At His Gates: A Novel. Vol. 1 (of 3)

by Mrs. Oliphant

  CHAPTER V.

  Mr Burton called next morning to ascertain Drummond's decision, andfound that he had been sitting up half the night with Stephen Haldane,and was wholly occupied by his friend's illness. The merchant suffered alittle vexation to be visible in his smooth and genial aspect. He was amiddle-aged man, with a bland aspect and full development, not fat butample. He wore his whiskers long, and had an air that was always jovialand comfortable. The cleanness of the man was almost aggressive. Heimpressed upon you the fact that he not only had his bath every morning,but that his bath was constructed on the newest principles, withwater-pipes which wandered through all the house. He wore buffwaistcoats and light trousers, and the easiest of overcoats. Hiswatch-chain was worthy of him, and so were the heavy gold buttons at hissleeves. He looked and moved and spoke like wealth, with a roll in hisvoice, which is only attainable in business, and when business goes verywell with you. Consequently the shade of vexation which came over himwas very perceptible. He found the Drummonds only at breakfast, thoughhe had breakfasted two hours before, and this mingled in his seriousnessa certain tone of virtuous reproof.

  'My dear fellow, I don't want to disturb you,' he said; 'but how you canmake this sort of thing pay I can't tell. _I_ breakfasted at eight; butthen, to be sure, I am only a City man, and can't expect my example tobe much thought of at the West-end.'

  'Is this the West-end?' said Robert, laughing. 'But if you breakfastedat eight, you must want something more by this time. Sit down and havesome coffee. We are late because we have been up half the night.' And hetold his new visitor the story of poor Stephen and his sudden illness.Mr Burton was moderately concerned, for he had married Mr Baldwin's onlydaughter, and was bound to take a certain interest in hisfather-in-law's _prot?g?_. He heard the story to an end with admirablepatience, and shook his head, and said, 'Poor fellow! I am very sorryfor him,' with due gravity. But he was soon tired of Stephen's story. Hetook out his watch, and consulted it seriously, muttering somethingabout his appointments.

  'My dear good people,' he said, 'it may be all very well for you tospend your time and your emotions on your friends, but a man of businesscannot so indulge himself. I thought I should have had a definite answerfrom you, Drummond, yes or no.'

  'Yes,' said Robert with professional calmness. 'I am very sorry. So Iintended myself; but this business about poor Haldane put everythingelse out of my head.'

  'Well,' said Mr Burton, rising and walking to the fireplace, accordingto British habit, though there was no fire, 'you know best what you cando. I, for my part, should not be able to neglect my business if my bestfriend was on his death-bed. Of course you understand Rivers's is notlikely to go begging for partners. Such an offer is not made to everyone. I am certain that you should accept it for your own sake; but ifyou do not think it of importance, there is not another word to say.'

  'My dear fellow,' cried Robert, 'of course I think it of importance; andI know I owe it to your consideration. Don't think me ungrateful,pray.'

  'As for gratitude, that is neither here nor there,' said the merchant;'there is nothing to be grateful about. But we have a meeting to-day toarrange the preliminaries, and probably everything will be settled then.I should have liked to place your name at once on the list. To leavesuch things over, unless you mean simply to abandon them, is a greatmistake.'

  'I am sure I don't see any particular reason why we should leave itover,' Robert said, faltering a little; and then he looked at his wife.Helen's face was clouded and very pale. She was watching him with acertain furtive eagerness, but she did not meet his eye. There was atremulous pause, which seemed like an hour to both of them, during thepassing of which the air seemed to rustle and beat about Helen's ears.Her husband gazed at her, eagerly questioning her; but she could notraise her eyes--something prevented her, she could not tell what; hereyelids seemed heavy and weighed them down. It was not weakness or fearor a desire to avoid the responsibility of immediate action, butpositive physical inability. He looked at her for, perhaps, a fullminute by the clock, and then he said slowly, 'I see no reason todelay. I think Helen and I are agreed. This matter put the other out ofmy head; but it is natural you should be impatient. I think I willaccept your kind offer, Burton, without any more delay.'

  How easy it is to say such words! The moment they were spoken Robertfelt them so simple, so inevitable, and knew that all along he had meantto say them. But still he was somewhat excited; a curious feeling cameinto his mind, such as a king may feel when he has crossed hisneighbour's frontier with an invading army. Half-a-dozen steps wereenough to do it; but how to get back again? and what might pass beforethe going back! The thought caught at his breath, and gave him atremendous thrill through all his frame.

  'Very well,' said Burton, withdrawing his hands from under hiscoat-tails, and drawing a slightly long breath, which the other in hisexcitement did not observe. Mr Burton did not show any excitement,except that long breath, which, after all, might have been accidental;no sign or indication of feeling had been visible in him. It was agreat, a very great matter to the Drummonds; but it was a small matterto one who had been for years a partner in Rivers's. 'Very well. I willsubmit your name to the directors to-day. I don't think you need fearthat the result will be doubtful. And I am very glad you have come tosuch a wise decision. Helen, when your husband is rich, as I trust hesoon will be, I hope you will fancy a little house at Dura, and be ourneighbour. It would be like old times. I should like it more than I cansay.'

  'I never was fond of Dura,' said Helen, with some abruptness. Thisreference to his greatness irritated her, as it always did; for whatevernew-comer might take a little house at Dura, he was the lord of theplace, supreme in the great house, and master of everything. Such anallusion always stirred up what was worst in her, and gave to hernatural pride a certain tone of spitefulness and envy, which disgustedand wounded herself. But it did not wound her cousin, it pleased him. Helaughed with a suppressed enjoyment and triumph.

  'Well,' he said, 'Dura is my home, and a very happy one, therefore, ofcourse, I am fond of it. And it has a great many associations too, someof them, perhaps, not so agreeable. But it is always pleasant to feel,as I do, that everything that has happened to one has been for thebest.'

  'The conversation has taken a highly edifying tone,' said Robert withsome surprise. He saw there was more meant than met the eye, but he didnot know what it was. 'We shall all be thanking Providence next, aspeople do chiefly, I observe, in celebration of the sufferings ofothers. Well, since you think I am on the fair way to be rich, perhaps Ihad better thank Providence by anticipation. Must I go with you to-day?'

  'Not to-day. You will have full intimation when your presence is wanted.You forget--nothing is settled yet,' said Mr Burton; 'the wholearrangement may come to nothing yet, for what I know. But I must begoing; remember me to poor Haldane when he is able to receive goodwishes. I hope he'll soon be better. Some of these days I'll call andsee him. Good morning, Helen. Good-bye, Drummond. I'm glad you've madeup your mind. My conviction is, it will turn out the best day's work youever did in your life.'

  'Is he true, I wonder?' Helen said to herself as the two men left theroom, and stood talking in the hall. It was the first time the idea hadcrossed her mind, and now it took its origin more from the maliciousshaft her cousin had shot at herself than from any indication ofdouble-dealing she had seen in him. It was against all the traditions ofthe Burtons to imagine that he could be anything but true. They had beenbusiness people as long as they had been anything, and commercial honourhad been their god. It went against her to imagine that 'a relation ofmine!' could be other than perfect in this particular; and she sighed,and dismissed the idea from her mind, blaming herself, as she often didnow, for ill-temper and suspiciousness. 'It was mean to make thatallusion to the past, but it is meaner of me to doubt him on thataccount,' she said to herself, with a painful sigh. It was so hard inher to overcome nature, and subdue those rebellious feelings that rosein her unawares. 'Why should I care?' she
thought, 'it is my vanity. Isuppose if the man had never got over my rejection of him I should havebeen pleased. I should have thought better of him! Such a man as that!After all, we women must be fools indeed.' This was the edifyingsentiment in her mind when Robert came back.

  'Well, Helen, the die is cast,' he said, half cheerfully, half sadly.'However we come to shore, the ship has set out. If it were not forpoor Stephen I should make to-day a holiday and take you somewhere. Thisday ought to be distinguished from the rest.'

  'I hope he is true. I wonder if he is true?' Helen repeated to herself,half unconsciously, beneath her breath.

  'Whom? Your cousin!!' said Robert, with quite two notes of admiration inhis tone. 'Why, Helen, what a cynic you are growing. You will suspect menext.'

  'Am I a cynic?' she said, looking up at him with a sudden tear in hereye. 'It is because I am beginning to be so wretchedly doubtful aboutmyself.'

  This admission burst from her she could not tell how. She had nointention of making it. And she was sorry the moment the words weresaid. But as for Robert, he gazed at her first in consternation, thenlaughed, then took her in his kind arms with those laughing accusationsof love which are more sweet than any eulogy. 'Yes,' he said, 'you are avery suspicious character altogether, you know so much harm of yourselfthat it is evident you must think badly of others. What a terriblebusiness for me to have such a wife!'

  Thus ended the episode in their lives which was to colour them to theirvery end, and decide everything else. They had been very solemn about itat the beginning, and had made up their minds to proceed very warily,and ask everybody's advice; but, as so often happens in human affairs,the decision which was intended to be done so seriously had beenaccomplished in a moment, without consideration, almost without thought.And, being done, it was a weight off the minds of both. They had nolonger this disturbing matter between them to be discussed and thoughtover. Robert dismissed it out of simple light-heartedness, and thatdelightful economy of sensation which is fortunately so common among theartist class: 'It is done, and all the thinking in the world will notmake any difference. Why should I bother myself about it?' If this_insouciance_ sometimes does harm, heaven knows it does a great deal ofgood sometimes, and gives the artist power to work where a man who felthis anxieties more heavily would fail. Helen had not this happy temper;but she was a woman, more occupied with personal feelings than with anyfact, however important. The fact was outside, and never, she thought,could vanquish her--her enemies were within.

  Time passed very quietly after this great decision. There was a lull,during which Stephen Haldane grew better, and Mrs Drummond learned tofeel a certain friendliness and sympathy for the lonely mother andsister, who were flattered by her inquiries after him. She came even tounderstand her husband's jokes about Miss Jane, the grim and practicalperson who ruled the little house in Victoria Villas--whom she sometimeslaughed at, but whom little Norah took a violent fancy for, which muchmollified her mother. And then, in the matter of Rivers's bank, therebegan to rise a certain agreeable excitement and importance in theirlife. 'Drummond among the list of bank directors! _Drummond!_ What doesit mean?' This question ran through all the studios, and came back inamusing colours to the two who knew all about it. 'His wife belongs tothat sort of people, and has hosts of business connections,' said one.'The fellow is rich,' said another: 'don't you know what a favourite heis with all the dealers, and has been for ever so long?' 'His wife hasmoney,' was the judgment of a third; 'take my word for it, that is theway to get on in this world. A rich wife keeps you going till you'vemade a hit--if you are ever going to make a hit--and helps you on.' 'Itis all that cousin of hers,' another would say, 'that fellow Burton whomone meets there. He bought my last picture, so I have reason to know,and has a palace in the country, like the rest of those City fellows.''What luck some men have!' sighed the oldest of all. 'I am older thanDrummond, but none of these good things ever came my way.' And this manwas a better painter than Drummond, and knew it, but somehow had nevercaught the tide. Drummond's importance rose with every new report. Whenhe secured that clerkship for Bob Chance, Chance the sculptor's son, hemade one family happy, and roused a certain excitement in many others;for poor artists, like poor clergymen and other needy persons, insistupon having large families. Two or three of the men who were Robert'scontemporaries, who had studied with him in the schools, or had guidedhis early labours, went to see him--while others wrote--describingpromising boys who would soon be ready for business, and for whom theywould gladly secure something less precarious than the life of art.These applications were from the second class of artists, the men whoare never very successful, yet who 'keep on,' as they themselves wouldsay, rambling from exhibition to exhibition, painting as well as a mancan be taught to paint who has no natural impulse, or turning out inconscientious marble fair limbs of nymphs that ought, as the only reasonfor their being, to have sprung ethereal from the stone. And these poorpainters and sculptors were often so good, so kindly, and unblamable asmen; fond of their families, ready to do anything to push on the sonsand daughters who showed 'talent,' or had any means offered of betteringthemselves. How gladly Robert would have given away a dozen clerkships!how happy it would have made him to scatter upon them all some share ofhis prosperity! but he could not do this, and it was the firstdisagreeable accompaniment of his new position. He had otherapplications, however, of a different kind. Those in the profession whohad some money to invest came and asked for his advice, feeling thatthey could have confidence in him. 'Rivers's has a name like the Bank ofEngland,' they said; and he had the privilege of some preference sharesto allot to them. All this advanced him in his own opinion, in hiswife's, in that of all the world. He was no longer a man subject toutter demolition at the hands of an ill-natured critic; but a manendowed with large powers in addition to his genius, whom nobody coulddemolish or even seriously harm.

  Perhaps, however, the greatest height of Drummond's triumph was reachedwhen, the year having crept round from summer to autumn, his friend DrMaurice came to call one evening after a visit to Haldane. It was thatmoment between the two lights which is dear to all busy people. Thefirst fire of the year was lit in Helen's drawing-room, which of itselfwas a little family event. Robert had strayed in from the studio in hispainting coat, which he concealed by sitting in the shade by the side ofthe chimney. The autumn evenings had been growing wistful and eerie forsome time back, the days shortening, yet the season still too mild forfires--so that the warm interior, all lit by the kindly, fitful flame,was a novelty and a pleasure. The central figure in the picture wasNorah, in a thick white piqu? frock, with her brown hair falling on hershoulders, reading by the firelight. The little white figure rose fromthe warm carpet into the rosy firelight, herself less vividly tinted, acurious little abstract thing, the centre of the life around her, yettaking no note of it. She had shielded her cheek with one of her hands,and was bending her brows over the open book, trying to shade the lightwhich flickered and danced, and made the words dance too before her. Thebook was too big for her, filling her lap and one crimsoned arm whichheld its least heavy side. The new-comer saw nothing but Norah againstthe light as he came in. He stopped, in reality because he was fond ofNorah, with a disapproving word.

  'At it again!' he said. 'That child will ruin her eyesight and hercomplexion, and I don't know what besides.'

  'Never fear,' said Drummond, with a laugh, out of the corner, revealinghimself, and Helen rose from the other side. She had been invisible tooin a shady corner. A certain curious sensation came over the man who wasolder, richer, and felt himself wiser, than the painter. All thisDrummond had for his share, though he had not done much to deserveit--whereas in the big library near Berkeley Square there was no fire,no child pushing a round shoulder out of her frock, and roasting hercheeks, no gracious woman rising softly out of the shadows. Of course,Dr Maurice might have been married too, and had not chosen; butnevertheless it was hard to keep from a momentary envy of the painterwho could come home to enjoy himself between
the lights, and for whomevery night a new pose arranged itself of that child reading before thefire. Dr Maurice was a determined old bachelor, and thought more of thechild than of the wife.

  'Haldane is better to-day,' he said, seating himself behind Norah, wholooked up dreamily, with hungry eyes possessed by her tale, to greethim, at her mother's bidding. 'Nearly as well as he will ever be. Wemust amuse him with hopes of restoration, I suppose; but he will neverbudge out of that house as long as he lives.'

  'But he will live?' said Robert.

  'Yes, if you can call it living. Fancy, Drummond! a man about your ownage, a year or two younger than I am--a man fond of wandering, fond ofmovement; and yet shut up in that dreary prison--for life!'

  A silence fell upon them all as he spoke. They were too much awed tomake any response, the solemnity being beyond words. Norah woke up atthe pause. Their voices did not disturb her; but the silence did.

  'Who is to be in the dreary prison?' she said, looking round upon themwith her big brown wondering eyes.

  'Hush! Poor Mr Haldane, dear,' said the mother, under her breath.

  Then Norah burst into a great cry. 'Oh, who has done it--who has doneit? It is a shame--it is a sin! He is so good.'

  'My child,' said the doctor, with something like a sob, 'it is God whohas done it. If it had been a man, we would have throttled him before hetouched poor Stephen. Now, heaven help us! what can we do? I suppose itis God.'

  'Maurice, don't speak so before the child,' said Robert from a corner.

  'How can I help it?' he cried. 'If it was a man's doing, what could wesay bad enough? Norah, little one, you don't know what I mean. Go backto your book.'

  'Norah, go up-stairs and get dressed for dinner,' said Helen. 'But youcannot, you must not be right, doctor. Oh, say you are sometimesdeceived. Things happen that you don't reckon on. It is not for hislife?'

  Dr Maurice shook his head. He looked after Norah regretfully as she wentout of the room with the big book clasped in her arms.

  'You might have let the child stay,' he said reproachfully. 'There wasnothing that could have disturbed _her_ in what I said.'

  And then for a moment or two the sound of the fire flickering its lightabout, making sudden leaps and sudden downfalls like a living thing,was the only sound heard; and it was in this pensive silence, weightedand subdued by the neighbourhood of suffering, that the visitor suddenlyintroduced a subject so different. He said abruptly--

  'I have to congratulate you on becoming a great man, Drummond. I don'tknow how you have done it. But this bank, I suppose, will make yourfortune. I want to venture a little in it on my own account.'

  'You, Maurice? My dear fellow!' said Robert, getting up with suddenenthusiasm, and seizing his friend by both his hands, '_you_ going infor Rivers's! I never was so glad in my life!'

  'You need not be violent,' said the doctor. 'Have I said anything veryclever, Mrs Drummond? I am going in for Rivers's because it seems such acapital investment. I can't expect, of course, to get put on the boardof directors, or to sit at the receipt of custom, like such a great manas you are. Don't shake my hands off, my good fellow. What is therewonderful in this?'

  'Nothing wonderful,' said Robert; 'but the best joke I ever heard in mylife. Fancy, Helen, I was going to him humbly, hat in hand, to ask hisadvice, thinking perhaps he would put his veto on it, and prevent mefrom making my fortune. And now he is a shareholder like the rest. Youmay not see it, but it is the best joke! You must stay to dinner, oldfellow, and we will talk business all the evening. Helen, we cannot lethim go to-night.'

  And Helen smiled too as she repeated her husband's invitation. Roberthad been wiser than his friends, though he had asked nobody's advice buthers. It was a salve to her often-wounded pride. The doctor did not likeit half so much. His friend had stolen a march upon him, reversed theirusual positions, gone first, and left the other to follow. He stayed todinner, however, all the same, and pared apples for Norah, and talkedover Rivers's afterwards over his wine. But when he left the door to gohome, he shrugged his shoulders with a half-satisfied prophecy. 'He willnever paint another good picture,' Maurice said, with a certain tone offriendly vengeance. 'When wealth comes in good-bye to art.'