Down the Way. A novel

Front matter

DOWN THE WAY % l0fcT_l By HOPE STANFORD "Where is thy hand to lead me down the way? " 2« <*_■{)_-- WoluraM. VOL. III. LONDON : JOHN AND ROBERT MAXWELL MILTON HOUSE, SHOE LANE, FLEET STREET, AND 36, ST. BRIDE STREET, E.C. [All rights reserved.] LONDON : PRINTED BT H. ELACKLOCK AND CO., 75, FABRINODON ROAD, E.C. CONTENTS. Vol. III. CHAP. PA0E I. — Awakening ... ... ... ... 1 II. — Dr. Gordon 13 III.— Which? 26 IV— -Difficulties 40 V. — Under-Currents 62 VI. — Morris 73 VII. — Bernard's Part 87 VIII.— Thornage's Cottage 101 IX. — Thornage's Lodger 115 X. — Carnations 133 XT.— Face to Face 146 XII.— Morris's Treasure 159 XIIL— At Fault 174 XIV.— Gone! ., 187 XV. — Suspense 206 XVI.— Geoffrey's Welcome 223 XVII. — Father or Lover 240 XVIIL— Banished 259 XIX. — Laura's Ambassador ... ... ... 272 XX.— A Day's Events 287 XXI.— The Cultivation of Happiness

Chapter I. Awakening

It seemed to Geoffrey Poland as if be had gone to sleep amidst a tumult resembling tbe end of the world, and had awakened in heaven, when one morning he found himself lying on a pile of cushions on the deck of a yacht, with nothing but white sails and blue sky to be seen, and nothing to be heard but the rush and ripple of water round a flying keel. What had happened to him, when he had lost consciousness, what might VOL. III. B be his — at present unseen — surroundings, seemed matters of complete unimportance. The sun warmed him, the air blew softly, laden with health for him, the waves sighed and murmured a lullaby, and consciousness was but half complete before he fell into a quiet and dreamless sleep. It was almost evening when he awoke again, and found a middle-aged man with a pleasant face and weather-stained clothing sitting beside him. ** What is the latitude ?

" asked Geoffrey, after a moment's consideration. " About 42°," answered his companion. ** And how did you manage to pick me up, Gordon ? " The stranger looked surprised. ** How do you come to know my name ? you have seemed conscious of nothing since I brought you on board." "I have had the privilege of your AWAKENING. acquaintance for several years," answered Geoffrey. "And I have had the pleasure of nursing you for three days, and never until this moment discovered that you were my old friend Poland ! Don't let me hear much of man's intelligence for some time ! " *■ But am I so altered ? " asked Geoffrey. -* My dear fellow, I see no points of resemblance at present excepting in eyes and voice, and as your eyes have been closed, and your voice used only in confused mutterings, I have not had much chance." ** But now tell me all about it.

You found me ill at Valencia ? " " Yes, in a stifling room in a noisy hotel, where no one could understand a word you said. I was bound to be at Genoa on a certain day, and could not leave you behind, so between us we got you on board. You have come to yourself sooner than I expected, the fine air has done marvels for you, and has left little to my skill." " What has been wrong with me ? " " Well, a touch of low fever, which some how affected your head more than it ought." " I can account for that, I expect it is a weak point with me at present. I got a knock on the head a few months ago, and although I got over it pretty soon, I have been reminded of it several times since." ■'And then, by way of doing yourself good, you go and sit out in the glaring sun and nearly get a sunstroke ? " "AVell! it must have done something of the kind, I suppose."

" Now you have talked enough for one time," said Dr. Gordon, dogmatically, "and your chief duty is to lie on your back and suck oranges." " And sleep," added Geoffrey, and in a AWAKENING. ■1 few minutes had followed his own prescrip tion. Dr. Gordon sat and looked at him attentively. It was, indeed, scarcely surprising that he had failed to recognise him. Instead of a clean-shaven face and close-cut hair, there was now a thick black beard and an untidy crop of curls ; his complexion, which had been pale almost to whiteness, was burnt by the Spanish sun to a deep brown ; and the thinness of his face made his eyes unnaturally large, and seemed to change their expression. He looked as if he had gone through trouble as well as illness, of late; and his friend, remembering his former strength of mind and body, regarded him with kindly regret.

Dr. Gordon himself was a man who declared that he made the enjoyment of life a profession, and he stuck to it closely. Until nearly thirty he had been a poor man, having expended the whole of a small capital on his medical education, which had been of the best, and in which he had distinguished himself; but he hated the routine of his work, and when a relation died and left him a considerable fortune, he at once gave up bis practice, and indulged the desire of his heart by buying a yacht, in which he spent most of his time in cruising about the Mediterranean. He was well-known at many Spanish and Italian ports, and had patients amongst the English residents in most of them — entirely for his own benefit, according to his own account ; for it was part of his scheme of enjoyment to do distasteful work occasionally, that the pleasure of idleness might not pall.

It was also in accordance with a theory that he refrained from marrying, although lie had been tempted to do so several times. Marriage AWAKENING. 7 was a pleasant possibility to contemplate, but he felt assured that in reality he should find it prosaic. When he wearied of his roving life, he intended to take a year or two of hard work again, until idleness became once more a luxury ; but he was afraid that a wife, and the world on her behalf, would find objections to his treating her in the same way, and leaving her to herself for a time when the pleasure of her society grew a little monotonous. But he much enjoyed the process which he had gone through several times, and called falling in love. When the matter threatened to become serious, if the lady lived in Spain, he straightway started for a cruise as far as Suez, and was absent for several weeks, that he might give himself the pleasure of looking forward to seeing her again.

Did she hve in Genoa? he went to look up an old friend in Devonshire, and found when he came back again that the enchantment had passed away, and that, besides having enjoyed by anticipation all the delight of meeting, he had returned perfectly heart whole. He had no scruple in indulging his fancy in this manner, for he was an unattractive man until well-known, and knew it, and had never yet had to accuse himself of heartlessness. His life — which according to himself was ruled by nothing but selfish motives — was in reality more than half spent in active benevolence ; and when he assured his crew, and even Geoffrey, that he had taken him on board entirely for his own convenience, it was scarcely strange that he was not implicitly believed. But, although an intentional roughness of manner saved him from praises and thanks, which would have been distasteful, he was capable of a tenderness and con- Q _y AWAKENING. sideration towards those who were helpless, and under his care, which was repaid by devoted friendship.

If at forty he could not flatter himself that any woman had given him her whole heart, he was equally conscious that there were women, and men too, who would never, to the end of their lives, hear or speak his name without gratitude and affection, which he set above all other prizes ; and in reasonable moments he assured himself that such friendship amply fulfilled the demands of his sym pathies. It was to soothe the sorrow of a young wife, and lighten the sufferings of her slowly dying husband, that he was hastening back to Genoa, according to promise, judging that the slight risk Geoffrey Poland might run was not to be considered in comparison with the comfort and confidence his presence could give to the watcher and the sufferer. And this was but one out of many instances, although even here he took pains to assure himself that the chief motive for his hurried return was his own desire to see whether, after a month's absence, a certain lady retained her hold upon his fancy.

It was almost evening when Geoffrey awoke again, and found himself carefully sheltered and covered up from the cooler air, while Dr. Gordon sat smoking his pipe beside him. " I am better," he said, raising himself on his arm, and looking round him with a sense of having lost his senses for an immeasurable time, and having now entirely recovered them. "Yes," answered his friend, "but don't talk, food is the first requisite." And Geoffrey, feeling that he owed perfect obedience, said no more. But a little later he chose to assert himself. " You have told me how you found me and brought me on board, Gordon ; but I AWAKENING. want to know what sort of state I have been in since, and for how many days I have lost consciousness ? " " You have been under my care three days." "Have I been talking nonsense ?

" asked Geoffrey, with sudden distressing appre hension. Dr. Gordon smiled. "You have talked a good deal, but far be it from me to say that it was nonsense." ** That means that I have made an absolute fool of myself," said Geoffrey, with irritation. " Not at all, my dear fellow. I hold that occasionally the ravings of delirium contain more meaning than the utterances of so called sense. I at least imagined that I could trace a certain coherence in your mutterings, although the clue, of course, was wanting." " Did I mention names? " "Yes, often." " Gordon ! you are only trying me. You will do me infinitely less harm by telling me at once the particular form of my folly." " There were two names often on your lips, one — the least frequent — was uttered with protests against its power being more than passing ; the other was generally accompanied by an assurance that some offence, to me unknown, was of trivial character, and might well be pardoned by the lady, Laura, who seems to hold the strings of your life."

Geoffrey lay silent for a few minutes. "Thank you, Gordon," he said at last. "My conscious moments confirm the impression you have gained. I will talk no more to night, if you please ; but I believe my sleep will be sound and healing."

Chapter II Dr

GORDON. " I have business which calls me ashore to-day, Poland," said Dr. Gordon, appearing in Geoffrey's cabin the next morning. " In half an hour we shall have anchored off Genoa, and as soon as I have seen you established on deck I shall be off. I may be detained several hours, but my boy Tom will look after you like a woman." " Yes," answered Geoffrey, lazily. " Don't trouble yourself about me ; I shall be more than content — ' With half-shut eyes ever to seem Falling asleep in a half dream ! ' " " Dream away, my dear fellow, as long as you don't — ' Lend your heart and spirit wholly To the influence of mild-minded melancholy ; To muse and brood and live again in memory.' ' " It won't do me any harm," answered Geoffrey. "In fact, it is a necessity. The whole object of my being away from England is— 'to live again in memory,' until I have determined how big or little a part in my life such memories should take.' " Ah, well ! you will perhaps tell me some thing about it by-and-by," said Dr. Gordon, with affected lightness, feeling that his cure could never be complete while some unex plained puzzle was weighing on his brain, and having no scruple about prying into personal matters when it was for the good of his patient.

An hour later Geoffrey was lying quietly on deck, propped upon luxurious cushions, sheltered from sun and wind by a carefully adjusted awning, and within full view of Genoa and its harbour, its churches and palaces, its background of rocky hill sides, fortress crowned, with the further range of Apennines beyond. He admired and en joyed it immensely, but being in a some what unhealthy state of mind, he set to work to analyse his enjoyment, instead of taking it as it came and being glad of it. It was beautiful — far more beautiful than he had imagined it could be — this wonderful city, hung midway between blue sky and bluer sea, bathed in sunshine and glorified in distance. A city to dream of, to lie awake at night and remember when London fogs came through windows and shutters and clogged one's throat.

A city to which one longed to bring a second self, and watch the awakening admiration, the kindling enthusiasm which would bring back the glory of one's own first pleasure with the newly added joy of a perfect sympathy. Having decided that this sympathy was a necessity, he could not refrain from going back to the old puzzle of where he should find it. A year before he would have said " nowhere ; " six months ago he would have wondered if the spoiled darling of her father and her many friends had had ' ' all the soul pampered out of her," or whether the clear mind and generous heart had stayed fresh and unspoiled through it all, and capable of giving that free full sympathy he craved ; but to-day he believed — almost with certainty, and rejoiced in believing — that it was Laura alone whose company he coveted.

All through these long months he had wavered, not for his own sake but for hers. He would not go back to her until he could say with a truth, which neither she nor he could doubt, that he wanted her to be with him through all his life. He did not any longer doubt it himself, but he could as yet see no way of proving his truth to her. He had been ill, and idle, and miserable, ever since he had parted from her ; he could urge nothing on his own behalf ; he had not one pretension to bring before her father, not one claim on his confidence. How could he venture to go to him, and ask to take a daughter from his house ? How could he presume to match his little fortune — which hardly more than supported him self — against her ten thousand pounds ? It was true that the luxurious home he should be asking her to leave had never been a happy one.

She had pined and fretted there, had been neglected and disliked ; but she did not know the meaning of poverty, and it should not be his task to teach her. But somehow to-day bis brain felt clearer. vol. in. c his mind stronger than it had been for months. Perhaps the warm, languid air of the Spanish towns in which he had been lingering had overcome his strength, and had been partly responsible for the almost hopeless depression and lack of energy from which he had suffered ; perhaps the cure at Blithefield had not been so complete as it had seemed, and the dulness of his brain had been due to physical causes while he had been calling himself "an idle fool," and had assured himself over and over again that if he was worthy of the name of a man he should never appear before Laura until he had in some way proved himself worthy of her.

But to-day clouds and gloom and self-distrust rolled away as if by magic; to-day it was possible yet to be of some account in the world, and have something to offer which a woman need not despise. Perhaps it was clear air and returning health, perhaps it was Gordon's wholesome society— it mattered little. To-day life held possibilities for him of which he would strain every energy to avail himself, and then — but not until then — he would have a right to see Laura again. "Your lonely day — about which I have suffered some self-reproach — has done you no harm, Poland," said his friend, when he returned late in the evening, and had looked at him critically. " No ; on the contrary, my own society has been the best. I had some accounts to settle with myself before I was fit for much talk; but I have got them pretty clear now, clear enough to warrant my laying them before you — when you have time and inch nation to give me a helping hand."

" To-morrow, Poland, with all my heart ! To-night I bar much talking ; you are scarcely a giant in strength yet, nor have I a clear mind to give you. I have had a trying day, which is against my principles and takes me some time to recover." With a gesture of impatience and disgust he flung his half-smoked cigar over the yacht's side, and starting up took a turn or two up and down the deck. " But yet you find a certain sort of pleasure in your distress and disquietude," said Geoffrey, after a pause, during which he had been observing his companion carefully. " How do you know ? " "Well, there is an elasticity about you; you looked troubled but not weighed down ; you have suffered to-day, but there has been an excitement in your pain which has been almost pleasure, and must have been the result of some unselfish action."

" Thank you for the compliment ! I will give an account of my day if you like, and you may judge how far I have deserved it." " Just what I should like — if you will allow me a pipe, doctor," answered Geoffrey, settling himself comfortably amongst the cushions ; and after proper professional hesitation Dr. Gordon allowed the indulgence and began. ' ' I came back here last night according to promise, to see a young fellow to whom I had allowed two months of life at the utmost, and he and his charming little wife knew it. I find I made a mistake and should have given him three, which means so many more days of happiness for him — for he does not suffer — of watching and unreasoning hope for her — for, poor child ! she will not despair — and of anxiety and attention from me, which is against my theories and upsets my calculations."

" And affords you much unselfish satisfaction,'^interrupted Geoffrey. - ' I am glad to hear it, but it is of a nature too subtle for me to have discovered it. However, I have yet only told you half my day's work. This is the other : I went to see a girl from whom I parted two months ago, thinking she might be the pivot on which my life would turn. I come back and find her an immovable finger-post pointing to wards the Church of Rome. I was implored by despairing relatives to try my influence, and did so ; it had formerly been great, but Father Peter, Paul, or Silas had been before hand, and my possible bride had sworn to be the bride of heaven. You say that I am pleasantly excited, Poland ; if so, it is with the excitement of relief that I have been delivered from a life-long bondage to that woman's narrow soul."

He took several turns up and down before Geoffrey spoke again. "You have had a rough day's work, Gordon, but you have made something out of it, if I know you right. You have been a tower of strength to that sorrowful pair, and a strong — although at present it seems unavailing — protest against a misguided woman's bigotry." "Yes, perhaps I may have been all that; but I have gone against my principles and have been distressed over it," answered Gordon, with a forced laugh. " And now, my dear fellow, for your benefit and my own, I will say good-night ; we shall both be the better for a rest." But when Geoffrey awoke from his first sleep, an hour or two later, he fancied he could detect his friend's footsteps in the restless tread he heard on deck, as if he had chosen to keep the watch, in despair of finding the rest he needed.

"You will be content to remain on board for a day or two, Poland ? " asked Gordon the next morning, when Geoffrey had taken him by surprise, and, although pale and weak, had appeared at the breakfast-table. "You have treated me as your child by adoption, but there is such a thing as nut running one's welcome," answered Geoffrey. " I imagine that my right course would be to go ashore, and stay at some quiet hotel until I am able to travel." " Yes, and by way of a cure sit and boil your brains in the burning sun until there is not a halfpenny to choose between you and a lunatic ! Well, my friend, do it if you please ; I am scarcely at peace with the world to-day, and a quarrel or two more or less wont count for much in making up the score." " Perhaps if you are in that humour I had better stay for a day or two as a safety-valve.

I am not of much account at present ; but if I can save the rest of your world from a blow up it may be worth while," suggested Geoffrey, who was longing for a few days more of ease and peace. " Perhaps, when one comes to think of it, it may be ; suppose we leave the question until further notice." "All right," said Geoffrey, and found little difficulty in settling down contentedly to another lonely day.

Chapter III. Which

? " To wear out heart, and nerves, and brain, And give oneself a world of pain ; Be eager, angry, fierce and hot, Imperious, supple — God knows what, For what's all one to have or not." " That has been my sort of work to-day, Poland," said Gordon, coming back late in the evening, and sitting down wearily in a large swinging chair by Geoffrey's side. " Good heavens ! it has been a hard task to persuade a dying man, with a flicker of life in him, not to make plans which break his wife's heart ! and then to go from them to convince a pretty narrow-minded girl, who has been petted all her life, that her fit of religious fervour is only a passing craze ! WHICH ? 27 I seemed to gain my end in both cases, but of course I can't expect that my influence lasted beyond the moment. But now I have had enough of myself, and it will be good for me, and for you too, if you will give me a dose of your affairs."

Geoffrey was silent for a minute or two, and looked out over the sea with his head raised on his hand. " The moving cause of my being here just now," he said at length, "is that I was fool enough to bestow the valuable gift of my affections on two women at the same time, without being able to decide whether my passion for one, which was the maddest folly, was an unpardonable treason to the other, whom I might hope to make the companion of my life, which even in my most insane moments I anxiously desired." "An awkward position!" said Gordon, smiling a little. " Were they friends ? " " They are sisters." "Worse and worse! Are you going to tell me more ? '' " Yes, a great deal more ; but I warn you that I have no intention of stating the matter fairly. You shall have the entire benefit of my prejudiced point of view, and you can make what you please of it."

" All right ; ' minds diseased ' are as much in my line as bodies, and after having listened to you for a night or two, I am prepared to find that you are not altogether sane on this subject." Geoffrey laughed. "I have no occasion to fear that you will be sentimentally indulgent, I know. No doubt, a good bitter dose of truth and common-sense is what I want." "What you want is to state your case concisely. I shall allow no more talking than necessary." WHICH ? 29 " Last spring," Geoffrey began, " I was dragged down, much to my disgust, to stay at a country house to meet a family party assembled to do honour to the birthday of an heiress and spoiled darling. I was sick of her praises beforehand, and, being pre judiced, began with more than a little aversion, and, at first I believe from con trariety, I gave all my attention to another daughter of the house, who seemed neglected and even disliked by every one, and who, I must confess, was on first acquaintance un prepossessing ; but she interested me at once, and I took trouble to get on with her, even before an accident threw us much together.

It so fell out that I was the means of saving the heiress from danger, if not death, and got a blow on the head for my pains. I was bad enough for a few days I believe, and my friend, Laura, came to me as a saving angel, understood my wishes without a word, sat silent or talked as seemed good to me, kept out the rest of tbe family with their gratitude, and, perhaps best of all, gave me in herself a most interesting subject for study. Of course it was the old story — ' Juxtaposition is great ' — but it was something better than that. I felt a reverence for the girl's ignorance and helplessness. I could see that her faults were those of training, to begin with ; self-fostered, as she grew older, from the consciousness of the small account in which she was held in a family of handsome, clever sisters.

I had fancied myself above the usual weaknesses of mankind, and had believed that if I ever did choose a companion for life it would be a woman whom my clearest judgment should thoroughly approve ; and behold ! instead, I wished to take to myself an unformed, uneducated girl ! Well, I will say no more WHICH? 31 about her — perhaps one day you will see her, and be one of the few who can detect her charm. After three weeks of daily intercourse I got well and left her, intending to test the strength of my regard before speaking to her ; but I did not entirely carry out my wise resolutions — at any rate, I gave her to understand that I should come back to her. So far, however, all was well, until — as the perversity of fate would have it — I was immediately after thrown into the company of her sister, the heiress, whose life I had saved.

She was beautiful, she was charming, she was determined to please, and — truth will out, Gordon — I was dazzled. Any fool knows that the moon is beyond his reach, and I never had one flattering hope ; but I felt that I had forfeited my right to Laura until this insane fancy had passed away, and I wrote and told her so — whether wisely or not is open to doubt from some points of view ; but I believe in honesty on big occasions — in minor matters the ' tangled web ' often pays best. Well, I have been wandering about the country for the last seven or eight months, wondering whether my folly was cured, and whether, with a clear conscience, I could ask Laura to marry me as soon as I have a home to offer her. But I think my brain has been dull, Gordon — at least this decision has been beyond me, lost in the mists of doubt until yesterday.

Since then the air has cleared. I can think ; I can judge ; I can find the way about in my own mind since then. I believe you have saved more of me than you know." "Now, am I to give advice?" asked Gordon, a few minutes after Geoffrey had ceased speaking. " Yes." " Go home to Lady Laura, and ask her WHICH ? 33 boldly what she thinks of you. But as you can't get there just in a hurry, spend your leisure in devising a means for earning her bread." " Excellent advice ! " answered Geoffrey, " But you have not considered the incal. culable folly of human nature. What if, when I see them both again, the old con temptible glamour overpowers my reason, and I sacrifice my life's companion for the witchery of a beautiful face ? " Gordon shrugged his shoulders. " Of course, one can't quite provide against that or any other aberration of intellect.