Inscrutable

Chapter I. When

a stranger finds himself for the first time at Riverton he is inclined to believe that he has been conjured back into an ancient maze; for old and new are there strangely huddled together. Queer courts and alleys open suddenly into prosperous-looking streets ; quaint houses, charming the eye with their high-pitched roofs, jostle sub stantial Queen Anne buildings ; and tumble-down cottages abut unconcernedly against dull-looking but well-built churches. Even by daylight Riverton is unlike an ordinary English town, but I shall never forget the first sight I had of it on a dark, stormy winter's night. The feeling of intense loneli ness I had experienced during my journey down from London was increased by the dreary look and dense atmosphere, which added new gloom to the railway-station as I slowly stepped down from the train.

The wind howled an angry message along the platforms ; the rain made a spiteful hissing against the station roof; the gaslights within and without burnt feebly, and were further dimmed by the foggy atmosphere, whilst small flights of sparrows clustered round them for warmth and shelter in, as I thought, a very peculiar manner. s INSCRUTABLE. 6 There was no one to meet me ; but I was not disappointed, for I expected no one. My modest portmanteau, thrown out against a lamp-post by a weary porter, looked as forlorn as its master, and before I had collected my wandering thoughts my few fellow-travellers to Riverton had disappeared. Another porter, after casting an unfriendly glance at my luggage and then at me, and settling mentally that we belonged to each other, surlily enquired : "What do you want done with that 'ere luggage?"

"Is there a 'bus down to Water Gate House?" I asked civilly, to remind him of his manners. "No, there's no more 'busses running to-night; 'taint reasonable to expect it of 'em; but, when he comes, the outside porter can take it to the ' Crown ' Inn." " That will do," I said. " I '11 find my way on foot." I stepped out of the station into a dark, steep, dreary street, Evidently Riverton was too old-world, or too proud and poor, to light itself suitably; but all this darkness and dreariness seemed to match my own gloomy thoughts, and, careless of losing my way, I stepped boldly forward. For the fiftieth time I reviewed my position, and the strange chances which had brought me from Ghent to London, and from London to Riverton. I could recollect no other home but the quaint " Maison Rouge," on the banks of the Ghent canal, where I could just remember my father sitting, as I had done so often since, at his easel in the studio at the top of the house ; then, passing on, I reviewed the long years, when every penny was of consequence, and when my mother was always slaving to make lady boarders comfortable.

I could also remember — can a man ever forget a mother's devotion ? — how she scraped together the necessary money for my education, and, later on, for my art studies. Then came the nearer recollection of her severe illness, of the doctor's frequent visits, of the strenuous INSCRUTABLE. 7 s efforts I made to earn money, of the strange makeshifts I hid from her, such as the second-hand great coat I called quite new, and the watch which was, as I said, always wanting repair, but which in reality I had pawned. I am not ashamed of these and many other sufferings endured for her ; how much more had she not done for me ? But though I was willing to do my utmost, I can never forget the long, sharp struggle with hideous poverty, nor the utter despair which seized me, when at length having but few friends I knew not where to turn for help.

My mother was strangely shy and reserved, and we knew none of our own countrymen settled at Ghent. The time came when the last pictures which remained to us of those painted by my father had to be sold, and then every moment I could spare from her bedside was employed by me in painting "pot boilers." I even adorned fans, work-boxes, and what not, for the shops at ridiculously low prices. I always hoped that my poor mother did not guess the full difficulty of my situation ; but the knowledge that she was worrying on my account spurred me on to still greater exertions, not the least of which was the effort I made to keep up a cheerful counte nance in her presence. One day, a week before her death, when the strain to keep a brave front was beginning to tell on me in spite of my resolution, my mother, who now usually would lie for hours without speaking a word, suddenly surprised me by saying, in a clear voice, " Lance, my boy, I am afraid our money is running very short."

" Don't trouble yourself about that, mother," I said cheer fully. I even managed to laugh a little. " My dear boy," she murmured. Then, as if she were not re-assured, she continued, " It won't be for long now ; the doctor told me so yesterday." " Doctors never know," I said angrily. INSCRUTABLE. 8 She shook her head. Then after a pause she added, " You do love your profession, don't you, Lance ? You chose it ; I never hindered you." " Of course, mother. Was not my father an artist ? And isn't it the grandest profession in the world ? If it does not mean money yet, why, nothing worth doing succeeds at once. When I am known in England " " The struggle may be hard for you when I am gone, my poor Lance. It has been hard for all of us, but I have been helped by a perfect marriage — a love such as few women dream of."

"And you will get well again, and when I am famous, how we shall laugh over our little troubles." " I have been very selfish, I fear, Lance, but it was the last thing, the only link . Fetch that little box you see there, and open it with the key on my chain." To hear my mother accusing herself of selfishness made me smile ; but I obeyed, and soon the box was opened. She stretched out her thin white hand, and from the bottom she drew out a case covered with old red morocco leather. " Open it, Lance." I did so, and what was my surprise to see the most lovely miniature that I have ever beheld. For a moment I gazed only at the exquisite girlish face it represented, and then I noticed that this miniature was set round with sparkling diamonds. " Sell it, Lance," said my mother simply. " I ought to have done so before."

" Whose picture is it ? Why have I never seen it until now ? What an exquisite face ! " I poured out my questions, but I found my curiosity was not to be entirely satisfied. "It is a miniature of — a relation of mine," said my INSCRUTABLE. 9 mother, looking at the picture I held ; " but you know, Lance, that ever since my marriage I have lived abroad. My relations were displeased at my marrying a poor man — an artist ; and since I left England I have had no com munication with my native country. This picture is the last link with it, and now I prefer that you should sell it." In spite of the struggles with poverty which I had under gone, I felt suddenly unwilling to part with this exquisite picture ; first, because the beauty fascinated me ; and, secondly, because I was seized with a new curiosity to hear about my own country and my unknown relations.

" As you care about this picture, isn't it a pity to sell it, mother dear ? " I said. A flush spread over her sweet, pale face, and she seemed to be struggling with a strange emotion, to the reason of which I had no clue. Her hand trembled, her eyes seemed to assume an unnatural brightness, and for the first time in my life I saw an expression of anger pass over her usually gentle face. " I ought not to have kept it, Lance ; it was a sin. It reminded me of things I should have done well to forget. Oh, Lance, Lance, it is not easy to forgive ! I had fancied that I should do so; but now — now — replace that picture in its case, and go out and sell it. The diamonds are valuable I think, and the miniature was painted by a good artist. For your sake, Lance, I must part with it." " For my sake, mother !

" I exclaimed, trying to laugh away her evident distress. "What can it matter to me? I have never heard of or seen any relations, and as long as I have you I care not for anyone else. This young lady must have been very beautiful, and the painting is a work of art, other wise " "You cannot understand, my boy. Don't ask. Now leave me alone, and go and get rid of it — of that face." INSCRUTABLE. 10 I saw that I must obey her. I began to imagine that her mind was a little wandering, for never had I seen her so much excited, and the fear of increasing her anxiety made me hasten at once to the principal jeweller in the town, carrying the miniature in my pocket. When I entered there was a customer in the shop, so I stepped aside, and examined some ancient clocks. Looking up when the gentleman was preparing to depart, I saw that he was evidently an Englishman.

Indeed, his accent had told me as much before, but I found myself looking at such a very remarkable man that I could not help gazing at him, as I might have done had he been a famous model. He was not exactly handsome, but it was a face that im printed itself on the mind of one in search of various types of countenance. My rudeness evidently attracted him, for he gave me a searching glance, much as one gives to a person whom one fancies not unknown, but whose name one cannot recollect. This scrutiny of course lasted but a very short time, yet it impressed the stranger's features on my memory. When he was gone M. Gautier turned towards me, saying, "A countryman of yours, monsieur!" " There are many English here," I said carelessly. Then I took the miniature out of its case, and handed it to the jeweller.

I was gratified to find that its beauty excited the admiration of Monsieur Gautier himself, and when I asked him if he could tell me its worth, his face assumed a wise and meditative expression. "You will not sell this here for its real value," he said to me. " The diamonds are small, but of the first water ; and the painting — I am rather a connoisseur — is exquisite. Was the lady married, monsieur ? If so, her husband was a lucky man." INSCRUTABLE. 11 " I know nothing of her," I said carelessly. " This is an old thing that has belonged to my family." "Ah! Well, it's beautiful," he added. "Look at the pose of that head upon the slender neck, the deep blue eyes, that waving hair, and the mouth — ah ! the mouth." " Rather too sad to please me," I said, wishing to finish the affair, though I was beginning to regret parting with it; "but just now I want a little spare cash, and a picture may feed the imagination but not the body."

" Very true, very true ; but, honestly, I cannot buy this. I should be dishonest if I were to offer you what I could afford ; but, let me see, if you leave it with me I may find some rich customer." " I want the money at once, monsieur," I said, " and rich amateurs never turn up when they are wanted." I held out my hand for the picture, and once more gazed at it. If the painter had not flattered the original then she must have been a noted beauty. I turned the picture and, artist-like, examined the back. My sharp eyes noticed a half-rubbed-out pencil mark, and taking it to the window, I managed to decipher the word Rosamond. The surname was entirely unreadable, and time or someone had carefully erased all clue to it. " Look here, monsieur," said the jeweller suddenly, " I will give you j_~i_\\ on this picture, and I must tell you that it is for the pleasure of looking at it.

In the meanwhile I may find a purchaser, or you may like to redeem it. I do this for you, monsieur, because, if I mistake not, you are the English painter who lives near the canal." "And why for me ? " "You once painted a little picture of my grandchild, and gave it to the mother. The child died, and that picture has been my poor daughter's consolation ever since." INSCRUTABLE. 12 I laughed, for I had almost forgotten this deed, which indeed had been prompted by mere good nature; but I accepted the, for me, happy consequence with gratitude. I thanked the honest Gautier, pocketed the money, and hastened back to my mother. When I returned I was glad to see that she had regained her usual composure. " You have parted with it, Lance ? " "Yes," I said, not thinking it worth while to enter into particulars, "and I have got £_\<~\ for it.

We are rich, mother, and I shall now call in more advice." " It must have cost more than that ! Still — well, it is a relief to me that it is no longer in this house. Thank you, Lance." Relieved from the great pressure of the present, I was able to devote myself entirely to my dear invalid. But each day I saw her grow weaker ; she took very little notice of anything, and only now and then smiled lovingly at me when I asked her how she was. But once again she had a rally. It was the day before her death — a chill, grey March evening. It had been raining all the afternoon, and, sitting by my mother's bedside, I saw that in all likelihood my long watching would soon be over. It was striking eight o'clock from some neigh bouring, deep-toned bell when she opened her eyes, and looked at me with a new expression on her pale face.

" Lance I " "Yes, darling," I said. " God bless you, my boy ; you have been everything to me since your father's death." " Hush, dear ! " I said, " don't talk like that. What shall I do without you ? " We both knew that this was a good-bye. " God will provide," she said, half to herself. Then again, after a few moments, she added, " Lance, put my death in the Times:' INSCRUTABLE. 13 I bowed my head, trying to force back my tears. " Stoop close to me, my Lance, and listen ; you will perhaps some day get a letter from — a relation. Promise me to say 'No' to whatever offer he makes you. Never trust ." She did not finish her sentence ; the same flush of anger as I had seen before spread over her ashy-white features, and the effort to add something further seemed to paralyse her. Her eyes closed, and to my dismay she seemed at once to become unconscious of my words.

" Oh, darling mother, look at me ! Speak to me ! I will promise you anything you like ! " I exclaimed. Did she hear the promise? Was she so certain I should make it that she had not enough energy even to remain conscious to hear the words ? I know not ; all I am certain of is, that I made the promise, even though it may have been to closed ears. I am certain too, that had my mother retained consciousness she would have received the promise, and that she would have thanked me for it. My mother never spoke again. Her death left me stupefied, but happily my money was sufficient for the funeral expenses, and served also to pay what few debts remained. Then, leaving the home of my childhood, I procured a very humble lodging, and once more turned to face the battle of life. From the peculiar circumstances of my bringing up — a stranger in a foreign land, but taught to love my country, and to be a thorough Englishman — I was almost friendless.

I had never been encouraged to make true friends, and my acquaintances were mostly struggling artists like myself, to whom I should have been ashamed to turn for help. I was also, above everything, grieving bitterly for the loss of my mother; the loneliness of the big world saddened me; the feeling that I could not paint pictures that would sell depressed me, and deprived me of my former powers of working hard. INSCRUTABLE. 14 Gradually the old struggle began again — the hand-to-hand fight with grim poverty, and with worse than poverty, with oppressive debt. Sometimes I would throw down my paint brush, feeling that I had better give up art for ever ; but at other times I rebelled against my own cowardice, and doggedly determined to starve, if heaven had provided nothing better for a struggling artist.

When starvation knocks at the door it may be possible to say " Come in ;" but when she is in the same room with you, looking at you with hollow eyes and a mocking smile, it is then that you begin to feel a real horror of death, and to seize at any chance means of escape. Most of my fellow-artists had someone to fall back upon in their last extremity — some father, mother, or sister, however poor ; or some devoted aunt or old cousin — and it struck me painfully that I alone had no one, that I did not know one relation, or one connection, to whom I could write in case of the last extremity of hunger. Such was my position — one indeed which could hardly have been worse — when one evening in the month of November I heard the postman's tread on the stairs. He was not a frequent visitor, for the lodgers were all of them poor, and not given to much correspondence.

I remember vaguely speculating, as I sat close to the stove, to which floor the postman's visit would be paid, when to my surprise there was a knock at my own door, and the cheery Belgian handed me a large business-like looking envelope. I thanked him, and gazed at it in somewhat stupid astonish ment. When he was gone I sat down, and with the help of the small lamp I broke the seal, though with very little interest, for the postmark was " Ghent." I half feared some forgotten debt, but I was mistaken. The official wrapper contained another envelope, and I now saw what had happened. The INSCRUTABLE. 15 writer was English, and had forwarded his letter to the postmaster, hoping he would discover my abode. The letter was addressed to " Lancelot Dighton, Esq., Ghent." As soon as my fingers touched the envelope my mother's last words flashed into my mind.

There was nothing extraordinary in this, perhaps, but besides feeling myself once more by her bedside, seeming to hear her voice and the touch of her hand, I felt convinced, without further proof, that this letter was from the relation she had mentioned, the relation who was to be denied all he asked, and who was not to be trusted. This was my first and very strong impression — so strong was it, indeed, that I had almost thrown the letter unopened into the fire, when there came second thoughts, calmer reflection, and more reasoning arguments. How could I be certain that this letter was indeed from the relation referred to ? There might be many of her own people in England who, on seeing her death in the paper, might wish to hear further particulars about it from her son. I opened the letter and read these words : "Water Gate House, Riverton.

" Dear Sir, — I believe that the late Mrs. Dighton left one son, who has been brought up an artist, as was his father. If this letter falls into the hands of Lancelot Dighton, I wish to offer him a home in England with me, and, subject to a few conditions, I shall wish to make him my heir. Kindly reply at once, giving me correct address. Yours faithfully, " Garrick Bloodworth." To receive such a letter would at any time have caused a young man some deep reflection, but brought up in loneliness as I had been, ignorant even of the name of Bloodworth, the news seemed to paralyse my thoughts. I sat a long, long time near my small lamp, reading the words again and again. INSCRUTABLE. 16 At first I did not even frame any answer ; I merely stupidly meditated that at last my hard struggle was over, that I should say good-bye to poverty, and that in happier surroundings I should be able to rise in my profession to heights quite impos sible to attain when daily bread had to be first considered, nay, searched for at every turn.

Who was this " Garrick Bloodworth " ? This was my next thought. Perhaps a relation on my mother's side, or, perhaps — I was inclined to the more poetical views of life — perhaps an old lover, who, hearing of her death, wished to show his love by befriending her son. Yes, most likely Garrick Blood worth was an old lover. Before the last post I went out, and this was the letter that left Ghent that evening : " Dear Sir, — Till I hear further particulars from you, I need only say that I have received your letter, and that I am Lancelot Dighton, the only child of my dear mother, who died last March. " Yours faithfully, "L. Dighton." I prided myself on the cautious wording of my answer, and took courage. Need I seek for any mysterious explanation of the troubled dreams which oppressed me that night?

My mind was of course much burdened with the past cares, and this strange letter reminded me of my dear mother's death ; but towards morning I woke in an agony of fright, or was it that I still slept and had only fancied I was awake ? I cannot tell, but it seemed to me as if my mother stood at the bottom of my bed ; that the moonlight streamed in over her, and by that bright light I distinctly saw the agony ex pressed on her deathlike face. I am sure I saw her quite distinctly, whether in my sleep or in my waking thoughts I do not know ; but so vivid was the impression that I called out INSCRUTABLE. 17 " Mother ! " only to see her turn from me and fade slowly away. After this did I faint ? or was it merely dreamless sleep that fell upon me ? I cannot tell. I can explain nothing, except that when the light streamed into my room I could not get up, and my landlady found me so feverish when she came to see after me that she called in a doctor, who said I was in a nervous condition, and required complete rest.

I soon recovered, however, for I determined not to be ill. I was not long kept in suspense ; almost as soon as it was possible I received a second letter from Garrick Bloodworth. This time I was not left ignorant of the reason why the stranger had written to me. He wrote thus : " From circumstances which I need not enter upon, Mrs. Dighton had cut herself off from her family. I was her brother in-law and her guardian. Now she is dead I feel it my duty to offer you a home, even if it may seem somewhat dull to an English man brought up abroad. I lead a lonely life in an old cathedral town. Pray come as soon as you can after the receipt of this, first posting a letter to tell me you have started, and believe me, "Yours sincerely, " Garrick Bloodworth." How natural all this appeared to me ! I reasoned out the whole story to my own entire satisfaction.

My mother had fallen in love with Lancelot Dighton, a poor artist, and had married him against the wishes of her family, and in consequence she had been cast off by her rich relations. I was sure, too, that she would have been too proud to ask for help, or to pray for forgiveness. The result had been natural on both sides ; she had felt sore at being cast off, and they had never recalled their anathemas. But need this prevent me, her son, who could know nothing of the past, from trying to become reconciled to my kith and kin ? Surely not. Surely E INSCRUTABLE. it would be better to put away all feeling of resentment, and once more to become in reality what I greatly yearned to be, in spite of my lifelong associations with a foreign country — a true Englishman. This argument I turned over many times in many and varied forms, and at last I threw away all considerations except those which pressed most heavily on me at the moment.

I would go and see this man ; I could then easily satisfy myself as to the reason of my mother's strong dislike to her relations ; and, moreover, I could thus settle the question whether it was Garrick Bloodworth or someone else who was on no account to be trusted. My mind once made up I sold the few possessions that remained to me, borrowed money enough for my journey, and then, first posting a letter (which I remembered afterwards would not reach Garrick Bloodworth as soon as I should) to my new relation, I started off for Riverton. My arrival happened as I have already described, and feeling a strange, unaccountable dread of what was before me, I made the best of my way down to the low-lying part of the town, where I was told I should find Water Gate House.

Chapter II. Riverton

is a cathedral town, and, for that reason perhaps, a strange, melancholy, lethargic atmosphere envelopes it, although it possesses many elements which should rightly make it as bustling a place as any other town where a few manufactories flourish. On the evening of my arrival it looked as gloomy and unfriendly as it was possible to imagine, and the idea was strengthened by the fact that, after twice losing my way, I found that the house I was seeking was in the Close, and that this Close was already securely locked up. A great Gate Tower was pointed out to me as the place at which I must ask for admittance. Accordingly I ap proached a massive door, above which a feeble gas-lamp was suspended. By the help of this I discovered an iron bell-handle and rang it impatiently. The sound of this bell appeared to me even more melancholy than the howling wind and the beating rain, from which I was now partially protected.

Suddenly I saw an eye and half a face, looking at me through a hole which was placed at the top of what I now discovered to be a smaller door, cut in the middle of the larger and more massive wooden gate. "What's your name, and what house be you going to?" said a gruff, surly voice. I was a little put out by the question, for I had as yet INSCRUTABLE. 20 no acquaintance with English ways, and English cathedral towns, but I had been brought up to think that, whatever restrictions we lived under abroad, England was a free land, and her citizens the most liberty-loving of men and women. There was no use, however, in arguing out the question, and I said, "I am going to the Water Gate House— Mr. Garrick Bloodworth's." The eye again looked me over, and, I thought, some what suspiciously. "What's Mr. Bloodworth mean by having such late visitors, and never giving notice of 'em either?

Well, I suppose you must come in." This grumbling speech was followed by an unlocking and unchaining on the other side, and then the door creaked back on its hinges, and I stepped over into Riverton Close. To me all this appeared so strange and antiquated, that I felt as if I were passing the threshold of the known into the unknown, from the modern into mediæval times. "Where is Water Gate House?" I asked, as the porter relocked the door. By the help of his lantern I could see the man was a deformed dwarf, or so small as not to be far removed from the race of dwarfs, and his ill-tempered face did not belie the ill-tempered look I had seen in his eyes. " Go down that path," he growled ! " turn to the left, and you'll find yourself in front of the Cathedral; then go to the right and pass along the cloister gratings; and then go down hill till you see the Water Gate.