And They Two

Front matter

Modern Problem Fiction. THE SPECTA TOR (September 26th), speaking of a series in which the tales "run too much upon the lines of the modern problem fiction," says: "WE WONDER, BY THE WAY, HOW LONG IT WILL TAKE PUBLISHERS TO FIND OUT WHAT A LARGE AND RE- SPECTABLE READING WORLD THERE IS THAT HAS NOT YET BOWED THE KNEE TO THIS NEW BAAL, AND IS EAGER TO WELCOME A GOOD STORYWITH A MOTIVE OF MORE WHOLESOME AND UNIVERSAL APPEAL." [Mr. GEORGE REDWAY thinks that the following Tales of Mystery, Imagination, and Humour, published at low (net) prices, will be found to suit that "reading world" to which the Spectator refers. ] A HUSBAND'S ORDEAL: Or, The Confessions of Gerald Brownson, late of Coora Coora, Queensland. By Percy Russell. Cloth, 3s. 6d. net. "Originality of idea marks 'A Husband's Ordeal.' The story, once begun, is certain to be read, and the excitement is sustained from start to finish." — Black and White.

THE LURE OF FAME. By Clive Holland, Author of " My Japanese Wife. " Cloth 3s. 6d. net. " There is not a trace of ambitious or offensive modernity about this graceful and pathetic idyll." — Glasgow Herald. " Will certainly enhance the reputation ofthe author." Whitehall Review. A MAN AND A WOMAN. Faithfully presented by Stanley Waterloo. Cloth, 3s. 6d. net. Third Edition. The Athenæum says (March 21st) : — " This is a notable book " ; and Van ity Fair speaks of "Its extraordinary human interest, its humour and pathos, its passion and beauty." A MYSTERY OF THE CORDILLERA. A Tale of Adventure in the Andes. By Arthur Mason Bourne. With Six Illustrations. Cloth, 3s. 6d. net. "A tale of adventure, which, never appearing to overstep the bounds of possibility, still carries you into a region of wonderful romance.

Will prove enthralling to readers of all ages." — Black and White. London : GEORGE REDWAY, 9 Hart Street, Bloomseury Modern Problem Fiction. NEW SPORTING STORIES. By G. G. Cloth, 3s. 6d. net. " ' New Sporting Stories' are written by a man who evidently knows what he is writing about. They will be welcomed by admirers of Mr. Jorrocks and Mr. Sponge who do not object to a superfluity of sporting slang." — Times, May 29th. A BRIDE'S EXPERIMENT. A Story of Australian Bush Life. By Charles J. Mansford. Cloth, 3s. 6d. net. " A bright and clever novel with a double interest. . . . The bride's misunderstandings and reconciliation with her devoted husband show no trivial power of intellectual analysis." — Times. June 17th. THE TANTALUS TOUR. A Theatrical Venture. Chronicled by Walter Parke, Joint- Author of " Les Manteaux Noirs," and other Comic Operas, With numerous Illustrations by J. Harrison.

Chapter I

"What a chimera is man ! What a confused chaos What a subject of contradiction ! The great deposi tory and guardian of truth, and yet a mere huddle of uncertainty ! The glory and the scandal of the universe." — Pascal. Midnight in London ! Saturday night and a tender June moon pouring down her mild radiance on the stirring world beneath. An impatient row of horses and sleepy coachmen who had no Sunday rest to look forward to waited outside one of the roomy old mansions standing in one of the larger streets in Mayfair. Every moment a guest entered or came out, the opening door emitting a soft red glow upon the pavement. Straggling men in pairs prepared to breathe the soft air and walk the few steps to their clubs. Literary men departing rapidly to catch the last " Underground." Scientific men, brain workers, A thinkers, politicians, walking home together, deeply immersed in controversy.

Inside that picturesque mansion was perhaps the strangest mixture of human intellect to be found in London. Sylvia Vernon was holding her weekly reception, and all the very advanced and not undis tinguished members of the metropolis were amongst that polyglot assembly. Many erratic minds and powerful intellects, with a large sprinkling of that drawing-room padding, the social butterfly that delights to tarry on every flower that attracts its feeble attention. Smart young matrons, spectacled platform women, venerable M.Ps. ; budding poli ticians, soldiers, clergy, artists, actors — all diversi ties of interest became reconciled for the time being beneath tbat roof. The luxurious irregular apartments were consider ably thinned by now, and only a few enthusiasts lingered on in the green shade of the palms and the odour of the roses, smoking cigarettes, talking earnestly to one another, and discussing the problems that had been laid before them that night.

A frou-frou of drapery, a murmur of voices and of several languages, melancholy, fantastic, laughing, sympathetic, made a low roar of melody. By the high oaken mantelshelf stood the hostess, the centre of a little crowd that had gathered around her — an unmarried woman of twenty-eight years, of regal height, with her lovely arms and white bosom draped in softly flowing black. The small head set almost defiantly on an unusually long neck gave an impression of physical nature completed, perfected. A mass of curling bronze-hued hair, like the clustering curls on a Greek statue, made a halo around her face. Beautiful hair it was when caught by a wandering sunbeam, or, as now, illumined by the silver Madonna lamp under which she stood. There was an animal grandeur about her form akin to Helen of Troy — an imperial heroine suggesting the sculptured goddesses of old classic time.

Bidding her good-night, was she who had kept that mixed and effervescing assembly spellbound by her eloquence. In a short half-hour she had dissected humanity, laid bare its shams and selfishness, sketched in the life of the masses with a daring touch of vivid word-painting, exposed the capitalist's mode of employment which calculates how long a man or woman can work one day, without incapacitating them for the next, proved how multitudes must toil and suffer in order that a few may enjoy life and be idle. " Is society organised on the grounds of labour ? she asked ; " no, but on the scale of wealth and idleness. The so-called upper classes are the great mass of drones, who fatten on the sweat of the poor. Were the scale of humanity adjusted properly, according to work in place of idleness, they would be the mere dregs of the world.

Until society is con stituted on the basis of labour, the working masses can never have justice. Never will the producer be fairly invested with the control and use of his hardly earned gains until the consumer is held at his true value, and forced to toil to save his own downfall in wealth and worth." She finally ended by a grand denunciation of the Churches as they now exist : sleeping the gentle sleep of endowments, a satire on the religion of Jesus, teaching a doctrine compiled from the husks of Judaism and tbe remnants of Paganism. "What does dogmatic Christianity give the people ? " she asked, her earnest eyes searching the absorbed faces around her. " Stones for bread. They starve in thousands under the shadows of our magnificent cathedrals. A religion can only be true so long as it supplies the moral and intellectual requirements of the age ; in proportion as it comforts the weary, the dying, as it brings peace to the huge battlefield of life, where now the crafty, the unscrupulous, the selfish and cruel tear out the hearts of the forgiving, truthful, humble, and kind.

The Church has never given mankind any higher motive for being spi ritually minded than the hope of heaven, the fear of hell. Men are taught to thank God for slaughter ing their enemies, and giving them rain ; but where are the clergy who will provide the world with an ideal suited to the intellect of the age? who will live the Christian life, and preach the Christian spirit, which is the Eternal Spirit ? who will be content to make their homes amongst the foul undergrowths of the East End, asking nothing but to give their lives towards stemming the bitter stream of injustice? Do such men exist among us now ? Listen to the voice of the brutal, tbe crime stained, the vicious. Listen to the cry of the desecrated, of childhood which is old age, of old age which is living death. They all unite in one tre mendous shout of ' No.' " The woman was dressed in the plainest of garments, her grey hair brushed off a brow and eyes of singular pathos and earnestness.

The rich, low voice and delivery were exquisitely trained — educated to such a pitch of refinement that when tbe press scoffed at Mary Ward's fiery denunciations from the platform it was difficult to realise that this quiet, gentle creature could calmly face without support the seething multitude below. She was a woman who by choice was utterly poor, with a hard, sad life, voluntarily living as the masses and with them, cheering the despondent, nursing the sick, raising her eloquence for the oppressed. " What bas my voice been given to me for," she would ask, " but to raise it for the emancipation of the downtrodden ? Not to stir to revolt, not to set class against class, but to teach the capitalist that he is but a labourer with a head ; that he must rise superior to class instincts, to teach tbe labourer with the hand that he is but a member of the universal guild of toil, and that both must work in harmony for the reconstruction of society."

A man, dressed in correct clerical costume, joined the small group. His appearance was singularly striking. The figure of the Rev. Angus MacLure was one well known in the West End. He was to be met with in all the drawing-rooms of the socially great. A noted raconteur, a staunch upholder of the Radical party, a bigoted churchman, exceedingly short and thickly set, his massive head appeared too large for his tiny body. A square jaw suggested cruelty. Pale, piercing eyes of an aqua marine hue shone with a strange magnetic glimmer from out the shaggy grey brows. When the mouth smiled it disclosed powerful, wolfish teeth, and gave a crafty look to the expression. A wide forehead with many protuberances bespoke a high order of intellect. Altogether a face one would not forget, fascinating in its grotesqueness, attractive in its power.

" It grieves me that such eloquence as yours should be so sadly misdirected," he said, with that carefully studied intonation peculiar to bim. "With your powers of oratory you should have been a daughter of the Church. How many souls you would have won for us ! Still, even those who bave strayed from the fold we hope to win again. Because there are so many unbelievers in the world we are not going to haul down the flag of Christianity and unfurl the banners of Agnosticism. We know that the gulf which separates God from creation is infinite, and to unaided man impassable ; therefore, you do not allow for the glorious mission of the clergy, who, by preaching Jesus the Mediator, thereby span heaven and enable man to hold inter- Tzvo 8 course with his Maker. No other creed brings God sufficiently near to man.

Through all ages humanity has craved for an incarnation of the Deity, a human manifestation. We cannot live on the cold, dead faith of the Stoic. Take away the sacred mission of the Church and man is for ever cut off from his God. Tbe Church cannot err, and I, as a churchman, am bound to preach the divinity of our Lord." "My friend," broke in the voice of his hostess, "I suppose I might be termed a representative of what is falsely called a new religion, but which is in reality a revival of the wisdom of the ages. I claim liberty for myself and give indulgence to others. All men are to me divine. As Walt Whitman says: 'I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four and each moment in the faces of men and women. I see God in my own face in the glass. I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not in the least.' If only the Church would give us a religion that is the pursuit of knowledge, a worship that is tbe reverent con templation of all tbe wonders that have been achieved by the human mind, then theology would shake off all dogma and resolve itself into a working community for the discovery of truth, and would Arid They Tzvo 9 keep pace with the intellectual development of humanity in place of standing still and squabbling over sects.

One insuperable barrier to the Church's Christianity must soon be removed, and that is the denial of soul to all vitality excepting man. We must have a Church that preaches Mercy by attributing soul to all creation. As Hegel pithily wrote : ' Life suggests consciousness, and consciousness at once suggests soul.' The Protestant and Papist countries are the seats of direst cruelty, and are day by day put to shame by the religions of the East. The kind treatment of animals was one of Lord Buddha's sternest injunctionsto his followers. The cry of agony that rises day by day from tbe so-called brute creation is a hideous blot upon Christian countries. That most presumptuous pulpit doctrine — that the soul of the animal dies with its body — is a foul crime hung like a millstone round the necks of those who preach it."

Her head was raised stag-like, her eyes flashed with the fire of ber enthusiasm. Her voice vibrated with a solemn music all its own. The Rev. Angus fixed his strange eyes upon her with a light in them which would have daunted most women. " My dear lady, be thankful that you do not live in a time — I confess I regret it has passed — when And T/iey Two 10 the Church could root out with mighty vengeance those who deny her supremacy, her holiness. What you would exterminate is not ignorance, but faith. Faith in those spiritual mysteries which, unless a man believe, he cannot be saved." "Many of the mysteries of your Church are not mysteries at all, but could be explained away were the light thrown on their meaning from early Oriental beliefs," she answered him contemptuously. "The one thing worth obtaining in this life is knowledge, but nothing obstructs and frustrates this attainment so completely as sensuality and ritualism, which belong entirely to the ignorant or wilful inter preter."

" You do me proud," he said, bowing low in sarcasm. " Pardon me, I never guessed the mantle might be worn by you," she answered quickly. " You will not deny that purity is the outcome of self-culture ? " " What do you mean by self-culture ? " he asked coldly. " The knowledge that is naturally amassed by the intelligent, rational mind that seeks to know itself. Tbe Cburcb lays a prohibition upon tbe human intelligence when it points out that the only path to holiness is by faith, not knowledge." " My dear Miss Vernon, human reason must surely in all things be subservient to Christian revelation, not inquiring for itself, but taking for granted, one must believe, not know," he said suavely. " Belief and certainty are two different things — - namely, theory and fact," she flashed out. "Surely this theology must be detrimental to the progress of intellect ?

So long as the emotions and passions are appealed to, so long will there be ignorance and intolerance. The Stoics seem to have come as near truth as any sect. They believed in an unknown God. Their only temple worthy of him was the universe. The only offering worthy the Creator was a moral life." " The God of Plato and Socrates would never influence human progress," he said. " He was too cold, unyielding and stern for the people ; their morals lacked faith and unselfishness. You fail to note the influence Christianity has had on the world, Miss Vernon. Consider how even in its dawn it carried all before it. The philosophies of Greece, the power of Imperial Rome, sank into insignificance before that mighty stream which invaded the palace and the hovel — possessed the intellect of tbe bar barian, Greek, Gentile and Jew.

Look at the fate of Tzvo 12 the latter people ; is that not in itself strong evidence for the truth? Look bow it broke up slavery, touched the hearts of the multitude, as philosophy was powerless to do. The Christian Church is heir to glorious promises not as yet fulfilled, for the harvest is not ready to be gathered in." She smiled softly. " The Church has many illusions : ostrich-like it loves to hide its head in the sand of sweet soothing dogmas ; but take care that whilst you wait for the ripening, others not of your fold do not come and gather in your crops. Your Christianity has had a trial of 1900 years, and the huge majority of man kind are still untouched. In the dawn, granted it carried all before it — it was a great renaissance of the wisdom of the ages ; but despite that, look how many earnest seekers after truth were unaffected by its doctrines.

Think of Seneca, a contemporary of Paul, and the gloomy Tacitus. The doctrine preached by Buddha, Plato, and, lastly, Christ, has been lost and misinterpreted by a priesthood who have never rightly understood the meaning of spirit. Chris tianity's true teachers have ever been as Jesus was, poor and persecuted, without mitres or sceptres. The only Church of Christ was represented by those martyrs who have died for their faith. ' These are they who have come out of great tribulation, and are washed in the blood of the Lamb.' " He had grown very pale whilst she spoke, but he smiled his blandest smile, and subdued the burning irritation within him behind the suaveness of his voice. " Dear Miss Vernon," he murmured, " faith is above all things what you lack : the faith in the Church which we believe infallible, because we have ample testimony that she is inspired by the indwelling Spirit of God.

We humble servants are but the or dained mouthpieces for the utterance of her faith." He spoke the words tranquilly, but beneath vibrated the intensity of restrained passion. The velvet churchman outwardly, tbe fierce upholder of ecclesiastical dominion and supremacy beneath. The calm scorn of her eyes rested on him. " I will not believe I am lost because, strive as I may, I cannot accept that a life of sin may be con doned by a deathbed faith in a human sacrifice to appease the Creator's wrath. The pulpits storm tbe emotions, not the reason, the result being a few women's tears, and an avoidance of the Church services by men. A life of study is, I believe, the strongest preventive against crime. A moral life must be a spiritual growth." " How do you account for some of the cleverest men and women being morally the worst ?

" be asked her. "I deny that they are," she replied. "Probably what you would call morally bad, I should call defying the clergy and appealing to God. Not the clever people, but the so-called upper ten, and the lowest class of all are the most immoral, because they are the most spiritually ignorant. Both excite their passions in a like manner, with this insignificant difference that the one drinks green chartreuse and the other gin." Here Mary Ward's low voice broke in. " Grant the universal cry for a Mediator. Grant that God sent his Son to reconcile creation with Creator. What has it done for us ? Are we more, hopeful, more honest? No! One-half of us is buried iu the despairing gloom of Agnosticism. The other half rejects thought as absolutely useless, lives the puppet's life of the hour, conveniently gliding over, ignoring what it dares not ponder upon.

Never was the world encrusted in so hard a shell of materialism as now. The Church rests solely on the dead letter of the Bible. Being so illogical, you are restricted to mere words." A woman lying back in a low chair was listening intently to the discussion. Her large opaline eyes, luminous and dreamy, were fixed with a look of great love upon Sylvia Vernon. They were the closest friends, bound together by that psychic affinity and deep trust which, being so rare, is so utterly misconstrued by a corrupt world, and which is a love only possible betwixt women. "My darling," she said, "I am going to close this discussion by reminding you that you speak too lightly on so grand a theme. Those who reject the Messiahship must render humble homage to the purity of the Nazarene's life as sketched in the Gospels.

Whether fact or fiction, it stands out as a perfect model of human nature." Tbe delicate flower-like face was flushed with the tint of a wood anemone. The clear-cut features were full of individuality. In height above the ordinary, she was singularly graceful ; her gesticulations more foreign than English. Certainly the eyes were the most striking feature in a face that was more mystic and in scrutable than beautiful. The transparent tint of the skin was too faint to be perfect, unlike anything earthly or sensual, yet all impulse and nervous excitement. Still, when she donned her ermine and took her seat in the Peeresses' Gallery none Tzvo looked more royal than Olga Lady Brandreth. She was a woman who would not appeal to the common herd, whose temperament was a mingling of spiritu ality and hauteur in which the passions slept, but when once the electric affinity was established she became absorbingly irresistible.

"Are you good people aware that it has been Sunday for the last hour?" chimed in the shrill voice of a slender widow in black and diamonds, with a mass of ash-coloured hair frizzled above her vacant face. " Why don't you discuss something really amusing and interesting? Mesmerism and hypnotism are quite worth studying, but you will never get any further with your religious discussions. There you will remain for ever and ever. I want you all to come to me on Tuesday. ' Varco ' is going to be there, and he has promised to mesmerise any one who likes and send them on a voyage to the next world. Think what interesting experiences one may have. I am taking lessons, you know, but he does charge enormously for doing nothing." "Ah! Mrs. Ashworth," her hostess gently answered ; " forgive me if I say you do wrong to play with so great a power. ' Varco's ' gift cannot be genuine if he be willing to give it out for money to the profane."

The widow laughed shrilly and turned to the little group. " She calls me profane ! I should like to know what is the use of my taking lessons," she asked petulantly, "if the man is a humbug ? " " As an instrument of healing, mesmerism is a gift from God," replied Sylvia Vernon, gravely. " But it is a dangerous plaything. To use so great a gift for the amusement of a few mondain es, flaneurs of the most feeble type, is the prostitution of a divine science." " But we must begin at the beginning, the playing part, if we are ever to go further," broke in Angus MacLure. " We have yet got to fathom the essential relations of positive and negative magnetism," she said. " But when the day of enlightenment does come, it will enable us to establish points between which all kinds of emotion and power may be maintained.

We all know that a magnet may lift a weight, but we do not understand the superior potency of the human magnetism." " My dear, you are always so severe. You do not live, but dream," replied Mrs. Ashworth. "You should have lived in the Middle Ages, walled up nuns, or founded a new order or an unbecoming B costume. We must amuse ourselves, or try to, in this weary world." " But not at the expense of a sacred subject." " Oh ! well, I can't argue with you, dear. You are lovely and rich but you behave as if you were ugly and old. I fear you are something of a prude and not a little of an ascetic. Good-night! Thanks ever so much for a most charming evening. My cough is too bad for me to stay longer." She pecked the cheek of her hostess with her rouged lips. The powder clung thickly to the pale eyelashes.

The emaciated figure suggested a draped skeleton. She took the arm of Angus MacLure, and they went downstairs together. " How tiresome Miss Vernon is," she remarked "with her old-world theories. I nearly went to sleep through that long prosing. When she's married, that will be all knocked out of her." The Rev. Angus pressed her arm in answer. "I prefer," she went on, "to leave old faiths alone. They are always coated with dust, and it is a pity to disturb them. Besides, unbelief is such bad form, so exclusively belonging to the lower orders. All our set go to church. Look how crowded St. Paul's, Knightsbridge is, and St. Peter's and St. Barnabas'. As for those East-end creatures, I really think we are over-doing their championship. They would be quite wretched if they did live as we do. If even we are bored to death with our lives, what would they be under similar circumstances ?

I suppose I shall meet you at the Jackson ball to-morrow night ? " she asked, as he stood bare-headed in the summer night by her brougham door. " Unfortunately I do not know the lady," he replied, " so I shall be debarred from what is the keenest pleasure to me. How seldom one finds a mind in accord with one's own ! " " Oh ! as to not knowing her, that isn't of the slightest consequence," she replied. " No one knows their hostess in these days when mammon rules in place of birth. Let me take you; the woman is dreadful, but then the crush will be great — we need not see her. And the man is even worse, they tell me. Report says he made his money in live ivory. Still, all our own lot will be there, and we can keep together. Freddy Clinton is manning the whole affair, and Lady Mary Ramsay has undertaken to raise the women.

She never gives one even a cup of tea in her own house, so I suppose she means to pay off old debts like that. She told me I might bring whom I chose. Let me take you," she said, with a little gratified air of patronising yanity. "What have I done to deserve such happiness?" he murmured, as his lips touched her gloved hand. " I expect you to bring the Bishop of Iceland to my Tuesdays," she said, as the horse started. He threw a cloak over his evening dress, and started to walk to St. James's Street where he lived. He walked slowly, his subtle mind turning over many things. " If I could but induce Sylvia Vernon to become my wife," he said to himself. " What a brilliant future would be secured me. She is a beautiful woman. Politicians are wondrous mortal. How they would swarin. Sbe would gather the Cabinet about her chair by a glance from her grand eyes.

She is a woman of the Louis quinze period. A Madame Mecamier with her cynical wit. Money ! A salon ! Tbe extreme unction of the head of my party, who is at present looking out for a good political centre to collect the boys of the house and train them in the way they ought to go. Lady Lilburn, in spite of all her money, bas turned out a fool. No doubt Sylvia's views are advanced, but that is all the better. Views that are too pronounced for me to put forward with safety, might well be propounded by her beautiful lips. The ministry are slow, and naturally mistrust new doctrines. They understand fully, tbat the people can only be managed with the old weapons that they understand and believe in more than in the thirty-nine articles. But for the closet we need something more advanced, and there she will be invaluable.

Of course I should give up the church and devote myself entirely to politics. She would soon learn in my particular set never to say what she thinks in public. My set ! Yes ! There is not a ducal mansion in London where I am not welcome. But then I have worked hard, God knows. How proud I should be to take her round my friends. I have always been fairly successful yet. Why may I not bring off this last great coup . Should I fail, well there are others ; but they lack brain power." He let the summer air blow on his hot forehead as he raised his hat. " Do I love her? No, love is a luxury, Angus MacLure, that you have never ventured to indulge in yet, it must always be subservient to power." He ascended his club steps. " Yes," he said, half aloud, " forty years ago I handled the plough, now I handle tbe ministry. ' Selectere si nequeo superos, acheronta inovebo.' " Sylvia Vernon's rooms were empty at last, and the -profusion of flowers hung their heads in the great bowls, under the enervating heat of the night.