Complete Works of Robert Louis Stevenson (Illustrated)
Page 378
He relinquished her hand, still looking at her, and she turned to leave the room.
‘Why, what in fortune’s name is the meaning of all this?’ cried Van Tromp. ‘Esther come back!’
‘Let her go,’ said Dick, and he watched her disappear with strangely mingled feelings. For he had fallen into that stage when men have the vertigo of misfortune, court the strokes of destiny, and rush towards anything decisive, that it may free them from suspense though at the cost of ruin. It is one of the many minor forms of suicide.
‘She did not love me,’ he said, turning to her father.
‘I feared as much,’ said he, ‘when I sounded her. Poor Dick, poor Dick. And yet I believe I am as much cut up as you are. I was born to see others happy.’
‘You forget,’ returned Dick, with something like a sneer, ‘that I am now a pauper.’
Van Tromp snapped his fingers.
‘Tut!’ said he; ‘Esther has plenty for us all.’
Dick looked at him with some wonder. It had never dawned upon him that this shiftless, thriftless, worthless, sponging parasite was yet, after and in spite of all, not mercenary in the issue of his thoughts; yet so it was.
‘Now,’ said Dick, ‘I must go.’
‘Go?’ cried Van Tromp. ‘Where? Not one foot, Mr. Richard Naseby. Here you shall stay in the meantime! and - well, and do something practical - advertise for a situation as private secretary - and when you have it, go and welcome. But in the meantime, sir, no false pride; we must stay with our friends; we must sponge a while on Papa Van Tromp, who has sponged so often upon us.’
‘By God,’ cried Dick, ‘I believe you are the best of the lot.’
‘Dick, my boy,’ replied the Admiral, winking, ‘you mark me, I am not the worst.’
‘Then why,’ began Dick, and then paused. ‘But Esther,’ he began again, once more to interrupt himself. ‘The fact is, Admiral,’ he came out with it roundly now, ‘your daughter wished to run away from you to-day, and I only brought her back with difficulty.’
‘In the pony carriage?’ asked the Admiral, with the silliness of extreme surprise.
‘Yes,’ Dick answered.
‘Why, what the devil was she running away from?’
Dick found the question unusually hard to answer.
‘Why,’ said he, ‘you know, you’re a bit of a rip.’
‘I behave to that girl, sir, like an archdeacon,’ replied Van
Tromp warmly.
‘Well - excuse me - but you know you drink,’ insisted Dick.
‘I know that I was a sheet in the wind’s eye, sir, once - once only, since I reached this place,’ retorted the Admiral. ‘And even then I was fit for any drawing-room. I should like you to tell me how many fathers, lay and clerical, go upstairs every day with a face like a lobster and cod’s eyes - and are dull, upon the back of it - not even mirth for the money! No, if that’s what she runs for, all I say is, let her run.’
‘You see,’ Dick tried it again, ‘she has fancies - ‘
‘Confound her fancies!’ cried Van Tromp. ‘I used her kindly; she had her own way; I was her father. Besides I had taken quite a liking to the girl, and meant to stay with her for good. But I tell you what it is, Dick, since she has trifled with you - Oh, yes, she did though! - and since her old papa’s not good enough for her - the devil take her, say I.’
‘You will be kind to her at least?’ said Dick.
‘I never was unkind to a living soul,’ replied the Admiral.
‘Firm I can be, but not unkind.’
‘Well,’ said Dick, offering his hand, ‘God bless you, and farewell.’
The Admiral swore by all his gods he should not go. ‘Dick,’ he said, ‘You are a selfish dog; you forget your old Admiral. You wouldn’t leave him alone, would you?’
It was useless to remind him that the house was not his to dispose of, that being a class of considerations to which his intelligence was closed; so Dick tore himself off by force, and, shouting a good-bye, made off along the lane to Thymebury.
CHAPTER IX - IN WHICH THE LIBERAL EDITOR RE-APPEARS AS ‘DEUS EX MACHINA’
IT was perhaps a week later, as old Mr. Naseby sat brooding in his study, that there was shown in upon him, on urgent business, a little hectic gentleman shabbily attired.
‘I have to ask pardon for this intrusion, Mr. Naseby,’ he said; ‘but I come here to perform a duty. My card has been sent in, but perhaps you may not know, what it does not tell you, that I am the editor of the THYMEBURY STAR.’
Mr. Naseby looked up, indignant.
‘I cannot fancy,’ he said, ‘that we have much in common to discuss.’
‘I have only a word to say - one piece of information to communicate. Some months ago, we had - you will pardon my referring to it, it is absolutely necessary - but we had an unfortunate difference as to facts.’
‘Have you come to apologise?’ asked the Squire, sternly.
‘No, sir; to mention a circumstance. On the morning in question, your son, Mr. Richard Naseby - ‘
‘I do not permit his name to be mentioned.’
‘You will, however, permit me,’ replied the Editor.
‘You are cruel,’ said the Squire. He was right, he was a broken man.
Then the Editor described Dick’s warning visit; and how he had seen in the lad’s eye that there was a thrashing in the wind, and had escaped through pity only - so the Editor put it - ‘through pity only sir. And oh, sir,’ he went on, ‘if you had seen him speaking up for you, I am sure you would have been proud of your son. I know I admired the lad myself, and indeed that’s what brings me here.’
‘I have misjudged him,’ said the Squire. ‘Do you know where he is?’
‘Yes, sir, he lies sick at Thymebury.’
‘You can take me to him?’
‘I can.’
‘I pray God he may forgive me,’ said the father.
And he and the Editor made post-haste for the country town.
Next day the report went abroad that Mr. Richard was reconciled to his father and had been taken home to Naseby House. He was still ailing, it was said, and the Squire nursed him like the proverbial woman. Rumour, in this instance, did no more than justice to the truth; and over the sickbed many confidences were exchanged, and clouds that had been growing for years passed away in a few hours, and as fond mankind loves to hope, for ever. Many long talks had been fruitless in external action, though fruitful for the understanding of the pair; but at last, one showery Tuesday, the Squire might have been observed upon his way to the cottage in the lane.
The old gentleman had arranged his features with a view to self-command, rather than external cheerfulness; and he entered the cottage on his visit of conciliation with the bearing of a clergyman come to announce a death.
The Admiral and his daughter were both within, and both looked upon their visitor with more surprise than favour.
‘Sir,’ said he to Van Tromp, ‘I am told I have done you much injustice.’
There came a little sound in Esther’s throat, and she put her hand suddenly to her heart.
‘You have, sir; and the acknowledgment suffices,’ replied the Admiral. ‘I am prepared, sir, to be easy with you, since I hear you have made it up with my friend Dick. But let me remind you that you owe some apologies to this young lady also.’
‘I shall have the temerity to ask for more than her forgiveness,’ said the Squire. ‘Miss Van Tromp,’ he continued, ‘once I was in great distress, and knew nothing of you or your character; but I believe you will pardon a few rough words to an old man who asks forgiveness from his heart. I have heard much of you since then; for you have a fervent advocate in my house. I believe you will understand that I speak of my son. He is, I regret to say, very far from well; he does not pick up as the doctors had expected; he has a great deal upon his mind, and, to tell you the truth, my girl, if you won’t help us, I am afraid I shall lose him. Come now, forgive him! I was angry with him once myself, and I found I was in
the wrong. This is only a misunderstanding, like the other, believe me; and with one kind movement, you may give happiness to him, and to me, and to yourself.’
Esther made a movement towards the door, but long before she reached it she had broken forth sobbing.
‘It is all right,’ said the Admiral; ‘I understand the sex.
Let me make you my compliments, Mr. Naseby.’
The Squire was too much relieved to be angry.
‘My dear,’ said he to Esther, ‘you must not agitate yourself.’
‘She had better go up and see him right away,’ suggested Van
Tromp.
‘I had not ventured to propose it,’ replied the Squire. ‘LES
CONVENANCES, I believe - ‘
‘JE M’EN FICHE,’ cried the Admiral, snapping his fingers.
‘She shall go and see my friend Dick. Run and get ready,
Esther.’
Esther obeyed.
‘She has not - has not run away again?’ inquired Mr. Naseby, as soon as she was gone.
‘No,’ said Van Tromp, ‘not again. She is a devilish odd girl though, mind you that.’
‘But I cannot stomach the man with the carbuncles,’ thought the Squire.
And this is why there is a new household and a brand-new baby in Naseby Dower House; and why the great Van Tromp lives in pleasant style upon the shores of England; and why twenty-six individual copies of the THYMEBURY STAR are received daily at the door of Naseby Ho
The Short Stories
CHRONOLGOICAL LIST OF SHORT STORIES
THE SUICIDE CLUB
THE RAJAH’S DIAMOND
THE PAVILION ON THE LINKS
A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT - A STORY OF FRANCIS VILLON
THE SIRE DE MALETROIT’S DOOR
PROLOGUE OF THE CIGAR DIVAN
CHALLONER’S ADVENTURE
STORY OF THE DESTROYING ANGEL
THE SQUIRE OF DAMES (Concluded)
SOMERSET’S ADVENTURE
NARRATIVE OF THE SPIRITED OLD LADY
THE SUPERFLUOUS MANSION (Continued).
ZERO’S TALE OF THE EXPLOSIVE BOMB
DESBOROUGH’S ADVENTURE
STORY OF THE FAIR CUBAN
EPILOGUE OF THE CIGAR DIVAN
THE MERRY MEN
WILL O’ THE MILL.
THRAWN JANET
OLALLA
THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD.
THE BEACH OF FALESÁ.
THE BOTTLE IMP.
THE ISLE OF VOICES.
THE PERSONS OF THE TALE.
THE SINKING SHIP.
THE TWO MATCHES.
THE SICK MAN AND THE FIREMAN.
THE DEVIL AND THE INNKEEPER.
THE PENITENT
THE YELLOW PAINT.
THE HOUSE OF ELD.
THE FOUR REFORMERS.
THE MAN AND HIS FRIEND.
THE READER.
THE CITIZEN AND THE TRAVELLER.
THE DISTINGUISHED STRANGER.
THE CART-HORSES AND THE SADDLE-HORSE.
THE TADPOLE AND THE FROG.
SOMETHING IN IT.
FAITH, HALF FAITH AND NO FAITH AT ALL.
THE TOUCHSTONE.
THE POOR THING.
THE SONG OF THE MORROW.
THE MISADVENTURES OF JOHN NICHOLSON
THE BODY-SNATCHER
THE STORY OF A LIE
ALPHABETICAL LIST OF SHORT STORIES
A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT - A STORY OF FRANCIS VILLON
CHALLONER’S ADVENTURE
DESBOROUGH’S ADVENTURE
EPILOGUE OF THE CIGAR DIVAN
FAITH, HALF FAITH AND NO FAITH AT ALL.
NARRATIVE OF THE SPIRITED OLD LADY
OLALLA
PROLOGUE OF THE CIGAR DIVAN
SOMERSET’S ADVENTURE
SOMETHING IN IT.
STORY OF THE DESTROYING ANGEL
STORY OF THE FAIR CUBAN
THE BEACH OF FALESÁ.
THE BODY-SNATCHER
THE BOTTLE IMP.
THE CART-HORSES AND THE SADDLE-HORSE.
THE CITIZEN AND THE TRAVELLER.
THE DEVIL AND THE INNKEEPER.
THE DISTINGUISHED STRANGER.
THE FOUR REFORMERS.
THE HOUSE OF ELD.
THE ISLE OF VOICES.
THE MAN AND HIS FRIEND.
THE MERRY MEN
THE MISADVENTURES OF JOHN NICHOLSON
THE PAVILION ON THE LINKS
THE PENITENT
THE PERSONS OF THE TALE.
THE POOR THING.
THE RAJAH’S DIAMOND
THE READER.
THE SICK MAN AND THE FIREMAN.
THE SINKING SHIP.
THE SIRE DE MALETROIT’S DOOR
THE SONG OF THE MORROW.
THE SQUIRE OF DAMES (Concluded)
THE STORY OF A LIE
THE SUICIDE CLUB
THE SUPERFLUOUS MANSION (Continued).
THE TADPOLE AND THE FROG.
THE TOUCHSTONE.
THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD.
THE TWO MATCHES.
THE YELLOW PAINT.
THRAWN JANET
WILL O’ THE MILL.
ZERO’S TALE OF THE EXPLOSIVE BOMB
The Poetry Collections
Robert Louis Stevenson Memorial, Edinburgh.
A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES
This collection of poetry for children was first published in 1885 under the title Penny Whistles. It contains 69 poems, many of which have since become popular favourites.
The first illustrated edition
CONTENTS
TO ALISON CUNNINGHAM
A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES
BED IN SUMMER
A THOUGHT
AT THE SEA-SIDE
YOUNG NIGHT-THOUGHT
WHOLE DUTY OF CHILDREN
RAIN
PIRATE STORY
FOREIGN LANDS
WINDY NIGHTS
TRAVEL
SINGING
LOOKING FORWARD
A GOOD PLAY
WHERE GO THE BOATS?
AUNTIE’S SKIRTS
THE LAND OF COUNTERPANE
THE LAND OF NOD
MY SHADOW
SYSTEM
A GOOD BOY
ESCAPE AT BEDTIME
MARCHING SONG
THE COW
HAPPY THOUGHT
THE WIND
KEEPSAKE MILL
GOOD AND BAD CHILDREN
FOREIGN CHILDREN
THE SUN TRAVELS
THE LAMPLIGHTER
MY BED IS A BOAT
THE MOON
THE SWING
TIME TO RISE
LOOKING-GLASS RIVER
FAIRY BREAD
FROM A RAILWAY CARRIAGE
WINTER-TIME
THE HAYLOFT
FAREWELL TO THE FARM
NORTH-WEST PASSAGE
THE CHILD ALONE
THE UNSEEN PLAYMATE
MY SHIP AND I
MY KINGDOM
PICTURE-BOOKS IN WINTER
MY TREASURES
BLOCK CITY
THE LAND OF STORY-BOOKS
ARMIES IN THE FIRE
THE LITTLE LAND
GARDEN DAYS
NIGHT AND DAY
NEST EGGS
THE FLOWERS
SUMMER SUN
THE DUMB SOLDIER
AUTUMN FIRES
THE GARDENER
HISTORICAL ASSOCIATIONS
ENVOYS
TO WILLIE AND HENRIETTA
TO MY MOTHER
TO AUNTIE
TO MINNIE
TO MY NAME-CHILD
TO ANY READER
TO ALISON CUNNINGHAM
FROM HER BOY
For the long nights you lay awake
And watched for my unworthy sake:
For your most comfortable hand
That led me through the uneven land:
For all the story-books you read:
Fo
r all the pains you comforted:
For all you pitied, all you bore,
In sad and happy days of yore: —
My second Mother, my first Wife,
The angel of my infant life —
From the sick child, now well and old,
Take, nurse, the little book you hold!
And grant it, Heaven, that all who read
May find as dear a nurse at need,
And every child who lists my rhyme,
In the bright, fireside, nursery clime,
May hear it in as kind a voice
As made my childish days rejoice!
R. L. S.
A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES
BED IN SUMMER
In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.
I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people’s feet
Still going past me in the street.
And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?
Mary
Hans
A THOUGHT
It is very nice to think
The world is full of meat and drink,
With little children saying grace
In every Christian kind of place.
Biddy
Fifine
BED IN SUMMER
AT THE SEA-SIDE
When I was down beside the sea
A wooden spade they gave to me
To dig the sandy shore.
My holes were empty like a cup.
In every hole the sea came up,
Till it could come no more.
YOUNG NIGHT-THOUGHT
All night long and every night,
When my mama puts out the light,
I see the people marching by,
As plain as day, before my eye.
Armies and emperors and kings,
All carrying different kinds of things,