The Soul of Honour

Front matter

BY HESBA STRETTQN AUTHOR OF "HALF BROTHERS," "JESSICA'S FIRST PRAYER ETC. LONDON ISBISTER AND COMPANY LIMITED 15 & 16 TAVISTOCK ST. COVENT GARDEN Printed by Ballantvne, Hanson 6r* Co. London ■£?* Edinburgh CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. A MAY MORNING ... . . . g II. A MEETING OF CREDITORS ig III. THE HOME OF LAZARCS 28 IV. FUGITIVES 37 V. DIVES MY FELLOW PASSENGER .... 47 VI. A STRANGE DISCOVERY 54 VII. SUMMER FRIENDS 67 VIII. LEAVING THE OLD LIFE 80 IX. A FAMILY LAWYER gl X. CHURCHWARDEN STREET IOO XI. A CRIPPLES' SCHOOL 109 XII. BROTHER FELIX Ilg XIII. A BATTLE SONG I2g XIV. ARTHUR'S LETTER I38 XV. AMONG THIEVES I47 XVI. NEW YEAR'S EVE 160 XVII. TWO RESOLUTIONS 173 XVIII. DAVID PALMER'S ATTIC CONTTNTs Cinr. r*.x XIX. CONTRASTS . . . l86 XX. JUBILEES rRAYER MUTING IOJ XXI NOT GRACE LAMBERT. ... 20j XXII. BENEDICTA -12 X.X1II TWO LETTERS 220 XXIV. THE PRIORY 228 XXV MRS. BLANDFORD 2J3 XXVI. NOT WORSE BUT BETTER 2,)0 XXVII OUR LIFE TOGETHER

Chapter I

A MAY MORNING It was the sweetest and fairest May morning I ever remember. The English spring-time had reached the moment of highest perfection. Yesterday had been cloudy and showery, and to-morrow might be stormy, but to-day was transcendent. Our garden beds were gay with flowers and the plants in the conservatories were in full blossom. It had not been an early spring. The hedgerows had not been " over bold with buds " in " late February days " ; and in " the month before the month of May," the spring had come "but slowly up our way." The trees wore their tenderest foliage. On every branch of the elms the leaves lay lightly, like delicate green butter flies with folded wings, waiting for the sun to expand them. The yellowish green of the young poplars dancing restlessly, and the leaf buds like tips of silver on the topmost boughs of the beech trees, shone against thc clear, sweet blue of thc sky.

On Wimbledon Common, outside our walls, the silver birches spread their delicate network, and the thorn bushes had a glow upon them like the bloom upon hot-house fruit. Little white clouds, with no rain in them, but shot through and through with golden light, floated idly across thc sky, ready to melt into its blue depths as soon as the sun grew hotter. The birds were delirious in their singing. The clear whistle of the blackbirds, the mocking song of thc thrushes, and the sweet, plaintive calls of thc starlings blended with the harsher cawings of the rooks, all of them busy and half hidden among the trees. It was indeed a blithe and gay day for them. And I, too, was blithe and gay. I felt so light hearted as I almost ran down the hill to the station, that I could have sung as joyously as thc birds if that had been according to custom.

I fancied that the few acquaintances I met looked at me with some astonishment, and smiled as if in spite of themselves. The station-master, whom I had known for years, greeted me with unusual kindness, and put me into a carriage himself. There was every reason why I should be light hearted. I was the only child of a very rich man ; and no cares or anxieties had crossed my path. The common round of my life consisted in balls, concerts, sports, and amusements of every kind. I was betrothed to a man of my own class, an officer in a popular regiment ; and we were to be married in a few weeks, soon after I was three and-twenty, a date my father stipulated for. The diversions of my lot were growing a little stale and monotonous to me ; but my marriage would take me to new fields of pastime ; for we were going to India for some years.

The only thorn among my roses was my step mother, who bore the well-earned character of an excellent woman : excellent as a wife, a manager, a hostess, and a friend. She was very popular everywhere except at home. But my marriage would rid me of her. No doubt she would be glad to get rid of me. London was looking its best, for the gloom of winter was gone, and the dust and heat of summer were yet in the future. The window-sills of the houses were bright with flowers, and truck-loads of gay-coloured plants, skilfully arranged, were being slowly wheeled along the streets. Even in Piccadilly it was a delicious morning. The air had some of the freshness of the breeze on a mountain side ; and dainty little cloudlets flecked the narrow band of blue overhead. I passed along the crowded pavement smiling, and it seemed to me as if the passers-by looked pleased to see me.

I heard one of them say, " That girl has thc spring in her face." Was I ever so light-hearted before ? I turned under the deep archway leading to thc square in front of Burlington House. The pigeons flew up with a flutter of motley wings as a carriage dashed by me. There were very many visitors coming and going incessantly ; for thc Academy Exhibition was in full swing. I held in my hand a card I had received the day before, containing only the words, " On the line. 4th gallery, No. 263." I almost mocked at my great eagerness to see the painting, for it was my own portrait, and was I not familiar with every line ol it ? I had enjoyed sitting for it to the rising young artist, George Blandford, the brother of Arthur, my future husband. It had been a pleasant pastime to sit in his studio, and chatter nonsense with the two brothers, as free from care and as happy as myself.

But, of course, there could be nothing new to me in the sight of the picture. I lingered in the vestibule a few minutes, waiting for George, to whom I had written the night before, fixing the hour for meeting. Arthur, I knew, could not join us before noon. But my impatience soon mastered me, and with just a slight tinge of vexation at his want of punctuality, I bought a catalogue and threaded my way through the crowd of sightseers in the first three galleries, scarcely glancing at any of the pictures, till I found myself opposite No. 263. It was exactly as I had seen it last ; certainly prettier than I really was, I had said ; not half so pretty, said Arthur. My father had forbidden my name being given, and I looked with some anxiety and curiosity to see what it was called in the catalogue.

"No. 263. The Soul of Honour. George Blandford." I felt my cheeks burn, and I turned away with something of a feeling of shame. The title of my portrait had been first a joke among us, but latterly a smiling mystery between the brothers. Did George call me that because I had insisted on paying a bet I had had with him, and lost on the last Oxford and Cambridge boat-race ? It seemed to me the only possible thing to do, and it was so trivial a matter. I sat down on an ottoman near the painting, but with my back to it. George would be sure to seek me there, and it would be pleasanter and less fatiguing to go round the galleries with him. I was tremulous with shame-faced happiness. That was what Arthur and George thought of me. And yet how easy it was to be honourable. But the Soul of Honour! I glanced round at the familiar painting — the tall, slim figure of a girl in a white dress, with clear-cut features, and with a frank, happy expression in the grey eyes.

I felt, as 1 had done before, a touch of disappointment. This was merely a picture of a pretty girl in a becoming dress. It was painted from the surface only. There was really nothing sugges tive or ideal in it. Here was no soul. An extra ordinary likeness, everybody said ; quite awfully clever in all its minute manipulation of details. The lace was actual!}' marvellous. I sat lor some time thinking, seriously for me, what honour meant, and how it must bar out every insincere word and every ignoble thought. At length a slight strain of apprehension seized upon me. This absence of George Blandford was inexplicable. Yet it was so vague, and I was so little used to introspection that I hardly heeded it, only feeling as if a light cloud was passing over my sunshine. I was about to get up when my eyes fell upon an old man, very poorly clad, in strange contrast with the throng of fashionable people about him.

He held his brown felt hat in his hand, and the light from above fell upon his snow-white hair and his finely moulded face, which had the colour of old ivory. He was look ing carefully at the pictures with intense enjoy ment, and evidently so absorbed in them as to be unconscious of himself and his surroundings. When he reached my portrait he sank down on the other side of the ottoman, his back to me, with a sigh of contentment. I was just again moving away, when I saw another elderly man, with a beaming smile upon his face, making his way regardless of pictures and people to the ottoman where I was sitting. He looked as prosperous as the other man looked poor, and I thought half quizzically of Dives and Lazarus. They met with the familiarity of old friends. " Well ! " said Dives, " so you are enjoying your yearly treat ?

" " My only extravagance at present," answered Lazarus. " Yes, I shall feast on the memory of these paintings many a time during the year. Some of them are worth remembering ! Look at that pretty, innocent young creature opposite to us. It is a good, open, straightforward counten ance. How candid and fair she looks ! Ah ! ' The Soul of Honour.' Well, she looks it." " Oh 1 there's no trusting to faces," said Dives ; " one of the greatest scoundrels in London has a good, open, straightforward countenance, as you call it. That man I would have trusted with untold gold. He has been trusted by thousands of poor folks. At least a score of my clerks have invested all their savings with him. He and most of the other directors are really eminent philanthropists. Talk about highway robbery and burglary !

They are not a tenth part as mis chievous as these infamous swindling companies. These sanctimonious rogues have cheated thousands of poor people out of their hard-earned savings, and ruined their homes. I'm on my way to the Cannon Street Hotel, where there is a meeting of creditors at one o'clock. But I'm for getting. The}' are your old friends." " What do you mean ? " inquired Lazarus. The deep, tranquil old voice was quavering a little as he spoke. "Why, the Lincoln Companies; half-a-dozen of them," replied Dives. " Christopher Lincoln is the chairman." "Oh! my God!" Was it my voice, or was it the old man behind me, who uttered the cry ? I murmured it to myself, if my lips did not speak it aloud. Christo pher Lincoln ! It was my father's name ! I felt paralysed ; I was blind and deaf to all about me for a few minutes, with a surging sound in my ears and a dazzling light in my eyes.

When the dizziness of brain had passed away, I turned round to look for the strangers ; but they were gone, both of them. I was not able to move yet, and I sat still, thinking. My father ! How poor and mean of me to be so terrified by words 1 had accidentally overheard. My father had never uttered a base sentiment ; he was integrity itself; he might be called the Soul of Honour, if they liked. He could not be dishonourable. Yet these men had been talking together seriously. Dives believed what he was saying so emphatically. The words were not meant for my ear. It came to my mind now that for the last few days my father had seemed unusually troubled and out of spirits, and my stepmother had been strangely busy and sparing of words, a rare circumstance with her. I had been too much wrapped up in my own affairs and my own prospects to pay much heed to those concerning other people.

But now it suddenly struck me with what peremptory emphasis she had bidden me be home before five o'clock. Another circumstance occurred to me forcibly. None of our numerous acquaintances had been to see us the last few days ; and even Arthur had not come down as usual. I knew he was very much occupied ; and I was occupied too, getting ready my wedding outfit. Not one of my twelve bridesmaids, whose costumes had been arranged with so much mutual interest, had been near me for a week. It was passing strange. " I'm on my way to the Cannon Street Hotel, where there's a meeting of creditors at one o'clock." The words seemed uttered clearly in B my ears as a suggestion and an invitation, as clearly as Dives had pronounced them a few minutes ago. Yes, I would follow him. I could no longer bear the vague terror, thc indescribable misgiving his words had provoked.

If I met my father there, I would tell him all. But it was not my father who would be there ; it was a meeting of creditors — if it was true. But how could it be true ? I was no longer a creditor of the Lincoln Com panies, for six months ago my stepmother had persuaded me to withdraw the money in my name, in order to provide my outsit. But I would try my chance of getting into the meeting. I roused myself, and glanced once more at " The Soul of Honour." It was thc only picture I saw in that year's exhibition. Slowly, and with an unfamiliar heaviness of heart, I went down the staircase I had ascended so joyously an hour before.

Chapter II

A MEETING OF CREDITORS I was accustomed to act for myself. My stepmother's capricious rule had developed my self reliance ; and my father, a very busy man, never interfered with me. I felt no hesitation in taking the step I had resolved upon. There were many little groups about the platform of Cannon Street Station, waiting for the opening of the large hall, where the meeting was to be held. I sat down on one of the benches, and looked round with a strange feeling of be wilderment. There were angry men and sad women talking together in clusters ; most of them clerks and shopwomen, who were going to hear what had been done with their hard-earned savings. I asked myself if it would not be better to go home, and get my father to explain matters to me. But there was a dawning suspicion in my mind that I should not get at the truth at home.

And I must know the truth now ! If I did not hear the exact state of affairs now, I should never know it. 1 should be put off with vague statements too general to satisfy me ; and suspicion would always rankle in my mind if 1 lost this chance of learning thc truth. I was startled from my confused thoughts by a shabbily gloved hand being laid upon my arm, and a well-known voice speaking to me. "Why, Phebe, dear one, what brings you here ? " It was an old governess of mine, who sat down beside me. Her face was very white, and her mouth quivered, though she made a pitiful attempt to smile bravely. It was six years since she had left us, but I was very fond of her, and saw her as often as my numerous engagements allowed. In a few words I told her what I had overheard, and what I meant to do. " Oh 1 but you must not," she said in a weak tone of remonstrance.

" He is your father, my love! But oh! Phebe, I've lost every penny I had." But Abby was always protesting and always yielding; and as at that moment there was a hurried movement towards the door leading to the hall, without waiting to argue with her, I put my arm in hers, and led her, trembling and almost sobbing aloud, up a wide staircase. It was thronged with men and women, who crushed past us, and finally carried us into a large assembly-room. Thc floor had been cleared of seats, excepting a double row of chairs already occupied, which formed a slight barrier in front of a low platform. One row of benches was ranged against the walls, and we took our places on one near the door in order to get out easily whenever we wished. As we sat sideways to the assembly, I could see the faces of many of the people who were standing.

They were evidently of the class who are obliged to keep up a respectable appearance on scanty means. Their savings could not amount to more than a few pounds yearly, and to put these by they must have practised minute and painful economies. A few among them were plainly poor elderly curates and Dissenting ministers, whose sad, strained faces were perhaps the most pitiful of all who were there. But every face I could see was drawn with an expression of anxiety, mingled in some cases with rage. There was still half an hour to wait, but the hall was already crowded, and the staircase leading to it filled with disappointed creditors too late to secure standing room within. A murmur of whispers buzzed through the place, scarcely even rising to an articulate tone. I felt my spirit overwhelmed with pity and dismay.

Was it possible my father — mine ! — had wronged all these people ? Next to me sat an elderly woman — a decent, commonplace creature, whose life had probably known nothing but the most ordinary and monotonous events, broken only by a bank holiday. She nudged me gently with her elbow, and looked earnestly at me over her spectacles, which were dimmed with tears. " Poor young lady ! " she said in a true cockney accent. " How much have you lost ? " " I don't know yet," I answered in a hall whisper. Oh, how true that was ! "Oh! my dear, my dear," she wailed, "I've lost my all ! Just my all ! And now, I'm past work ! Only six months ago my son-in-law — I'll never speak to him again ! — says he to me, ' Mother, why ever don't you put your money into the Lincoln Company instead of the Funds, which pay no interest to speak of?

It's as safe as the Bank of England ; our minister says so. Look at the names,' he says, ' there's Christopher Lincoln. Why, everybody knows what a good man he is, and as rich as Creases. And there's Mr. Templeton, and earls, and M.Ps., and lots of grand names ; and all of them rolling in money. They couldn't do anything wrong with your little property, mother,' he says. It's the last time I'll ever hearken to a word of his. And I took all my money, save a few shillings, out of the post-office and the Funds six months ago, and only drawn interest once. Oh ! what shall I do ? And me so old ! " I could say nothing to comfort her, for before I could open my lips a yell, fierce and terrifying, burst from the throats of the angry crowd about me, and was echoed b}* the listeners on the staircase.

It made my heart stand still, and it seemed as if a few such outcries would kill me. The directors were coming on to the platform. I had never thought of that. What this meet ing of creditors meant I had no idea of. But it had never crossed my mind that my father would be there. Yes ! there he stood, foremost and chief of all, as he was wont to be. His massive head and handsome face, blanched now as I had never seen it before, gave me a moment's pride in him. How white he looked ; yet with what dauntless courage he confronted the howling crowd ! The other directors sat down as if to shrink out of sight, but he stood facing the creditors, sorrowfully and silently, making no attempt to speak till they were ready to listen. But the tumult seemed to swell rather than subside, and indescribable noises, hooting, hissing, groaning, shouted curses, and furious questions echoed from wall to wall.

The decent, elderly woman beside me was suddenly transformed into a fury. She mounted on the bench and shrieked, "Yah! yah! pull 'em down! Tear 'em limb from limb ! " And she clenched her fist and pounded in the air, as if eager to attack the men herself. My old governess looked scared, and I felt sick and dizzy. Yet it was strange to me even then — my sympathy went to the maddened throng, not to my father and his friends. " Oh ! " I cried amid the din, " why don't you listen ? Why won't you let him speak ? Per haps he could explain." " That's sense," said a clear, strong voice near to us; "why don't you hear him? I've lost a thousand pounds, and I want to know what has become of it. Order ! order 1 " The strong voice made itself heard, and there was a lull for a few seconds, whilst many turned round to look at the loser of a thousand pounds.

I too, looked, and saw standing in the doorway the two men I had seen in the Academy, Dives and Lazarus. But the instant my father opened his lips to speak the storm broke out again. He stood still for a minute or two, his head drooping a little, and then, with a gesture of impatience and defiance, he sat down to let them yell as long as they chose. I saw his keen glance searching the crowd. But at this movement of his the uproar increased, and above all the tumult rose the cry : " Face us ! face us ! Stand up there ! Scoundrel! Thief! Stand up and face us ! " " Oh ! " I cried, looking up into the sympathetic face of the old man I called Lazarus, who was now standing near us, " will they do him any harm ? " "No, no," he answered, "they are quite safe. All those men in the front are police in plain clothes.

Besides, these are really respectable people, cruelly wronged. But I think," he added with gentle courtesy, " ladies ought not to be here, although it is perfectly safe for them." " Let us go," exclaimed Abby. " I never thought it would be anything like this. If we can only get through this crush ! " " Follow close to me," he said. " It will be easier to get out than to come in." Yet how we were extricated from the crowd, both in the hall and down the staircase, I hardly know ; but after a struggle of some minutes we found ourselves once more on the busy platform of Cannon Street Station. Abby sank down on a seat, breathless and exhausted. She was a frail woman, of about fifty years of age, and the agitation and distress she had gone through made her feel faint. Lazarus stood looking from one to the other of us, with great compassion in his mild gaze.

I had noticed him at once in the Academy, and he was a noticeable man in any place : very poorly, but very carefully dressed, and with an air of refinement, almost of elegance, about him. A tall, spare figure, and an emaciated face, with innumerable fine lines deeply engraved upon it. The dark eyes were sunken, and his mouth had fallen in, but in both eyes and mouth there was a smile of deep human tenderness, and at this moment of profound pity for us. "Are you both losers ?" he asked gently. " I've lost every penny ! " wailed Abby, clasp ing her poor hands together. She looked so worn and feeble — both of them looked so old, so worn out, and feeble — that my heart ached for them. "And I have lost all I have saved in ten years," said Lazarus with a sigh. " It was a sacred trust, and it has been betrayed."

For a few moments none of us spoke, so over whelmed were we by the sense of an inevitable calamity. All about us was the busy going or coming of travellers hurrying to and fro as the trains steamed in and out of the station. But we felt isolated, stranded. What were we to do next ? We could still catch the angry roar of the infuriated assemblage we had left, but saintly amid the other noises. We had left that behind us. Only one thing was quite clear, and imme diately pressing upon me. I must never let my father know I had been there. He did not love me enough to bear that knowledge. " I will venture to propose to you, ladies," said Lazarus, 44 that you will do me the honour of resting in my house for a little while in quiet. It is not more than a quarter of an hour's walk from here." " Oh, I should be so thankful ! " I cried. " I want a little time to think. I dare not go home yet."

Chapter III The Home Of Lazarus

Even in the City there are very quiet streets, where the traffic only lasts for a few hours a day. Our new, unknown friend led us into one of these, and pointed out to us his dwelling-place. It was a narrow little building of three storeys and a garret in the roof, inserted in the space which had once divided two large warehouses. The walls were grimed with smoke ; but the paint of the woodwork was clean and fresh. All the ground-floor front was occupied by a bow window and a narrow doorway. The window was plainly that of a small second-hand book shop. Across the top of the window and door way ran the words, " David Palmer, Bookseller and Stationer. Licensed to sell tea and patent medicines." A card in one of the window-panes stated that " Cheap printing is undertaken on a small scale " ; but the card was very old, and it was evident that it was unnecessary to keep this item of information before the public.

The shop was very narrow, and a flap-door in the counter, which ran across one end, was the only means of access to the dwelling at the back. Besides the packets of stationery and a nest of drawers containing the patent medicines, there were a few cheap toys and a bundle of walking sticks in a corner. Probably I did not notice all these details then ; but in after days I became familiar with them, and the little kitchen behind the shop. David Palmer, whom I can call Lazarus no longer, lifted up the flap in the counter and ushered us into his dwelling-place. There was a twilight duskiness about it, for a high blank wall, rising far above the roof of the intruded building, stood at four feet from the window, effectually shutting out the sunshine and the breezes of that sweet day of spring. There was no furniture beyond bare necessaries : three or four Windsor chairs, a square deal table, and a little crockery, with a few cooking utensils ranged on two shelves.

But wherever there was the space of a foot upon the walls, it was filled with books, which gave to the place the aspect of a recluse's study. "We will have a cup of tea first," said David Palmer, with a smile on his beautiful old face, " and afterwards we shall be better able to take counsel together about our mutual trouble," he added tenderly. It seemed like a dream to me. There was a profound hush and tranquility about this strange refuge which took it miles and miles away from London, with its surging, turbulent, over whelming life. Thc dusky light made this old man, with his quick but noiseless movements and his beneficent face, seem like some half-dozing vision. My old governess, Abby, sitting quite still and silent, was not any more real. How soon should I wake up from this singularly coherent dream ?

A coarse unbleached cloth was spread over thc deal table, and our host spoke almost apologeti cally of it. " It isa superfluity, I confess," he said, "but it saves trouble. The table would have to be scoured more frequently ; and even soap costs money. Most of our neighbours use newspapers, but I must indulge in a cloth. It is the force of habit, you see." He went away through the shop, and returned in a few minutes with a few Osborne biscuits on a plate. The tea was poured out into cups of thick white earthenware, and we took it almost in silence. Each one of us was too much absorbed in thought. Yet the meal had something solemn and sacred about it ; it seemed to be a pledge of faithful friendship between us. " After all," said the old man, " the loss of money is the least loss man can sustain. ' Whose gold is double, his cares are double.' We shall have our daily bread given to us."