CHAPTER V
LANCELOT LEAVES
There was a place upon the downs to which it was often my specialdelight to betake me--a kind of hollow dip between two humps of hills,where a lad might lie warm in the windiest weather and look straight outupon the sea, shining with calm or shaggy with storm, and feel quite asif he were alone in the world. To this place I now sped halfunconsciously, my face, I make no doubt, scarlet with passion and shame,and my eyes well-nigh blinded with sudden up-springing of tears. How Igot to my hollow I do not know, but I ran and ran and ran, with my bloodtingling, heedless of all the world, until at last I found myselftumbling down over its ridged wall or rampart of hummocks and dropping,with a choking moan, flat on my face in an agony of despair.
There I lay in the long grasses, sobbing as if my heart would break.Indeed, I thought that it was breaking; that life was over for me; thatsunrise and sunset and the glory of the stars had no further part toplay for me; and that all that was left for me was to die, and be putinto a corner somewhere and speedily forgotten.
Troops of bitter thoughts came surging up over my brain. My mood of mindand state of body were alike incomprehensible and terrible to me. It wasa very real agony, that fierce awakening to the realities of life, tolove and passion, and blinding jealousy and despair, and all the rest ofthe torments that walk in the train of a boy's first love. I wallowedthere a long time, making a great mark in the soft grasses, as if Isought to measure myself for an untimely grave. The strong afternoon sundrove on his way westward, and still I lay there, writhing andwhimpering, and wondering, perhaps, a little inwardly that the sky didnot fall in and crush me and the wicked world altogether.
A boy's mind is a turbulent place enough, and stuffed pretty often witha legion of wicked thoughts, which take possession of his fancy longbefore evil words and evil deeds have struck up their alliance. Yet eventhe most foul-mouthed boy thinks, I believe, nobly, or with a kind ofnobility, of his first love, and a clean-hearted lad offers her a kindof bewildering worship. I was a clean-hearted lad, and I had worshippedBarbara; and now my worship was over and done with, and I made sure thatmy heart was broken.
I do not know how long I lay there, with whirling brain and burstingheart, but presently I felt the touch of a hand on my shoulder. I hadheard no one coming, and under ordinary conditions I might have been athought startled by the unexpected companionship; but just now I was toowretched for any other emotion, and I merely lay passive andindifferent.
The hand declined with a firmer pressure and gently shook my shoulder,and then a voice--Lancelot Amber's voice--called softly to me asking mewhat I was doing there and what ailed me. I always loved Lancelot'svoice: it seemed to vary as swiftly as wind over water with everythought, and to run along all the chords of speech with the perfectionof music in a dream. Whenever I read that saying of St. Paul's about thetongue of men and of angels I am reminded of Lancelot's voice, and Ifeel convinced that of such is the language of the courts of heaven, andthat if St. Paul had talked like Lancelot he would have won the mostsceptical. The sound of his voice soothed me then, as far as it waspossible for anything to soothe me, and I shifted slightly to one sideand looked up at him furtively and crossly, my poor face all blubberedwith tears and smeared with mire where I had lain grovelling.
Bit by bit I told him my story. I was in the temper for a confession,and ready to tell my tale to anyone with wit enough to coax it from me.Perhaps it did not seem so much of a tale in the telling, though to mymind it was then as terrible as the end of the world itself and theunloosening of the great deep.
So I hunched myself up on my left elbow, and, staring drearily atLancelot through my tears, I whimpered out my sorrows; and he listenedwith a smileless face.
When I had done, and my quavering broke off with a sob, he was silentfor a while, looking straight before him beyond the meadow edges intothe yellowing sky. Then he turned and looked at me with a brotherly pitythat was soothing to my troubled senses, and he spoke to me with asoftness of voice that seemed in tune with the dying day and my droopingspirits.
'After all,' he said, 'you have not lost much, Raphael. She is but alight o' love, and you were built for a better mate.'
Truly, though I scarcely noted it at the time, it was gracious andquick-witted of him to assume that I was of a lover's age with the greatlass of the Skull and Spectacles, and unconsciously it tickled my tornvanity. But part of his speech angered me, and I took fire like tinder.
Swinging myself round on my elbow, I glanced savagely into Lancelot'sface of compassion.
'You lie!' I growled, 'you lie! She is a queen among women, and there isno man in all the world worthy of her!'
Then--for I saw him smile a little--I struck out at him. I am thankfulto think that I was too wild and weary to strike either true or hard,and my foolish hand just grazed his cheek and touched his shoulder as hestooped; and then, turning away again, I fell into a fresh storm ofsobbing. Lancelot remained by my side, gently indifferent to my fury,gently tender with my sorrow. After a while he turned me roundreluctant, and looked very gravely into my tear-stained face. We werebut a brace of lads, each on the edge of life, and as I look back onthat page of my history I cannot help but shudder at the contrastbetween us, I bellowing like a gaby at the ache of my firstcalf-love--and yet indeed I was hurt, and hardly--and he so sweet andrestrained and sane, weighing the world so wisely in his young hands.
'I am very sorry for you, Raphael,' he said, and his voice was so clearand strong that for the moment it comforted me as a cordial will comforta sick man, against my will. 'I am very sorry for you, and because of mysorrow for you and because of my love for you I will give you a giftthat I would part with to no other in the world. Women are not allalike, and therefore I will give you a talisman to help you to thinkwell of women.'
I suppose it would have diverted an elder to hear him, so slim andsimple, discoursing so sweetly and reasonably on a theme on which few ofus at the fag end of our days are ever able to utter one sensiblesyllable, but Lancelot always seemed to me wise beyond his time, so Ilistened, although dully enough and I fear sullenly. He slipped his handinto his breast and drew forth a small object which he held shut in hishand while he again discoursed to me.
'What I am going to give you, Raphael, is the little picture of a lasswho is in my eyes a thing of Heaven's best making. For loyalty, honour,courage, truth, faith, she is an unmatchable maid. I have known her allthe days of my life and never found a flaw in her.'
Then he opened his hand and I saw that it held a picture, an ovalminiature in a fine gold frame. My mind was all on fire for the blackeyes of piratical Barbara and my blood was tingling to a gipsy tune, butas I stared at the image in my comrade's palm my mind was arrested andmy fancy for the instant fixed. For it showed the face of a girl, achild of Lancelot's age or a little under, and through my tears I couldperceive the sweetness of the countenance and its likeness to my friendin the fair hair and the fine eyes.
'This is my sister, this is Marjorie,' Lancelot said slowly. 'She hasthe truest soul, the noblest heart in all the world. I think it willhelp you to have it and to look on it from time to time, as it alwayshelps me when I am away from her.'
As he spoke he pushed the picture gently into my unresisting fingers andclosed them over it. 'My sister Marjorie is a wonderful girl,' he said,with a bright smile. He was silent for a little while as if musing uponher and then his tender thoughts returned to me.
'Come away, Raphael,' he said. 'Let us be going home. The hour is late,and your mother may be anxious; and you have her still, whatever elseyou may have lost.'
The grace of his voice conquered me. I rose at the word, staggering alittle as I gained my feet, for passion and grief had torn me likedevils, and I was faint and bewildered. He slipped his arm into mine andled me away, supporting me as carefully as if I were a woman whom hissolicitude was aiding. We exchanged no word together as we went alongthe downs and through the fields. As we came to the town, however, hepaused by the last
stile and spoke to me.
'Dear heart!' he said, 'but I am sorry for all this--more sorry than Ican say; for I am going away to-morrow.'
The words shook me from myself and my apathy. I gazed in wonder andalarm into his face.
'I am going away,' he said, 'and that's how I chanced to find you. For Iwaited in vain for you at Mr. Davies's, and sought you at your home andfound you missing; and then I thought of this old burrow of yours, andhere, as good luck would have it, I found you.'
I could only gasp out 'Going away?' in a great amazement.
'I must go away,' he said. 'My uncle that was at sea is in London, withMarjorie, and has sent for me. He needs me, and I am so much beholden tohim that I should have to go, even if I were not bound to him by bloodand duty, and indeed I long to see my Marjorie.'
'How long will you be away?' I gasped.
'I do not know,' he answered; 'but it is only a little world after all,and we shall meet again some time, and soon, be sure of that. If not,why, then this parting was well made.'
This last was a quotation from one of his poets and play-makers, as Ifound afterwards, for the words stuck in my memory, and I happened onthem later in a printed book. But indeed I did not think the parting waswell made at all, and I shook my head dismally, for I knew he only saidso to cheer me.
He laughed and tossed his brown locks. 'London is not the end of theworld,' he said. 'I hope to go further afield than that before I die.But near or far, summer or winter, town or country, we are friends forever. No distance can divide, no time untie our friendship.'
Here he wrung me by the hand, and I, with this new sorrow on top of theold--that was new but two hours ago--could only sob and say: 'OLancelot!' and tremble. I suppose I looked giddy, as if I were about tofaint, for he caught me in his strong arms and propped me up a minute.
'Come, come!' he said; 'take heart. To-day is not to-morrow yet. I willgo in with you to your mother's and spend an hour with you before I saygood-bye.'
Then he gently led me by the arm, and we went into the town and alongthe evening streets till we came to the little shop, and there at thedoor we found my mother, looking anxious.
Lancelot made my excuses, saying that he had kept me, and telling mymother of his speedy departure. My mother, who loved Lancelot, wasalmost as grieved as I. But he, in his bright way, cheered us; he camein, and would take supper with us; and though it was a doleful meal, hewent on as if it were a merry one, talking and laughing, and telling ustales of the great city and its wonders, and all he hoped to see and dothere.
And so a sad hour went by, and then he rose and said he must go and givea hand to the packing of his belongings, for he was leaving by the earlycoach and would not have a moment in the morning. And then he kissed mymother and kissed me, and went away and left us both crying. There weretears in his own eyes as he stepped out into the summer twilight, buthe turned to look back at us, and waved his hat and called out good-byewith a firm voice.
A sullen blackness settled down upon me after Lancelot's departure. Iwas minded to rise early in the morning to see him off by the coach, butI was so tired with crying and complaining that when I fell asleep Islept like a log, and did not wake until the morning sun was high andthe coach had been long gone. Well, it was all the better, I told myselfsavagely. He had gone out of my life for good, and I should see no moreof him. I had lost in the same hour my love and my friend. I would makeup my mind to be lonely and pay no heed. As for the picture he gave me,what good to me was the face of that fair girl? Lancelot's sisterMarjorie was a gentlewoman, born and bred, as my lost Lancelot was agentleman. What could she or he really have to do with the mercerman inthe dull little Sussex town? Marjorie had a beautiful face, if thelimner did not lie--and indeed he did not--and I could well believe thatas lovely a soul as Lancelot lauded shone through those candid eyes. Butagain, what was it to me and my yardwand? So I hid the picture away in alittle sweet-scented cedar-wood box that I had, and resolved to forgetLancelot and Lancelot's sister, and everything else in the world exceptmy blighted youth and my blighted hopes.
I reasoned as a boy reasons who thinks that the world has come to an endfor him after his first check, and who has no knowledge as yet of themedicine of time. My mother had but a vexatious life of it with me, forI was silent and melancholy; and though I never, indeed, offended her byuncivil word or deed, yet the sight of my dreary visage must have been asore trial to her, and the glum despondency with which I accepted allher efforts to cheer me from my humours must have wrung her heart.
Poor dear! She thought, I believe, that it was only grief for Lancelotwhich touched me so; and once, after some days of my ill-temper, sheasked me if I would like to run up to London and see my friend. But Ishook my head. I had made up my mind to have done with everything; tostay on there to the end, morosely resigned to my lot.
To make myself more sure in isolation I even took the letter which camefrom Lancelot but a few days after his departure, in which he told mewhere his uncle's house was, and bade me write to him there, and burntit in the flame of a candle. As I tossed the charred paper out into thestreet I thought to myself that now indeed I was alone and free to bemiserable in my own way. And I was miserable, and made my poor mothermiserable; and acted like the selfish dog I was, like the selfish dogthat every lad is under the venom of a first love-pang.
I went no more to the Skull and Spectacles; I saw my beautiful tyrant nomore. One day I drifted along in the familiar direction, came to thepoint where I could see the evil-favoured inn standing alone in thedreary waste, hesitated for a moment, and then, as the image of the girlin the sailor's arms surged up before my mind, I turned and ran back ashard as I could into the town.
But if I went that way no more, I drifted about in other ways helplesslyand foolishly enough.
I would spend hours upon hours mooning among the downs and on thecliffs, and sometimes I would sit on some bulkhead by the quays and lookat the big ships, and wish myself on board one of them and sailing intothe sunset. Love for my mother kept me from going to the devil, but mylove for her was not strong enough to put a brave face upon my trouble,and I was not man enough to do my best to make her life light for her.
But no trouble of this kind does endure for ever, and by the end of ayear the poison had in a great degree spent itself, and with my recoveryfrom my love-ache there grew up in my mind a disdain of my behaviour. AsI saw my mother's visage peaked with pity I grew to be heartily ashamedof myself, and to resolve honestly and earnestly to make amends. Idisliked tending shop more bitterly than ever. But there was the shop,and it was dear to my mother's heart; and so I buckled to, if not with awill, at least with the semblance of a will, and did my best to becomeas good a mercer as another.
Two things, however, I would not do. I would not enter intocorrespondence with Lancelot, and I would not go any more to MasterDavies's house. Lancelot wrote again and yet again to me. But I servedthe second letter as I had served the first, and the third as I hadserved the second. I did, indeed, scrawl some few lines of reply to thislast letter, bidding him somewhat bluntly to leave me in peace; that mybed had been made for me, and that I must needs lie upon it, and that Idid not wish to be vexed in my slumber. It was a rude and foolishletter, I make no doubt; but I wrote it with a decent purpose enough,for I was desperately afraid that I could not hold to my resolutions andto my way of life if I kept in communication with Lancelot, and washaunted by the thoughts of his more fortunate stars. Lancelot wrote backto me with his invariable sweetness and gentleness, saying that he hopedtime would make me amends; and after that I heard no more from him, andhe seemed to have passed out of my life for good and all.
As for Mr. Davies, he too seemed to belong to the old life from which Ihad cut myself adrift, and so I went to his shop no more; and as he wasa home-keeping bookworm, he but seldom stirred abroad. And thus, thoughwe dwelt in the same town, I may fairly say that I never saw him frommonth's end to month's end.
The days slip by swiftly in an unnoticeable
kind of way in a town likeSendennis. It was but a sluggish place, for all its sea-bustle, in thedays that now lie far behind me. Our shop lay in the quietest part ofthe town, and we took no note of time. Ours was a grey, lonely life. Wehad friends, of course, whose names and ways I have long sinceforgotten, but we saw little of them, partly because my mother learntafter a while that I hated all company, and would take no part in any ofthe junketings of our neighbours.
I might have made an apt mercer in time, but I do not know, and I do notlove to linger over the two years I spent in the trial. For though Idid my duty fairly well, both by my mother and by the shop, and thoughmy love-ache had dulled almost to nothing, my passion to go abroad wasas hot as ever, and I thought it a shame that my twenty years had nobetter business, and my life no other aim, than to wear out its strengthbehind a counter. Let those two years go by.
One evening I was sitting with my mother in the little parlour behindthe shop, she knitting, I think, or sewing--I am not sure which--and Iwith my legs thrust out before me and my hands in my pockets, outwardlyidling and inwardly cursing at my destiny. Every now and then my motherglanced at me over the edge of her work and sighed; but it may havebeen, and I hope it was, because she found her task a difficult one.
Suddenly the bell at the front door tinkled. In my younger days I usedto fancy that every ring of that same cracked bell brought some messagefrom the outer world for me. Well, here was the message at last, thoughI never dreamt of it, but just sat stupidly, with my fingers touching mypocket seams.
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