had no right to expect anything." " How did your father offend ? " " Oh, by his marriage — amongst other things. My grand father wanted him to marry a young lady of wealth and position. In fact, he had positively arranged the match. Of course it was very provoking for him, when my father, at the age of four-and-twenty, fell in love with a country parson's daughter." "There was nothing disreputable in being a country parson's daughter."

" By no means ; and my dear mother was always very superior to her surroundings. Still, it was an unsuitable alliance, and one can't wonder that old Judge Farn, who A thought no end of his social position in the county, should have made strenuous objections. My father waited a long time, hoping to gain his consent, but eventually married secretly. Even then he might have been forgiven — the old man was not really unjust — if he had disclosed the news himself. Unfortunately, it leaked out too soon. That was the crowning point to his son's offences. They never saw each other again." " How sad ! Didn't you know your grandfather then ? " "Never saw him. I wasn't aware that he even knew of my existence. He answered none of the letters my father wrote him." " It sounds terribly hard. Perhaps a judge is apt to grow like that.

It's his daily duty to punish the offender, even if the offender should happen to be one he loves. Maybe, in that case, the punishment is even more rigorously enforced, because, being so much the harder to pronounce, he fears to fail in his duty by abating a single jot of it. And so, by degrees, an icy plate armour of justice encases him, smother ing all the tenderer sentiments — love and mercy included." " It's well that it should be so, in ordinary cases. There would be no justice done otherwise. If women had any thing to do with the administration of it, all the vilest criminals would be dismissed with kisses and encouraging pats on the head — excepting those of their own sex ! " "If I believed for a moment that you mean anything when you talk like that, John, I should very nearly hate you.

But, fortunately, I know you don't. And I absolutely refuse to be drawn into an argument which would induce you to belie your own kind heart, simply for the purpose of making me champion its cause. Well, to return to the original subject. As you never knew him, it would be a mere form to condole with you on your grandfather's death. You couldn't be expected to feel sorrow on the occasion, so it would be hypocrisy to formulate it. But 1 can congratulate you on your splendid good fortune without any reservations. You believe I'm glad for your sake, my friend ? " There was just a touch of tender emotion in these last words. Perhaps no one but this girl had guessed how heavily the burden of his poverty had lain upon him. " I believe you, Esther." He took her outstretched hand. "You have always been my kindest friend and confidante in any emergency.

You understand so well. No doubt every man would be rich if he had the chance. But I don't think there exists a man in the world who could be more grateful for wealth at this moment than I. To so many it comes too late. To me, it has come at the very day and hour -when it was most needed, and will be most precious. I don't think I am an avaricious man, but there are times in one's life when the possession of money means the gaining of one's heart's desire, and when the lack of it means — despair. The only thing wanting to perfect my joy at this great stroke of good luck was your sweet sympathy." "I don't think you'll ever find that lacking, John, when you have need of it. The bank is very wealthy. Draw on it as you will." "Thanks for that assurance. It's very kind of you to say so, and just like your own dear self.

The remembrance of those words will be a joy to me while I am away. But beware of giving me too much licence. I may make greater demands than even so wealthy a bank can afford to comply with." There was a little pause, during which Esther drew away her hand. It had remained till now unresisting in his clasp. " Will you be gone long ? " "I can't exactly tell. I hope not. My grandfather's property was large, I know, but I am afraid some trouble some complications arose during his long illness, which will materially have decreased its value. Its quite possible that it may turn out to be worth much less than is at present anticipated. As I'm anxious to get things straight, and to know my exact position as soon as may be ; I shall absolutely devote myself to the business. I mean to go into each detail with personal care, and to hurry up the lawyers as much as possible.

Esther, I have taken the liberty of acquainting you with all these particulars because — because — " " Yes," interrupted the girl, hurriedly, " of course, because we have known each other so long, and are such old friends, and it — it is pleasant to talk things over together." " True, dear, but there is more than that. It was because I wished you to know exactly the truth of my position. It is only right you should. Esther, you are well aware how badly off I have been, and no doubt you understood that was the reason of my silence. Still, in spite of my enforced reticence, I have always hoped that some day, if things took a turn for the better with me — " but here his speech was abruptly terminated by a knock at the door. This was immediately followed by the entrance of a young lady. " Pardon me, Miss Wyncott," said the new comer, blush ing deeply, as she suddenly became aware how mal-d-profios her entrance had been.

" Pardon me, but your mother just told me to come in and remind you to dress for dinner directly. She fears you'll be late." And the speaker pro ceeded to beat a hasty retreat. " Very well, Miss Evans, but don't hurry away. Thanks very much; I'm coming with you." And Esther followed her mother's messenger from the room. She just paused at the door to say, " You'll excuse being left alone for a few minutes, won't you, John ? " " I beg your pardon ; oh, I beg pardon," repeated Miss Evans, confusedly, as the two girls ascended the staircase. " I had no idea — and Mrs Wyncott sent me — and — " "Oh, don't apologise, please," answered Esther frankly, " I was very glad — I was indeed — of your entrance just then." When Miss Wyncott descended again to the drawing room, robed in a very simple evening dress, she found the apartment no longer occupied by one person only.

Mrs Wyncott and her son Wallace were chatting with two or three guests, who had just come in, and with John Farm This latter gentleman, as an old and intimate friend of the family, was entitled to arrive early, if he pleased. On this occasion he had availed himself of the privilege in hopes of getting a little private conversation with Esther. He was now feeling a trifle ruffled at the untimely interrup tion of their interview. He wondered vaguely who the dense young woman was, that had been the cause of it. In a short time the party, which only consisted of half a dozen or so of more or less intimate friends, was complete. After a few minutes of the usual desultory conversation, dinner was announced, and the company adjourned thereto. Although Mr Farn took Esther in, he had no possible opportunity of continuing his unfinished explanation.

For one thing, the dinner-table chat was very general, and no privacy was to be obtained. Then Miss Wyncott, as a hostess, could not, of course, devote her attention to her left-hand neighbour, to the exclusion of the gentleman on her right. Being all pretty well acquainted with him, there was a good deal of talk about Mr Farn's unexpected inheritance. Esther felt a little pleased to note that he did not speak so openly of his family circumstances as he had done to her alone. The slight omissions seemed to form an invisible bond between them. She felt happy, and there was a strange sweetness in the possession of his friendship to-night, which she had never known before. He seemed less just a friend of the family — more individually her friend. Surrounded as she had always been by luxury of every kind, the one thing she needed and longed for most — affection — had been ever somewhat lacking.

Even John had seemed, until to-night, to belong to Wallace and everyone else, almost as much as to her. When the men followed the ladies into the drawing-room, Farn steered straight for her. She was at that moment occupied in conversation with the same young lady who had interrupted the tete-a-tete two or three hours previously. When he reached them, Esther turned, and smilingly introduced her companion as Miss Evans. Farn recollected hav ing already heard her referred to as the younger girls' new governess, but had not met her before, though she had been in the house about a month. Wallace Wyncott had given him a glowing description of her, from which it appeared that she was a most attractive person. By the time he had conversed with her for ten minutes, Farn was heartily ready to endorse this opinion.

It occurred to him, however, that she was rather a volatile young lady to be installed in so responsible a position as that of instructress to young children. But he soon decided that this gaiety was attribut able only to her youth— she looked very young — and high spirits ; not to any frivolity or lightness of disposition. It was quite a disappointment when the little trio was broken up by the request from Mrs Wyncott that Miss Evans should sing them something. The girl rose obediently, leaving a sentence unfinished, and crossed over to the piano. She selected a pretty drawing-room ballad, which she sang, with great taste and charm, self-accompanied. She possessed a sweet, soft, soprano voice, which had evidently been well cultivated. It was precisely the right sort of music for the occasion, light, bright and pleasing, and gave general satis faction.

She was a little nervous at the commencement, but, quickly becoming aware that she had touched the right chord, and chained the attention of her listeners, she con tinued with more confidence, and did herself full justice. When it was over, she returned to her place by Esther, and received the kindly congratulations that were offered he-, with flushed face and beamingly happy smiles. Her pleasure at having pleased was as great as though her little success had been of paramount importance and her audience composed of the most capable of critics. Amongst those who came to thank her was young Mr Wyncott, who remained after the others had turned away. He sang and played a little, too, and considered himself rather a connoisseur. He presently embarked in an animated musical discussion with Miss Evans, which shut the other two out of the conversation.

Farn turned again to Esther, but found himself quite unable to pick up the thread of their broken intercourse. So he merely gave utterance to a few social trivialities, and Esther soon moved away to converse with some of the other guests. Left alone, he found his attention wandering to the couple near him. He watched with interest Miss Evans's sparkling blue eyes, and fair, mobile face, as she chatted gaily with her companion, who was evidently some what impressed with her. She was pretty, certainly, thought the onlooker, not in an uncommon style, but with just the right sort of girlish softness. Hers was what might be called the fluffy order of prettiness — not very distinguished or intellectual, of course, but so much the better. In the midst of these desultory reflections he discovered that Miss Wyncott had been persuaded to sing.

As usual, this concession was evidently much against her will. She yielded only to great pressure. Her disinclination to oblige was not due to any lack of amiability, but simply to the fact that she knew herself to be incapable of conforming to the requirements of the occasion. She did not do much in the way of modern drawing-room ballads. As a rule, they didn't appeal to her. She had a fine, deep, contralto voice, which she practised diligently, but it did not lend itself to ballad-singing. The tuneful love ditties so much in vogue did not seem to her to be the expression of anything either in real life, or in the world of idealism. Therefore they failed to touch her, and she felt it a sort of insincerity to sing them. Perhaps it was this uncompromising lack of adaptability, in other things besides music, which was answerable for the comparative isolation of Esther Wyn cott's life.

The song she did sing was a wild Scandinavian peasant lied. It was a plea for freedom by Bjornstjorne Bjornson, and had been set to some strange, fierce music by a hitherto un successful young composer. The air, as well as the words, breathed the spirit of the sea, of the rugged rocks and the bleak plateaus of the Norwegian fjords and sounds. And yet it was more sad than stirring, and sounded rather like a dirge after May Evans's pretty, sentimental ballad. John Farn thought she sang it very well, but caught himself wishing, in common with what he fancied to be the general opinion of her audience, that Esther would cultivate a lighter and more pleasing style. It was not quite desirable for a young lady to indulge eccentric fancies, even though in reference only to her taste in music. One could never quite tell to what they might lead. On taking leave, he said he would just manage to come in again for a few minutes, to say a final good-bye, before leaving London.

Chapter II

Mr Farn kept his word, coming to call~two days later. Having given no intimation of the time of his visit, he took his chance of finding them at home. As he turned the corner of South Audley Street, close to where the Wyncotts' house was situated, he encountered a young lady, whom he recognised directly as Miss Evans. She and the two little girls were just returning home from their afternoon walk in the Park. As they were all going to the house, he joined them, at which the children were delighted — it was so " grown up " to walk with a gentleman. On their arrival they found Esther was out, but Mrs Wyncott, who was busy, sent down a message by May to ask Mr Farn to wait, as she did not think her daughter would be long. Meanwhile, Miss Evans and the two little girls might remain in the drawing-room to entertain him.

The Misses Edith and Emilia Wyncott, aged respectively twelve and thirteen, were, both of them, possessed with an overmastering desire to be " grown up." It was the acme of delight to them to be allowed down in the drawing-room, to talk to visitors, and to " behave like ladies." Their great ambition was to do everything like mamma. With this idea they held their heads high in the air to indicate that their streaming locks were dressed in poufs and curls like their mother's. They drew off their little two-button gloves with a slow, lingering movement, as they had observed her divest ing herself of her long mousquetaires. And they attempted (whenever they could recollect) to walk with graceful, sweep ing strides, as though their little, short-skirted frocks trailed yards behind them on the ground.

Edith carried Farn his tea, and Emilia handed him the cake and bread-and-butter. Both girls, being in the draw ing-room, refused sugar in their cups, and took neither cake nor bread-and-butter. They had noticed that ladies, especially if they had on nice gloves, frequently took no thing to eat with afternoon tea ; and sugar, they knew, was most unfashionable. Miss Evans was greatly amused at their behaviour, and could not resist the temptation of furtively calling Mr Farn's attention to it. She was well aware how ravenous their ap petites for this meal were, when they took it in the nursery. John laughed, and said he didn't doubt that the beneficial influence of their new governess would soon cure them of those silly affectations. He thought what a good friend she would be for Esther, too, though in another way, but this he kept to himself.

Presently the two girls volunteered to play him their last learned duet, an offer which the visitor accepted with apparent pleasure. As soon as they commenced their thump ing and pounding of the unfortunate piano, he left his seat by the window and came over to a place on the sofa beside Miss Evans. He took up a book that happened to lie on a little table near him, and, finding it to be selected lyrics chosen from the writings of well-known English poets — a beautifully bound, gilt-edged volume, which opened as though this were the first time it had been submitted to that indignity — he asked his companion whether she were fond of poetry. She said yes, rather, but she had never read much. Miss Wyncott, however, had most kindly promised to lend her some of her favourite poems, a few of Browning's in particular, which she much wanted to read.

"I don't think that would be at all a good choice to begin with," said John. " I have not read much of Brown ing myself, certainly, but I'm quite convinced he's not very suitable reading for young ladies. He touches upon many subjects that they would be far better to remain ignorant of." " Ob, I didn't know that ! " exclaimed May. " I wouldn't read him on any account, in that case." What an intelligent, charming girl this was, thought John. He wished Esther were a little more like her — a little more tractable. "Now, if you have got Longfellow, or selections from Tennyson — " " Oh, thank you ! " interrupted May, eagerly. " How kind of you, Mr Farn, to give me suggestions about my reading. It is just what I want to know. I'll ask Miss Wyncott if she can lend me either of them. Of course she can't know as well as a gentleman, or, I am sure, she would not offer to lend me anything that was not quite — quite suitable."

Really, thought John, this girl was a perfect treasure. Then he said aloud, " I shall have great pleasure in sending you a ' Longfellow,' Miss Evans, as Esther may not have one." May blushed prettily, and said she really didn't know how to thank him for his kindness, and just then the duet came to an end. The children crossed over to them, and recommenced their laborious process of entertainment and showing off of ladylike airs. Then Mrs Wyncott entered the drawing-room and said Miss Evans could take the girls up stairs now. Soon after this Farn glanced at his watch, and was astonished to find how late it was. He started up, telling his hostess he was extremely sorry to leave without saying good-bye to Esther, but he had really stayed too long already, as he was much pressed for time. He had to catch an early train for the North next morning, and still had a good many arrangements to make before leaving.

Wallace was coming round to his rooms that evening, as he had pro mised to attend to one or two business affairs for him dur ing his absence. Esther arrived home very shortly after his departure, and was a little disappointed on hearing she had missed him. "But after all," she thought, "perhaps it is as well. It leaves me longer to decide — to consider." John Farn was away for a much longer period than he had anticipated. Week after week, the final winding up of the estate kept being postponed. The fact of his being a lawyer himself did not save him from being troubled by innumerable legal delays and intricacies. Then there were long out standing debts, that it seemed next to impossible to gather in and settle up definitely. At length, however, he really got things straight and clear, and then discovered himself to be the possessor of an estate worth at least thirteen thousand a year.

Although he had at times felt very impatient at the in cessant delays, yet, now that he was free to do so, he was in no great hurry to return to town. He still lingered in Cumberland, visiting the Lakes, and making acquaintance with his tenants, and with some of his nearer neighbours. Yet he wanted very much to get back, and to see Esther Wyncott. He wanted to resume that interrupted conver sation, and to obtain a definite answer to that unasked question. He did not know what the answer would be, but it is probable there was not very much doubt in his own mind as to its being a favourable one. On one point he was quite convinced, which was, that he had no rival. It had always been a matter of great satisfaction to him to observe that Esther was not in the least given to flirting. He considered that extremely bad form for young ladies.

But, at the same time, he had occasionally wished she would exert herself a little to be more generally attractive in society. He knew she was not fond of going out, and of this he thoroughly approved. Certainly his ideal woman was very far removed from the society gad-about, who neglects her home and family for the admiration of strangers. Still, people in the position of the Wyncotts owed a duty to society, which ought not to be shirked. For some years past now, Farn had lived in hopes of making Esther Wyncott his wife. It had seemed, hitherto, quite beyond the region of reasonable expectation, that that desire should be gratified, excepting in the very far distant future ; and he had often bitterly rebelled against the necessity for silence and delay. His position was not, and so far as he could see, showed no prospect of becoming, such as would justify him in proposing to her.

That being the case, he would have considered it extremely dishonourable to allow his manner to suggest anything beyond friendship. Besides, though Mr and Mrs Wyncott had always been fond of him, and encouraged his visits quite freely, their aspect towards him would have been quite different, had there ever been observable any marked attention on his part in the direction of their eldest daugh ter. He was quite aware that the matter would have been put a stop to at once. Now, everything was changed, and his position and means were such as no reasonable parents could object to. He had ceased to feel any fear on that score. But, strange to say, this new state of things did not give him the unmitigated satisfaction that he would have anticipated. During the months of his absence, Miss Wyncott had been making efforts in the direction of cultivating the acquaintance of May Evans.

She did not feel a very keen interest in the children's governess, although she much admired her soft prettiness ; but she thought her position in the house somewhat analogous to her own, that is, isolated and lonely. The mistress of the house took absolutely no notice of her, beyond requesting (or ordering — it amounted to the same thing !) her to sing, for the amusement of her guests. At the same time Esther was troubled once or twice with the suspicion that Wallace "noticed" the girl too much. She was very, very fond of her brother, with a far stronger affection than he wras able to reciprocate, but she knew him too well to place much faith in him. She often joined the schoolroom party, or invited Miss Evans to afternoon tea in her own sitting-room. She tried hard to understand the girl, to sympathise with and get nearer to her, in order to put herself in a position which should enable her to be of use, if necessary.

She had a sort of instinctive fear that such a time of need would come. Nevertheless, the task that she had set herself was not a congenial one. May was pleased and nattered by Miss Wyncott's attention, but the girls had no mutual standpoint from which to start a friendship. The intercourse, therefore, did not rapidly outgrow the intermediate stage of an amicable acquai ntanceship. When the children's last instructress had left to be married, Esther had hoped that the next might be an older woman, and one whom she should like to know. There was so little congenial companionship for her amongst the members of her own family, or their guests, that even the advent of a new governess suggested welcome possibilities of more fruitful intercourse. A cultured older woman, of greater experience and wider opportunities than her own, could have been of so much assistance in the studies that interested her.

But the appointment of Miss Evans to the post quickly dispelled any vain imaginings in that direction. From her earliest schooldays, Esther had always wanted to learn things that nobody would teach her, to find answers to questions that nobody would listen to. It didn't interest her to learn by heart the dates of the births, marriages, and deaths of the Kings of England. She didn't care about their battles, and where they were fought, and how many were killed and taken prisoners on each side. She would have liked to know what they fought for, and what influence the result had upon the life of the people, upon their social organisation, their manners, ideas and characters. But on these points she could never obtain information. She would grow unutterably weary of learning to repeat how many thousand feet high the mountains of South America were, and how many hundred miles long the rivers of Europe.

She didn't care in the least to know whether rum and sugar came from Jamaica or from Hindostan, if she were unable to discover how the industry of their disdilation and export affected the prosperity and well-being of the native population. When very young we are apt to credit our teachers with boundless knowledge. But this trustful stage does not last long, when we discover that they are unable to satisfy us on any of the questions to which our barren school-books furnish no key. They may possess a very complete knowledge of those particular subjects which they are expected to teach us, and this is generally considered the sole essential requisite ; but for a child of intelligent and inquiring disposition to be placed under the care of such instructors, means simply mental paralysis. Though perhaps in a vague way, our childish sagacity soon discerns their innumerable limitations.