. .
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 THE APPLE OF EDEN 
 
 TRAFFIC 
 
 THE REALIST 
 
 THE EVOLUTION OF KATHERINE 
 
 MIRAGE 
 
 SALLY BISHOP 
 
 THE CITY OF BEAUTIFUL NONSENSE 
 
 THE GREATEST WISH IN THE WORLD 
 
 THE PATCHWORK PAPERS 
 
 THE GARDEN OF RESURRECTION 
 
 THE FLOWER OF GLOSTER 
 
 THIRTEEN 
 
 THE OPEN WINDOW 
 
 RICHARD FURLONG 
 
 THE ACHIEVEMENT
 
 ANTAGONISTS 
 
 'LE THURSTON 
 
 POSITE P 
 
 'AHT 
 
 
 LC 
 APMAN AND HALL,
 
 TRAFF<>K1> MILL 
 
 "AKIN"
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 BY 
 
 E. TEMPLE THURSTON 
 
 AUTHOR OF THE BOOKS ON OPPOSITE PAQS 
 
 NEW AND CHEAPER EDITION 
 
 LONDON 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, LTD. 
 
 1914
 
 PR 
 
 100 
 
 TO 
 
 ARTHUR WAUGH 
 
 2227811
 
 Mr DEAR WAVGH, 
 
 You have fathered me so long and rvith no 
 recognition of mine for your office of parent that I look 
 back at my list of books with some sense of shame to 
 think that I have not openly acknowledged my filial respect 
 before now. From the moment when first you accepted 
 the "Apple of Eden," transforming me from a child oj 
 colossal hope to one of little promise, your sympathies 
 and interest in all I have tried to do have been more 
 valuable than I am able to admit. 
 
 What is more to your credit, you have shown me that a 
 publisher may not only be ajinancial speculator in that 
 making of books of which there is no ending, but also a 
 counsellor and friend whose advice is worth the imprint 
 of a thousand years' repute. 
 
 A publisher once said to me of a certain author : " Of 
 course we look after him. We never allow him to do more 
 than four books a year. It 'ud never serve us or him, if 
 he wrote himself out." 
 
 But seemingly it has not only served you to see that I 
 did not write myself out, but that I wrote the best I could 
 without regard for those aspects of the case which combine 
 to make of business the business that it is. 
 
 So I ask you to accept " The Antagonists." You know 
 well enough how some people have said I ought to write 
 another " Sally Bishop " others that I should repeat 
 " The City of Beautiful Nonsense " that in one or the 
 other, I should meet with some success. And you, my 
 publisher, are content that I should write this book, which 
 is neither. Surely above all, then, you must be my friend^ 
 as I am yours, 
 
 and always, 
 E. TEMPLE THURSTON* 
 " Gellibranels."
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 BOOK I 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IT was Autumn. The morning was early. Out of 
 a luminous mist the sun had just risen above the 
 horizon. Everywhere there was the sense of that far- 
 distant waking of the world, when a cock crows in the 
 East, another faintly answers him in the West and then 
 all is still. 
 
 Already the shepherd was out with his dog on Bredon 
 Hill ; a motionless figure on the hill-side, destroying 
 none of that illusion in his silent watchfulness that the 
 world was yet asleep. 
 
 From the dense hawthorn bushes on the hill a dim 
 twittering of birds came intermittently as though the 
 light of the sun were stealing through their windows, 
 stirring them against all inclination to the necessities of 
 another day. After each faint rustling of their voices, 
 doubtless they laid down their heads again on the warm 
 pillow of their wings sparrows, greenfinches, chaf- 
 finches, all alike. There was just that cold catch in the
 
 2 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 air which made the morning as yet too early to be 
 abroad. Still, in another moment, they were chatter- 
 ing once more. When the sun calls you, there is little 
 use in procrastination. You must get up. 
 
 There was twittering of birds then upon the hill-side, 
 but down in the valley, where the Avon stretched 
 through the grey meadows, the moist air still hung 
 close and heavily. There, the only sound was the 
 rushing of the water as it tumbled over the old weir by 
 Trafford Mill. To those who know that sound well, 
 the valley might well have been silent, for the sun had 
 not as yet dispersed the chill veiling of the mist and 
 almost everything that lived was still sleeping in its 
 bed. 
 
 Across the meadows, there stood the great encamp- 
 ment of an army, the ghostly white tents of the mist, 
 the dim forms of the willows and the may trees, like 
 horses tethered by their side. Only the cattle moved 
 there a cow at early grazing, shifting one reluctant 
 step at a time and with another being lost amidst the 
 white encampment of the mist. 
 
 By the river side, the tips of the reeds pricked out, 
 a thousand bayonet-points into the sun. The pale pink 
 of the willow herb had already faintly caught the 
 light ; and above all this, away up into the zenith of 
 the cloudless sky was a glow of golden primrose gilding 
 the tops of the elm trees and wrapping the heights of the 
 uplands in the warm promise of a faultless day. 
 
 Through infinite degrees the soft moisture melted
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 3 
 
 beneath the sun, until only the spiders 1 webs, stretched 
 taut upon the reddening brambles, were grey such lace 
 a fairy might have wrapped about her shoulders. 
 
 And now the birds began in noisy squabblings to 
 dart out from the hedgerows. That far silent figure of 
 the shepherd moved at last. For a moment his dog 
 and he became living things, then both were gone from 
 sight below the hill. A mile away, the clock of 
 Eckington church tolled out the hour of six and, with 
 the last stroke of it, from the mill house, came the 
 sound of an opening window. A boy appeared against 
 the darkness of the room beyond, an instant stayed 
 there, the next had clambered out upon the sill, slid 
 easily down a water-pipe to the ground and disappeared 
 in the dark growth of laurels which enclosed the little 
 garden of the mill. 
 
 At that hour of the morning the earth belongs to 
 those who need her ; the ploughman is emperor of his 
 thousand furrows, the shepherd, king of all the wide 
 uplands he can see. Even the boy, unchaining his dog 
 from the old barrel in the yard and setting forth across 
 the wet meadows to the first rise of the hill, even he 
 felt the swelling pride of possession and, when he was 
 out of hearing of the house, let go his voice in a boastful 
 song. 
 
 " Some talk of Alexander and some of Hercules, 
 Of Hector and Lysander, and such great men as these " 
 
 which meant that he felt a greater hero than any one of 
 them, for the meadows and the orchards, the hedgerows 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 and the river one and all belonged to him. As he 
 passed beneath Farmer Lipscombe^s apple trees, he 
 swung on to a lime-washed branch and snatched an 
 apple down, burying his teeth in it as he strode onward. 
 Was there any one to stop him ? At that hour of the 
 morning, the whole world he walked in was his own. 
 
 Along the hedges as he passed, a flight of green- 
 finches sped before him, settling, whenever they had 
 made distance, to eat the bryony berries while there 
 was time before he overtook them. It was always by 
 the hedges, too, he walked. In those dark crevices at 
 the roots of the hedge trees, Nature hides all her secrets 
 of the world. Dicky knew that. He knew that if he 
 were only as small as a field mouse or as nimble as a 
 wren, he might discover why God had made the earth. 
 Being neither one nor the other, he had to content 
 himself with walking in the fields on the very fringe of 
 mystery. 
 
 Once or twice that morning he stopped to examine 
 an old nest which the autumn falling of the leaf had 
 disclosed, and always aloud to himself for when you 
 are young enough to be certain of these things, you 
 always speak aloud he would declare the name of the 
 bird that had built it, whether he knew it or not. 
 
 And it was not only nests, but everything in Nature 
 that seemed to catch his eye. A rabbit burrow in the 
 hedge, the lightning passage of a stoat as it sped across 
 the road into that hidden world of its own, the flight of 
 a kestrel planing down the sky on a rigid wing; not
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 5 
 
 one of these things escaped him. He was all eyes, ever 
 eager; and when suddenly he stood still for as you 
 soon learn it is the motion of matter and not matter 
 itself which frightens those little creatures of the field 
 and of the air then the rough-haired terrier stopped 
 on the moment at his heels. There they both listened 
 or both watched until the stoat had vanished or the 
 kestrel swung out of sight beyond the hill. 
 
 No matter how strong they may be, a dog will ever 
 mould his instincts to the needs of his master. Against 
 all promptings of his nature, Pilgrim would listen or 
 watch in silence. Once he had chased a weasel, had 
 brought back its mangled body and laid it at Dicky's 
 feet. It had been a great chase, a memorable victory, 
 but, by all computation, was not so great a deed as he 
 had expected. Certainly Dicky was very glad to get it. 
 He had kept it beneath his bed for a week hoping to 
 preserve its skeleton, but the odour of decomposition 
 had reached his father's nostrils and a burial in the 
 garden became compulsory. Notwithstanding this 
 acquisition, Pilgrim had to be thrashed and the pain 
 of it led him to suppose that chasing those fascinating 
 things which ran like lightning into the hedges was not 
 considered in the same light as he himself regarded 
 them. Against all temptation, then, when his master 
 stopped, he stopped as well. Undoubtedly his ears were 
 pricked. His eyes nearly tumbled out of his head and 
 little tremors quivered swiftly down his spine. Still in 
 the back of that intelligent head of his was the dim
 
 6 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 memory of some painful blows with a stick. It was 
 better to imagine the chase. 
 
 But in the evenings when he came home after a long 
 day in the fields, curling himself up in front of the 
 parlour fire to sleep, these imaginations became realities. 
 He dreamed of the stoats and the rabbits he had refused 
 to kill and his stiff hair would bristle. Then a leg 
 suddenly would shoot forth and a few moans come from 
 him, ending with a sharp, short bark. At this he 
 would wake up to find the lamp still burning on the 
 table and Dicky's father peering at him from over the 
 top of his spectacles. 
 
 But this morning in Autumn there were no rabbits 
 and never a stoat or a weasel crossed their path. 
 Though the river mist had vanished, there still clung 
 to the earth that chill damp of the air. It hung from 
 the tops of the leaves on the willow trees in glittering 
 points of water. Pilgrim and Dicky walked alone. 
 
 When they reached the foot of Bredon Hill they 
 stopped, and Dicky looked expectantly about him. 
 No human being was to be seen. By now the shepherd 
 was far over the hill and only a few sheep grazing were 
 in sight. He raised his hands to his mouth and cried 
 a call. The sound of it sped upwards over the hill- 
 side and, as it carried away into the still silence of the 
 morning, made the world to Dicky seem a bigger place 
 than he had believed. One moment for its travelling 
 and then there came an answering cry from the direc- 
 tion in which he had turned.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 7 
 
 "He's coming,"" said Dicky. Pilgrim's nostrils 
 widened and closed as he, too, looked in the direction 
 of the sound, raising his head to catch the scent in 
 the wind. 
 
 Dicky sat down on the branch of a fallen oak and 
 waited until, through a gap in the hedge, there crawled 
 a boy who grinned when he saw that he was late. 
 There is a certain attitude you can assume, implying as 
 it does that your patience is well-nigh exhausted. That 
 attitude Dicky had accurately adopted. 
 
 " Knew you'd be late," said he. 
 
 " Never woke," replied Wilfrid " That silly ass 
 Dorothy, never called me." 
 
 " Shouldn't have a silly ass for a sister, said Dicky 
 " Anne's worth six of her. She calls me quick enough. 
 Well come on. We'll get that grass-snake this 
 morning. It's warm enough on the hill." 
 
 Whereupon these two lords of creation, masters 
 already of the womenfolk who mould them, set out 
 up the steep ascent of the hill with Pilgrim following 
 on three legs at their heels. It seemed as though, to 
 attain that obedience which was demanded of him, 
 Pilgrim found it easier to run on three legs. When- 
 ever he put the fourth to the ground the temptation 
 was so great to show he could do without it, that he 
 quickly raised it again. To incapacitate ourselves for 
 wrong is the only way some of us can attain to 
 virtue. 
 
 " Saw a hare in one of old Lipscombe's fields the
 
 8 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 big one this morning," said Wilfrid presently " In 
 the stubble went like billy-o when he saw me."" 
 
 Dicky took the information in silence. He had seen 
 nothing. 
 
 " You see that kestrel again ? " asked Wilfrid. 
 
 Dicky shook his head. 
 
 " Bet I know where he builds. 1 " 
 
 " Bet you don't ! " said Dicky. 
 
 " Bet I do ! Bet it's hatched ages ago." 
 
 "Of course it's hatched. I bet that one we saw 
 yesterday was one of its young 'uns." 
 
 They bet on everything, but with a discreet silence 
 as to the terms of the wager. Once Dicky had lost 
 a pocket knife and, against all protests from his friend, 
 insisted upon paying. 
 
 " I bet it," said he " I'd have jolly well taken your 
 leash if I'd won." 
 
 When the suggestion was made that they should 
 exchange the leash for the pocket knife, he turned it to 
 scorn. 
 
 " I betted ! " said he with annoyance, but after that, 
 by a tacit agreement, they never mentioned their 
 stakes. 
 
 By the time they reached the top of the hill, the sun 
 was hot in the heavens, the veil was lifted from the 
 meadows, and far below them stretched the great 
 garden of England one county after another lying 
 fair and silent in the sun. The white trail of the Avon 
 throwing back the light of sky, crept in and out behind
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 9 
 
 the forests, growing fainter and fainter till it became 
 a mere pale thread in the dim raiment of the distant 
 blue. 
 
 As he regained his breath, Dicky looked down at it 
 all, not yet realising what that breadth of country 
 meant to him, or how much he had to do with the 
 mystery of Nature which he saw on every side. Yet he 
 looked and looked as though his eyes would never tire 
 of it and, notwithstanding Wilfrid's eagerness to be off 
 upon their search, still stood and looked, saying 
 nothing. 
 
 " Come on ! " exclaimed Wilfrid " I've got to get 
 back at eight. What are you looking at ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Dicky and they went on in 
 silence to the place where both had solemnly betted 
 that the grass-snake had its abode. 
 
 " Come up fearfully quietly," said Dicky ; " it'll 
 probably be lying out in the sun." 
 
 " Have you got the prong ?" asked Wilfrid. 
 
 Dicky produced a stout hazel twig from under his 
 coat. It was pronged at one end. Then they crept 
 forward to a may-tree bush, scarlet and green with all 
 its leaves and berries. As he peered round the corner, 
 Dicky's hand shot swiftly back, the sign of caution. 
 He looked round over his shoulder and nodded his 
 head. His eyes were sparkling with excitement. At 
 a safe distance in the rear, Pilgrim sat on his haunches, 
 wriggling the skin up his back, his ears rigid, just 
 bearing the suspense.
 
 10 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 The moments were breathless that followed. As 
 Dicky poised the prong over the snake, ready to strike, 
 Wilfrid conceived the idea of an appeal to God. 
 
 " Please God," he said to himself " let him catch 
 it!" 
 
 Possibly that prayer had more to do with the matter 
 than Wilfrid ever suspected for, with a swift stroke, 
 the prong descended, the snake was fastened to the 
 ground beneath it and, at the cry of victory that 
 followed, Pilgrim was rushing round them barking 
 wildly. 
 
 Dicky surveyed his catch in triumph. 
 
 " Isn't he a ripper ! " exclaimed Wilfrid " How do 
 you know he's a grass-snake ? " 
 
 " I know," said Dicky " He^s quite harmless." 
 
 If only for the sake of dignity, a definite statement 
 like that must be supported with actual proof. Dicky 
 picked up the sinuous beast by its tail, laughing at its 
 vain efforts to raise its head on a level with his hand. 
 
 " See its tongue," said he " That's all rot, a snake 
 stinging they don't they bite. Grass-snakes can't 
 bite, they haven't got any teeth. By Jove don't he 
 hiss." 
 
 Pilgrim looked on at the wriggling thing in wonder. 
 
 " Eugh ! " exclaimed the sensitive Wilfrid " I 
 couldn't touch it ! " 
 
 "Why you silly ass it's all right. It can't do 
 anything. It wouldn't do anything if I put my hand 
 in front of its mouth."
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 11 
 
 Here Dicky suited the action to the words. There 
 was an instant's pause. The thin flat head darted 
 swiftly back, then, in the flash of an eye, had struck. 
 Dicky felt two pin pricks in his finger and the snake 
 lay twisting and writhing on the ground. 
 
 "What happened?" said Wilfrid. 
 
 " It's bitten me." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " In the finger." 
 
 " But you said it couldn't bite." 
 
 Dicky paid no attention to that. Already the world 
 was beginning to slip away from him, tumbling in its 
 increasing littleness over the edge of the hill. He 
 looked at Wilfrid with frightened eyes it was as 
 though he were looking the wrong way through a sea- 
 man's telescope, slowly pulling out one strand after 
 another. 
 
 " I'm poisoned ! " he whispered " Suck my finger 
 for me suck it I'm poisoned " and he advanced 
 towards his companion with his hand stretched out. 
 
 It was the look in Dicky's face that struck terror into 
 Wilfrid's mind. He was not a coward ; but he was 
 afraid of things that were horrible. Dicky looked 
 horrible and, with every step he advanced, Wilfrid 
 retreated. It was the horror of it that he could not 
 face. 
 
 At that, without comment, Dicky put his finger in his 
 own mouth and sucked the poison from the tiny wound, 
 spitting it vehemently out on to the ground. When
 
 12 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 his mouth was dry, he looked wildly about him. The 
 snake had gone ; slipped away into the mystery of its 
 own world at the roots of the may tree. He swayed on 
 his feet. That sensation of the impossible littleness of 
 everything had left him. He was conscious only that 
 soon some strange thing would be happening and when 
 he saw his own hand colouring to an ugly black, he 
 thought that what must happen would be death. He 
 was going to die. Suddenly he knew how young he was 
 and his lip quivered. He could remember nearly all of 
 the ten years he had lived. Things that had happened 
 to him when he was three, a lie he had told when he 
 was four, became as vivid as though they had happened 
 but the day before and, though each year as it had 
 passed by had seemed a life-time, he knew now how 
 little he was. And it was going to end that day. 
 
 There was nothing fine about it. He had not saved 
 any one's life at the cost of his own ; he had done 
 nothing brave to make it worth while. He was just 
 going to die because of a beastly, rotten snake. He 
 looked again at Wilfrid Wilfrid who was quite well 
 who was going to live. There was a mist in front of 
 him a mist in front of everything. 
 
 " WeM better go home," said Dicky, and there was a 
 mist even in his voice. He could scarcely hear it. 
 
 Then in silence they commenced to clamber down the 
 hill-side and all the time Dicky kept wondering why he 
 had to die. Suddenly it occurred to him that he must 
 have done something grossly wrong and that this was
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 13 
 
 the judgment of God. Then fear took him. He felt it 
 shake him from head to foot. He tried hard to think 
 what wrong it was, that he might say he was sorry and 
 appease God while there was yet time. He could think 
 of nothing. But the fear shook him still more wildly. 
 He fell to his knees and cried out in a thin voice. 
 
 " I know Tve told lies," he cried " I know I have 
 but I can't think of anything else." 
 
 Wilfrid and Pilgrim stood shivering and watched 
 him a little boy on his knees on the bare hill-side, 
 twisted and tortured in the fingers of God. 
 
 He struggled to his feet once more, once more began 
 to make his great effort to reach home. It seemed 
 there was one chance left to him ; if he could but reach 
 the touch of his mother's hand, she might be able to 
 remember the things he had done which he ought not 
 to have done. But the distance which that morning 
 appeared so small, had now become illimitable. He 
 knew with each step that he could never reach the 
 mill. He swayed again, then once more tumbled to 
 his feet. 
 
 " I want mother," he said in a raucous whisper, and 
 turned a pair of sightless eyes to Wilfrid's frightened 
 face. "I want mother," he repeated, beginning then 
 feverishly to crawl upon his hands and knees. Wilfrid 
 watched him helplessly, the tears rushing to his eyes, 
 his knees trembling. Still Dicky crawled wildly on. 
 It was in one sudden moment that he fell again and 
 then lay still. And there, under the beating sun,
 
 14 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 Wilfrid thought how small he looked and wondered 
 
 why he had ever been afraid of him. 
 
 " Dicky ! " he cried in terror " Dicky ! " 
 
 But Dicky never moved, and over the hill-side came 
 
 the shepherd and his dog.
 
 CHAPTER H 
 
 WHEN death comes in dark places, there is a certain 
 congruity about it ; when it cuts short the life of a man 
 and brings him low, there is congruity still. He has 
 lived, you say, and you pray that you may first live 
 also. But when the day is all gold, the sun alight in 
 the heavens, the birds all swelling their throats in song, 
 to see the still body then of a little boy, lying inert 
 beside the smiling hedges, that is the most terribly 
 incongruous sight in the world. 
 
 When, to Wilfrid's importunate entreaties, the shep- 
 herd followed him across the hill and came to where 
 Dicky was lying, even he felt the strange unnatural 
 sense of things in the sight that met his eyes. 
 
 " He be lying like one o 1 my lambs, when the frosties 
 kill 'en," he said ; and that, as he stood there looking 
 down at Dicky, was all that he could say, except that 
 beneath his breath, he muttered " Dearie dear ! " just 
 as he would had he lost a lamb from his fold. 
 
 " But can't you do anything ? " cried Wilfrid. " He's 
 not really dead, is he ? It was only a grass-snake." 
 
 "Twas no grass-snake, Master Wilfrid,"" said the 
 
 shepherd and, kneeling down, he laid his ear against 
 
 15
 
 16 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 Dicky's heart and listened. Now, not only was the 
 shepherd hard of hearing, but there grew, on the lobes 
 of his ears, little tufts of hair which, when he pressed 
 his head against Dicky's chest, were made still further 
 an impediment to his hearing. It was thus he had 
 often listened for the beating of a lamb's heart which 
 the frosts had stilled ; lying against it while the dis- 
 tracted mother bleated at his side. 
 
 Both Pilgrim and the sheep-dog seemed to know that 
 a serious issue was at hand, for though they always met 
 as common enemies one the guardian of the sheep, tin- 
 other their pursuer they now put all disputes aside. 
 Certainly, they found it better to stand wide apart. It 
 is ever that a dog must put temptation out of his way. 
 He dares not meet it. 
 
 After a few moments' silence, Wilfrid could bear the 
 suspense no longer. 
 
 " Well ! " he said" Well ? He's not dead, is he ? " 
 
 The shepherd looked up with a vacant expression in 
 his eyes. 
 
 " I doant hear nowt," said he " but maybe he's not 
 dead yet. His hand's quite black, look you ; but pYaps 
 it is his whole body should be black also before'n be 
 dead. I'll carry'n down to the mill. Twill be a fair 
 upset to Mrs. Furlong." 
 
 This was the only consolation that the wretched 
 Wilfrid received. With a choking in his throat, he 
 watched Dicky's body, hanging limply as the shepherd 
 raised him to his shoulder. Vaguely he noticed the
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 17 
 
 lifeless arras that swung helplessly to every motion, 
 the lolling head that nodded in an ugly way from the 
 loosened neck. This was horrible more than he could 
 bear. The choking in his throat broke to tears. He 
 began crying bitterly, sniffling and gulping as he walked 
 by the shepherd's side. Here now was the trial, the 
 test of it for him. Dicky had passed his ordeal, had 
 met it both with courage and with fear. There is not 
 one without the other. But with Wilfrid, all spirit in 
 him broke down. Like a child returning home with 
 dragging steps to the thrashing he knows awaiting him, 
 the miserable boy followed by the side of the shepherd 
 with Pilgrim, troubled, at their heels. 
 
 After a time his sobs subsided, but as they neared 
 the mill house broke out afresh. Indistinctly he 
 imagined Mrs. Furlong's distress and the grave look 
 that would fall upon him from Mr. Furlong's eyes. 
 There was no written law against these early morning 
 excursions ; but just as Dicky had slid down the water- 
 pipe from his window to escape detention, so Wilfrid 
 felt in the back of his mind that he would be 
 blamed. 
 
 It was the thought of this that made the tears come 
 back again and apprehensively he caught at the shep- 
 herd's coat sleeve. 
 
 " It wasn't my fault," he sobbed " Dicky p-put his 
 hand in front of its mouth." 
 
 " That's like Master Dicky," said the shepherd, and 
 
 said no more, 
 c
 
 18 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 They were up and about in the mill when Wilfrid 
 pushed open the white wicket-gate, and these two, the 
 shepherd with his burden, walked up the flagged path 
 between the rows of Michaelmas daisies to the stout 
 door of the mill house. 
 
 " Shall I knock or go right in ? " he mumbled in his 
 beard and, being a man of slow perception, appreciating 
 as yet but little of the critical situation with which he 
 dealt, he decided to knock. But before the decision 
 could be brought to the deed, a woman's voice from an 
 upper window had cried the name of Dicky. 
 
 " It'll be a fair upset to Mrs. Furlong," the shepherd 
 muttered, as he heard the sound of hurrying footsteps 
 from within. And then the door burst open. Mrs. 
 Furlong stood there with hands stretched out to take 
 her son. 
 
 " Drowned ? " she whispered. 
 
 There had been nights when she had lain awake 
 listening to the waters of the Avon as they rushed over 
 the weir and, as with all noises when the night is still, 
 they had had an ugly, a hungry sound to her ears. 
 Long she had dreaded it, but in silence as a mother 
 must, knowing that the perils by water and the perils by 
 land are those dangers which every mother's son must 
 face whether it be in the hour of work or play. Only 
 at night these fears and apprehensions had troubled her, 
 but at that moment, when she saw Dicky lying in the 
 shepherd's arms, they rushed back upon her again. 
 
 " Drowned ? " she whispered.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 19 
 
 "No, ma'am, 'tis the bite of a snake on the hill 
 there." 
 
 She looked at Dicky's face as she took him in her 
 arms. 
 
 " The doctor ! " she said. " Tell them to harness the 
 trap at once. James must drive as fast as he can."" 
 
 " Eckington, ma'am, or Little Cumberton ? " 
 
 " The nearest oh, the nearest, of course ! " 
 
 The shepherd at last awoke to the grim seriousness 
 of it all. Mrs. Furlong's voice and not the sight of 
 Dicky's body had brought it to him. Turning quickly 
 on his heel, he ran round to the stable. The door of 
 the mill was closed. On the path between the Michael- 
 mas daisies, Wilfrid still stood, the tears rolling one 
 after another down his cheeks. 
 
 There he waited and waited. The minutes went by, 
 but no one came out to tell him how Dicky fared. At 
 last he turned away and, by the road, walked back 
 again to Eckington. The trap passed him on its way. 
 Faithful to all traditions of himself, James, the stable- 
 man, drove furiously. Wilfrid stood close to the hedge 
 as the trap swept by and a thickness came back into his 
 throat again as he thought of what it meant. That 
 was their last early morning together. They would 
 never be allowed to go out again. Besides which Dicky 
 was dead. 
 
 He did not really believe that He could not believe 
 it. Boys did not die like that. Death came to a man 
 
 when he was very old when he was forty at least, 
 c 2
 
 20 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 He had never heard of a boy dying not when he 
 was strong and jolly like Dicky was. No he never 
 believed that Dicky could be dead. 
 
 Yet he walked straight into his sister's bedroom 
 heedless of her dressing, his mind still dazed, and 
 " Dicky's dead," said he. " He died this morning." 
 And when Dorothy had looked at him and looked, 
 without asking him how or why, she sat down slowly on 
 her bed, and sobbed, with shaking shoulders.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 BUT Dicky was not dead. At no little distance he 
 had seen death, and in this life that is an experience 
 one may well be thankful for. 
 
 When Mr. Furlong saw his son lying on the bed to 
 which Mrs. Furlong had carried him her own bed, 
 for a mother will trust no other his lips whitened and 
 he said that something must be done at once. 
 
 " Yes and what ? " said she. " How long will 
 James be gone for the doctor ? " 
 
 He looked at his watch though she had never 
 asked for the calculated answer. She needed only 
 that he should say, and at once, any time within 
 reason that came into his head, so long as it gave 
 her hope. 
 
 " Probably twenty-five minutes," said Mr. Furlong, 
 putting his watch away. " If he doesn't find the 
 doctor at once, perhaps thirty." 
 
 " And what can we do till then ? Something must 
 be done ! You see he's only just breathing." 
 
 " Of course brandy's a good thing," said Mr. Furlong, 
 and the sickness at his heart made his tongue dry in 
 
 his mouth " Brandy as much of it as we could 
 
 21
 
 22 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 force him to take. The alcohol neutralises the effect of 
 the poison. Brandy's the thing." 
 
 " But there's none in the house ! " she cried. 
 
 " I know," said he. 
 
 " Nor whisky either ! 
 
 " I know," he repeated, and he tried to think of other 
 remedies he knew. Before he could suggest anything 
 else she had left the room. When he found himself 
 alone, he knelt down by the side of the bed and took 
 Dicky's hand then as most men of a religious nature 
 are being that strange mixture of sentiment and 
 hardness, practical in all common-place matters of life, 
 lacking in initiative when the moment is crucial, the 
 tears came hot into his eyes and he bent his head in 
 prayer. 
 
 " Oh, God," he murmured, just loud enough to hear 
 his own voice " Oh, God if I have deserved that my 
 son be taken from me, give me strength that I may 
 bear the pain of Thy justice " which, being phrased in 
 the true spirit of the Church, was doubtless beautiful 
 in its humility, but did no good to Dicky on the 
 bed. 
 
 He was still upon his knees when Mrs. Furlong 
 returned. She saw that he was praying but, with that 
 marvellous versatility of a woman, seemed in complete 
 sympathy with him while her heart was beating with 
 impatience. Before he had raised his head from his 
 his hands, she was forcing some liquid from a bottle 
 between Dicky's lips.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 28 
 
 " What's that you're giving him ? " he asked as he 
 looked up. 
 
 " Eau de Cologne," said she. 
 
 " But Christina " he rose to his feet. 
 
 " Fve heard of people getting drunk on Eau de 
 Cologne," she replied. 
 
 " Of course there is a percentage of alcohol in it," 
 said he. " It can't do any harm." 
 
 Seemingly it had done good, for Dicky's eyes 
 opened. 
 
 " Mother," he whispered, and found her close against 
 his heart. 
 
 Mr. Furlong put out his hand ; but it was only a 
 moment of consciousness. Dicky had slipped back 
 again into that world between life and death of which 
 the wisest of us know nothing. Only one moment of 
 consciousness, and that moment Dicky had given to his 
 mother. 
 
 "I'll go and see if the doctor's coming," said Mr. 
 Furlong. As he went downstairs it was more he knew 
 the pain of being ignored than that he felt it. 
 
 As soon as the door had closed, Mrs. Furlong began 
 to make Dicky ready for her bed. Upon that very 
 bed in agony of body she had brought him into the 
 world ; now in agony of mind she laid him there to 
 rest, slipping off one garment after another with 
 that care and dexterity which, with a woman, is more 
 wonderful than sleight-of-hand. His coat, his knicker- 
 bockers, his shirt, his stockings, one by one she laid
 
 24 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 them aside, scarcely stirring him as she took them off. 
 At last he lay in a clean night-shirt alone in the big 
 bed, and, as she bent over him, one drop from her eyes 
 splashed fair upon his cheek. 
 
 At the sound of the doctor's footsteps on the stairs, 
 she quickly wiped it away. 
 
 " Well what's this ? " inquired the doctor cheerfully 
 as he entered. 
 
 She shook hands with him hurriedly and pointed to 
 the bed. One moment's examination of Dicky and he 
 stood up. 
 
 "A basin of hot water," said he shortly "a 
 tumbler tooth glass anything a towel. If you 
 go downstairs I'll let you know presently, Mrs. 
 Furlong." 
 
 " I'll stay," she replied. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders, but in three minutes was 
 glad of her. She did not flinch, even when holding 
 Dicky's hand for the work of his lancet. In acute pain 
 of mind Mr. Furlong looked on. At the first incision 
 Dicky's eyes opened again; at the second he kicked 
 violently and then again he moaned. 
 
 " I must do one more," he heard the doctor say. 
 
 " You shan't ! " he shouted. 
 
 " Very well I won't," said the doctor when it was 
 done, and Mrs. Furlong smiled for one instant into his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Now," said he, " we'll let him rest a bit. You'd 
 better come downstairs."
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 25 
 
 Mr. Furlong was obedient, but his wife pointed to a 
 chair in a far corner of the room. 
 
 " He won't know I'm there," she whispered, " and I 
 can let you know." 
 
 They left her there, and there for an hour she 
 watched Dicky's face. Not a movement of his eyelids 
 escaped her. At last he dropped asleep. 
 
 Destiny has the whole gamut of the laws of Nature at 
 its command wherewith to mould the creatures of its 
 choice. 
 
 It was that early morning in Autumn when Destiny 
 first began its work with Dicky Furlong. 
 
 From that day he was to be a different being, was to 
 enter upon the second phase of his making, the second 
 of the many through which he must pass before he 
 could become that Richard Furlong whose name the 
 world knows now and will remember when many 
 another is forgotten.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THERE were three long weeks in that large bed for 
 Dicky before he might see the fields again or feel the 
 touch of the grass beneath his feet. From his bedroom 
 window only the sky was visible with just one break 
 the plume of a high poplar which nearly reached the 
 window catch. So then, whenever he was alone, he 
 watched the sky the sky at early morning growing 
 into the brilliance of day the sky in all its fulness of 
 light fading through a thousand colours into evening. 
 
 Always his mother sat with him in the afternoon, till 
 the light was feeble and the high tea at six o'clock was 
 served downstairs. Sometimes she would read to him, 
 more often sew, while he lay there in silence and, 
 though he never expressed it in words, when at the 
 finish of her work, she collected ah 1 her coloured silks 
 and laid them in her basket, yet he thought how like 
 the coming of the evening that was a tired woman 
 laying aside her coloured silks until the daylight came 
 again. There was one large ball of orange at which, 
 once, when she was putting it away in her basket, he 
 had said aloud 
 
 " There goes the sun." 
 
 26
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 27 
 
 Mrs. Furlong looked up. 
 
 " The sun, Dicky ? It set long ago." 
 
 " The ball of silk," said he. 
 
 She took it out and smiled. 
 
 " It is like the sun isn't it ? " and then she laid it 
 back again. She had never known of all he meant by 
 that. Had he even known it himself? In those years 
 Dicky's mind was being fed with food he never tasted. 
 The clouds a legion which passed across the* heavens 
 every day before his eyes made but little conscious 
 impression upon his mind. He merely lay and watched 
 them. Sometimes they took shapes which filled his 
 mind with stories. He saw wild beasts with jaws wide 
 open which crawled the sky at evening. He saw Spain's 
 great Armada, with sails full-bellied, come riding up the 
 azure of the Spanish Main. He saw volcanoes on a far 
 horizon, belching forth their mountain columns of 
 smoke, which, when once lifted, hung in suspense like 
 the vast canvas of some monstrous tent. He saw those 
 fleets of little ships which face alone the length and 
 breadth of all the endless blue. And there were days 
 when not a ship was on the sea, and often then, with 
 eyes that closed to the intensity of light, Dicky would 
 fall asleep. 
 
 There was other food for Dicky's mind as well as 
 this. For the first time in his life, he became the 
 possessor of a real secret. There had always closed for 
 him a mystery around his father and mother. It was 
 not often that he was worried by it, but there were
 
 28 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 times when he wondered about his father's childhood, 
 how his father had treated him, whether he had done 
 the things that Dicky wanted to do and if he had done 
 them, then what had happened. But of all his life 
 before he had taken the mill, that is, of all his life one 
 year before Dicky had been born, Mr. Furlong was 
 strangely silent. Dicky was not so curious about his 
 mother's youth, but even she never alluded to it andy 
 though he was not so old as that he might find it 
 strange, yet questions had often risen to his thoughts, 
 but he had never asked them. 
 
 One day when there were no ships on the sea, when 
 the sky had no tales to tell him, he found himself look- 
 ing long at his mother, who sat sewing in the window. 
 He wondered how she could ever have been young ; he 
 wondered, too, if she could ever be old. And then he 
 wondered if any of the boys in Mr. Leggatt's school at 
 Eckington had mothers as beautiful as she. He went 
 through them all, one after another. There were none. 
 Not one of them could match her. 
 
 "Mother, 11 he said presently, not taking his eyes 
 from her face " how old are you ? " 
 
 For a moment she went on in silence with her sewing, 
 a smile twitching the corner of her lips. At last she 
 looked up. 
 
 " Why, Dicky ? Why do you ask ? " 
 
 " Because, 11 said he, " if I'm ten, mustn't you be very 
 old ? I mean, you must be thirty, mustn't you ? w 
 
 " Yes and more, 11 said she.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 29 
 
 " And how old's father ?" 
 
 " I don't think your father would like me to tell you 
 his age, Dicky." 
 
 "Why not?' 1 
 
 " Well I don't really know why. Anne asked him 
 once and he said she must not be curious. Do you 
 remember asking him how much money he made out of 
 the mill?" 
 
 Dicky remembered well. He had been comparing 
 the penny-a-week which he received in pocket money 
 with the twopence-a-week which one of the boys 
 got at Leggatt's school. It was a matter seeming to 
 him to depend entirely upon how much his father made 
 out of the mill. 
 
 "That's just what he said to me," said Dicky; "he 
 told me not to be curious." 
 
 With a wonderful discretion, Mrs. Furlong went on 
 with her sewing. Dicky knew he was not to be 
 answered, yet no information had emphatically been 
 denied him. Nevertheless, he was disappointed and 
 turned his face to the other wall. There he lay for 
 some minutes counting the roses on the wall-paper, 
 plucking them and tying them into bunches to give to 
 his mother. 
 
 Presently he turned again. 
 
 " Where did you live before you came to the mill ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 "At a place called Wittingham, in Buckingham- 
 shire,"
 
 80 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 " Was it as big as Eckington ? " 
 
 " Oh it wasn't a village," said she ; " that was the 
 name of the house." 
 
 " Did it belong to you ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Who did it belong to ?" 
 
 " It belonged to Lord Wittingham." 
 
 "Was he your father?" 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 *' No, my father was only a barrister, Dicky just 
 plain Mr. Tennant that's all." 
 
 "Then why did you live in Lord Wittingham's 
 house ? " 
 
 She did not reply at once and her needle made the 
 stitches just a little quicker. 
 
 " Dicky," she said suddenly, " if I tell you something, 
 will you promise never to say a word about it to Anne 
 or anybody ? " 
 
 Dicky made his promise, emphatically and at once ; 
 then waited with almost breathless interest. 
 
 "I was the governess at Wittingham," she said at 
 last ; " they had two daughters Lady Mary and Lady 
 Jane I taught them. They didn't like me and I 
 didn't like them." 
 
 " Why didn't you like them ? " 
 
 " They weren't very kind no one was very kind." 
 
 " Beasts ! " said Dicky. 
 
 She smiled again, remembering how many times she 
 had said it.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 31 
 
 " No one was kind except your father. If it hadn't 
 been for all the little things he did for me, I should 
 never have stayed there." 
 
 " Did he live at Wittingham, too, then ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 For a moment Mrs. Furlong stopped her work. She 
 laid it down in her lap and turned to look out of the 
 window. The sun was on the water where it rushed 
 over the weir. It lit the flecks of foam as they whirled 
 in a race down the river. All the willow trees were 
 golden now. They dropped their gold in brilliant 
 reflections into the water. Beyond it all, beyond the 
 gold and the reflected blue of sky, the black woods 
 towards Little Cumberton were warm with orange and 
 brown. But she saw none of these glories. There was 
 rising in her mind only the picture of the big room at 
 Wittingham where, when no visitors were present, she 
 was permitted to lunch with the family. Vividly she 
 saw them all, those dread people for whom she had had 
 so little respect, yet of whom she had stood in such awe. 
 But more distinctly than any one of them, she could 
 see that figure of her husband as he was then, moving 
 silently, attentively, attendant on their wants. In time 
 she had become conscious of his personality in the house- 
 hold ; a personality which was higher, it seemed to her 
 more human, than those with which she was surrounded. 
 Furlong, the butler, was a better type of man than his 
 master. She had said that to herself many times before
 
 32 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 she had dreamt what that personality might mean to 
 her. He made things easier for her at Wittingham ; 
 paid her those numberless attentions with which a man 
 in his position can make the life of a girl in hers more 
 bearable than it might otherwise have been. He treated 
 her as he would have treated a guest in the house. He 
 even treated her better, and that when there was 
 nothing she could do to repay him. When she retired 
 in the evenings to the privacy of her little sitting-room, 
 glad at last to be alone, he saw to it that there was 
 nothing she could want. Flowers were always on her 
 table; they were in her bedroom, too. It was some 
 time before she discovered that he, quietly, unobtrusively, 
 was responsible for this. She had found him putting a 
 bowl of roses on her dressing table. 
 
 " Is it always you who send the flowers up to my 
 room, Furlong,"" she had asked. 
 
 " Yes, Miss I guessed you liked them." 
 
 " It's very kind of you, Furlong." 
 
 " Not at all, Miss." 
 
 She had thought of him then all the time as she 
 dressed for dinner, wondering why men in better walks 
 of life were not so considerate as he, and then, with hot 
 cheeks, accused herself of snobbery. 
 
 "Surely, I don't think it's because a man's a 
 butler " she began aloud, but did not finish her 
 sentence. 
 
 And so in time she seemed to forget his position. 
 One day, when he had brought her some books from
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 88 
 
 the library, she had picked up one and asked him 
 whether he knew if it were good. 
 
 " I don't read novels, Miss," said he. 
 
 " Do you read at all, Furlong ? " she had asked. 
 
 " Oh, yes, Miss a great deal." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 What had she imagined ? Perhaps poetry of a 
 jingling order books of travel, even religious works. 
 
 " Carlyle is my favourite author, Miss," he had replied 
 with no trace of boastfulness in his voice. " Fm fond 
 of science too. But for real enjoyment of reading, I 
 can't do better than 'Sartor Resartus.' That's the 
 best book that ever was written." 
 
 " I've never read it," said she. 
 
 " Never read it, Miss ; let me get it up from the 
 library for you. Or I'll lend you my own copy, if 
 you've no objection." 
 
 "That's very good of you," said she. "I think I 
 should prefer your copy." 
 
 He had brought it then and there, and that night 
 she tried to read the first few pages. In half-an-hour 
 she laid the book aside and never thought of Furlong 
 as a butler again. 
 
 It had been a week after this, when out in the 
 country walking, some miles from Wittingham Hall, 
 she had come across him in pursuit of botanical 
 specimens. 
 
 To have spoken but a few words and passed on would 
 have been churlish in the extreme. In their different
 
 34 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 ways they were both alone in that household at 
 Wittingham. 
 
 He gave up his search for the White Helleborina, 
 and they walked together through the Buckinghamshire 
 lanes while he talked to her of pistils and stamens, of 
 stipules and corollas, explaining to her all the wonders 
 of the sex of plants and how they reproduced their 
 species. 
 
 By reason of the silent attention with which she 
 listened, he thought she had been interested in what 
 he was telling her. She had scarcely understood a word 
 of it. Her interest had been in him. More than ever 
 she was realising his superiority to his surroundings and 
 one day, on another such occasion as this, she had 
 frankly asked him. 
 
 " Why are you here at Wittingham ? " said she. 
 
 " Well, Miss I have my duty to do. It's my duty 
 to support myself it's my duty to do what I can for 
 my father. He's an old man, fallen on bad times. He 
 had a mill once. I should have been a miller too, but 
 when I was about fifteen the mill failed. He had to 
 give it up. A gentleman who knew us well took me 
 into service. I've been in service ever since. There's 
 nothing to complain about." 
 
 " But don't you ever want to do better ? Don't you 
 ever want to get back ? " 
 
 " Oh yes I want to do better. I shall do better. I 
 don't know how yet, and in the meantime it's my duty 
 to do my best for his lordship."
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 85 
 
 Here he proved himself. He was one of those men 
 in this world who, by making a fetish of duty, succeed 
 against all odds, only to find when they have reached 
 the end of their days that they have missed the flower 
 of life because an inordinate sense of duty has bidden 
 them not waste the fruit. They discover then that the 
 fruit alone has been their portion whereby their only 
 consolation is the martyrdom they have borne. 
 
 In the support of his old father at considerable 
 difficulty to himself, Furlong felt warm the sense of 
 the sacrifice he was making. But how was Christina 
 to know that of him then ? A breath of romance had 
 stirred in the lonely passages of her mind. She was a 
 young girl, alone in the distressing solitude of a great 
 household. This man had not been born to his position. 
 A sense of duty a high and noble sense of it had 
 brought him there. From the moment her mind had 
 conceived of this, she let her heart go to all the whisper- 
 ings of romance. He came to know in time she loved 
 him and fought with himself against his love for her 
 because he owed the fetish duty to his father. If they 
 married, he would be compelled to give up his well-paid 
 situation at Wittingham. It was doubtful whether he 
 would get another with a wife. But in this case Nature 
 was stronger than his duty. 
 
 One sunny morning when the sheep bells were tink- 
 ling on the high land above Wittingham, he asked her 
 to marry him. It was then Christina had told him how 
 
 she had inherited a small legacy, sufficient for him to 
 D 2
 
 86 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 purchase a mill, and the tears had rushed into Furlong's 
 eyes. 
 
 Strictly speaking then, the romance was hers, not his. 
 When a woman marries, however slightly beneath her, 
 you may with justice assume that while the man is 
 firmly mounting by the steady rungs of a glorious 
 ladder, she is borne upwards on the golden wings of 
 Romance. As the wings of Icarus too, they mount 
 higher than any ladder can reach ; but often they rise 
 into the melting rays of the sun, only to fall to the 
 solid resistance of the earth once more. It had been 
 this way with Christina Tennant. After four years of 
 married life, when both Anne and Dicky had been born 
 to her, she came to realise that without imagination, 
 without a sense of humour, no man can make Romance. 
 The wings of that which she had made, had melted in 
 the sun. She had come back to earth. The man who 
 has no bad in him has very little good. The man who 
 knows the intimate anatomy of all the flowers of the 
 field, more often than not forgets to find them beautiful. 
 When first Christina saw Joseph Furlong dissecting a 
 flower he had brought back with him from the meadows, 
 she knew what her mistake had been. 
 
 And all these things, long though they may take to 
 tell, moved in a swift review before her mind as she 
 gazed out of the window in silence to Dicky's question. 
 
 Should she tell Dicky what his father had been ? 
 There was a great longing in her heart to do so ; a 
 longing to tell some one and perhaps Dicky most of all.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 37 
 
 For young as he was, she found already in this son of 
 hers a quality of understanding. There were times 
 when he had anticipated her wants, proving even then 
 an imagination which his father had never possessed. 
 
 And yet in those days at Wittingham, he had 
 brought flowers to her room, had attended to all her 
 little comforts. But it was possible that she would 
 never be able to understand this, would never be able 
 to so make simple her mind that she could see him as 
 he was the perfect servant doing his duty. 
 
 This longing therefore to tell Dicky everything was 
 just the craving of her heart to be understood and, for 
 some reason which she could not explain, she would 
 sooner in that household have been understood by 
 Dicky than by Anne. Anne was gentle, loving and 
 thoughtful of her every wish ; but there were moments 
 when, thwarted in what she desired, Christina saw her 
 husband in Anne^s eyes. This had never been so with 
 Dicky. Dicky, opposed, was swept by all that storm 
 of anger which she had heard her father sometimes 
 showed in his practice at the bar. Dicky was a Tennant, 
 though she was too wise ever to say so. And so, because 
 she knew this, she longed to tell him all. 
 
 When then she heard his question again 
 
 " Why did he live at Wittingham ? " she turned from 
 the window on a sudden impulse which broke and fell 
 as she heard her husband's voice in the garden below 
 her. Was it fair ? Had she not said enough ? 
 
 " He just lived there, Dicky," was all she said.
 
 38 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 "But why did you take all that time before you 
 said it?" 
 
 " Did I take a long time ? " she inquired. 
 
 " Rather ! Ages ! " 
 
 " Well, perhaps because I oughtn't to be speaking 
 about these things. I don't think your father likes it. 
 So you'll remember your promise, won't you ?" 
 
 " What promise ? " 
 
 " That you'd never say anything about it. I'd rather 
 people didn't know that your mother was only a 
 governess. They might not think so well of your 
 father." 
 
 In this one sentence she cleared herself of all blame. 
 Dicky turned over on his side and began to pluck more 
 roses from the wall-paper. He filled his arms with 
 them and then looked back. 
 
 " I wish I could give you all the roses on the wall, " 
 said he, and for just his thought of it, impulsively she 
 laid aside her work and kissed his eyes.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 IT was in those three weeks while Dicky lay, a usurper, 
 in the big bed, that his spirit first bowed to the influence 
 of a woman. Dicky fell in love. 
 
 There are many things a man must learn which a 
 woman knows from the beginning. To love it seems is 
 one of them. He does not learn it easily, moreover ; 
 makes many an essay, loses himself in many a pitfall 
 before his knowledge be complete. And it is these 
 trials, these efforts which contribute in so great a 
 measure to the development of his soul. Maybe a 
 woman is what man makes her ; but that is a social 
 tag, having reference only to her phase in life. He 
 cannot touch her soul. But the soul of a man passes 
 from the hollow of one woman's hand to the hollow of 
 another's. And each one as it goes, with cruel fingers 
 or with kind, leaves the deep impress of her hold upon 
 its pliant shape. 
 
 Here then was the first to mould the life of Dicky ; 
 to turn it towards that setting of a purpose which 
 makes the soul of man. 
 
 Dicky fell in love with his mother. 
 
 Now the first instinct of a man when he falls in love 
 39
 
 40 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 TS to make something that will outlive his passion ; to 
 place it on record that the world may see how he has 
 loved. A thousand times afterwards he may wish that 
 thing destroyed, may loathe the staring remembrance of 
 it, which for ever meets not only his eyes, but the eyes of 
 that new woman into the hollows of whose hands he has 
 newly placed his soul. But the thing has been done, 
 the poem has been made, the song been written. 
 He has created something imperishable perhaps 
 which may live to mock him all his life through. 
 
 But if the thing be good that he has made, then love 
 or no love, and whether a thousand new women taunt 
 him with it to his face, he cares more for that thing 
 than all the love and all the treasures in the earth. It 
 typifies in one upraised memorial all love that he has 
 felt. Indeed to work at making is the only way some 
 men can love. Yet if it be the love is for themselves, 
 for fame and all the riches that it brings, then they 
 have built their house upon the sand and it is only 
 worth that which the first rising tide will make of it. 
 But if the love is for a woman, it can contain those 
 qualities which are everlasting. 
 
 It was when Dicky first made something for his 
 mother, that Christina knew he loved. Of all the 
 fulness of that sense of loving, she did not understand. 
 But it was a thing Dicky had never done before and, 
 in the doing of it, she had just realised his passing from 
 the wild savagery of boyhood to that first gentleness 
 which shows the turning on a tortuous road.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 41 
 
 For some days, whenever she came into the room, 
 there was a scuffle from the bed in some effort to conceal. 
 On the first occasion she had asked him what it was. 
 
 "Something I'm doing, 11 said he, and a colour 
 rushed to his cheeks in a flood of self -consciousness. 
 
 It would not be true to say she was not curious. 
 When a mother finds herself loving her son with all that 
 beating of heart which his father might have taken 
 for himself, she is driven in curiosity by everything 
 he does. But with an effort, Christina kept it to 
 herself. 
 
 " Shall I know soon ? " was all her curiosity asked. 
 
 " To-morrow," said he and then, when he added 
 " Fraps " she smiled at her own pang of disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
 But the next day she was told. When she came up 
 to the bedroom after the mid-day meal, bringing her 
 work-basket under her arm, Dicky was sitting up in 
 bed holding at arm's length a piece of paper from him, 
 surveying it first this way, then that, at the greatest 
 distance his arm could reach. 
 
 She stood at the foot of the big bed and waited, 
 thinking in one swift moment of regret how soon he 
 would be gone from those pillows, how soon she must 
 return. This was the first time there had been no 
 attempt at secrecy. She knew she was to be shown it 
 then. 
 
 " Well, Dicky," she said. " It's to-morrow." 
 
 Then, with a sudden gesture, the hand thrust
 
 42 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 quickly out, colouring again to the roots of his hair, he 
 held the paper towards her. 
 
 " I've picked the roses for you," he said shortly and 
 the next instant in a confusion of shame was hidden 
 beneath the bed-clothes. 
 
 She looked at the paper he had given her. It was 
 covered in drawings of roses from the wall roses in 
 bud roses in full bloom. He certainly had picked 
 them all. They were drawn in pencil, with faint shad- 
 ings where the blush of the petals showed. It was the 
 drawing of a child, with lines that trembled where 
 they should be firm ; but there was something in it all, 
 a quality perhaps of infinite taking pains, which made 
 Christina know there was no idleness. 
 
 Now just as a woman inspires, so swiftly does she know 
 when her inspiration has been true. Something in 
 Christina's heart at the sight of that paper, leaped up 
 and swelled within her. 
 
 " I know they're rottenly done,"" said a tearful voice 
 from beneath the bed-clothes, and then she came to her 
 senses. 
 
 There is always the moment when a woman forgets 
 the workman for the joy of the work. It is in a sense 
 her own. But it is ever followed by another moment 
 still, that moment in which the work is nothing and 
 the workman all. At the sound of that tearful voice 
 under the bed-clothes she had taken Dicky swiftly 
 in her arms. 
 
 " Did you do it for me, Dicky ? " she whispered.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 43 
 
 He nodded his head. 
 
 " And did it take you all these last three days ? " 
 
 He nodded his head again. 
 
 " But where did you learn ? " 
 
 " We have drawing lessons at Leggatt's. Old Leggatt 
 takes us himself." 
 
 She put the paper away in a book and that evening 
 showed it to her husband. 
 
 " Don't you think it's very good, Joseph ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 He adjusted his spectacles and looked at it. After 
 close examination he raised his head. 
 
 u I hope he won't want to be an artist," he said and 
 he was about to tear the paper up. She took it quickly 
 in her hand. 
 
 " You wouldn't tear it up ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 * Why not, Christina ? I don't want him to be 
 encouraged." 
 
 "But why? " 
 
 " Well I expect him to take on the mill after me. 
 It's paying well now. Other mills are shutting up. In 
 a few years it'll be a good property. It isn't every boy 
 gets an open chance like this. Surely you must wish it 
 too. It was your money that bought the mill. He 
 couldn't possibly do better besides it's his duty to 
 me." 
 
 She put the paper away as she looked out through 
 the window into a black, cheerless night. At that 
 moment things were as black and cheerless in her heart.
 
 44 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 She felt that there could be no hope for Dicky if this 
 was all that lay before him. And yet, until that 
 instant, she had never really supposed anything else. 
 
 " He must have something to amuse himself with 
 while he's lying alone up there," she said presently. 
 " He bears it very patiently, but he's not a boy who 
 can do nothing. He must occupy his mind. I was 
 going to give him some of my silks so that he could do 
 these things with colour. Fm sure that would amuse 
 him." 
 
 "Oh I don't mind his sewing," said Mr. Furlong. 
 "He'll never make that the business of a life-time. 
 But I hope hell never be an artist. I should hate to 
 think that any son of mine was wasting his time like 
 that." 
 
 " He might be a great artist," said Christina. 
 
 " Great artists are born," replied Mr. Furlong, " not 
 made." 
 
 " Well Dicky was born," she said, " I bore him." 
 
 " Yes but you know what I mean," he replied. 
 
 However no objection had been raised to the coloured 
 silks, and the next morning Dicky found himself with 
 a needle, a piece of canvas, and the ball of orange silk, 
 making roses as he meant roses should be made. He 
 worked as though his life depended on it, struggling in 
 difficulty with his injured hand. 
 
 Anne came upstairs to watch him. She felt all 
 the envy that a woman does who sees a man at 
 work.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 45 
 
 "Red roses are much nicer," she said after a long 
 silence "and you don't hold your needle right. 11 
 
 " Everybody has red roses," said he. 
 
 She watched him a while longer and then envy could 
 bear it no more. 'She sat down on the side of his bed. 
 
 " I tell you what well do, Dicky," she said, and there 
 was excitement in her voice with the new idea, " when 
 you're all right we'll have drawing lessons." 
 
 " Only on wet days," said Dicky. 
 
 " All right. Ill have the school. And you can bring 
 your things and learn." 
 
 " What you teach me ? " 
 
 " Yes we can take it in turns. I won't always have 
 the school." 
 
 Dicky agreed and stipulated again that it should 
 only be on wet days. 
 
 " I couldn't stick in the house when it was fine," said 
 he. " Look here can you help me out of bed I must 
 get out ! " 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " There's a heron there I saw it go past the poplar 
 come on Anne I must get out. It's gone down by 
 the river I bet it has. Help me out." 
 
 She helped him, but it was a tricksy matter. The 
 injured hand for the last two weeks had lain on the 
 bed on a level with his body. It was now the colour 
 of milk, and not a drop of blood was there. Whenever 
 he got out of his bed that arm had carefully to be 
 supported. But in his eagerness and hers they both
 
 46 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 forgot this. The hand fell powerless to his side and, 
 as the blood rushed through the unaccustomed veins, 
 the agony was more than Dicky could endure. With 
 a loud cry he fell back again upon the bed, shouting 
 shrilly with the pain of it. 
 
 In a moment Christina was in the room, and Dicky 
 was lifted back on to his pillows. 
 
 It was later in the day that Dicky heard how at that 
 moment Wilfrid and his sister Dorothy had called to 
 ask when he would be well. 
 
 " Dorothy heard you shrieking," said Anne, " and 
 she began to cry." 
 
 *' What a silly little ass she is," said Dicky.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 AT the end of those three weeks Dicky was up once 
 more. It was a fine day, the morning that he dressed 
 and, on Christina's arm, walked slowly downstairs. This 
 was not one of the days he would have taken lessons in 
 painting at the hands of Anne. He begged to be 
 allowed out in the garden. 
 
 Christina shook her head. 
 
 " I can go to the door, can't I ? Tl said he. 
 
 She led him through the old square hall to the stout 
 oak door that same door at which, three weeks ago, 
 she had taken him so fearfully in her arms. As she 
 thought of it, she shuddered, and yet, in those three 
 weeks, indeed because of them, she knew that Dicky 
 had become more to her, that she had become more to 
 Dicky. In so contrary a world as this there is always 
 something to be thankful for. 
 
 The Michaelmas daisies were still in bloom. Here 
 and there amongst the dying leaves of the summer's 
 flowers, left negligently to care for itself, the bright 
 yellow of an autumn crocus cried out the everlasting 
 fecundity of the earth. As you stood at the door, the 
 
 dense laurel hedge shut out the view, but over the gap 
 
 47
 
 48 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 where hung the white wicket gate, Dicky could see 
 the glimpse of open country which he knew so well. 
 The joy he felt as he stood there came to him in one 
 sweep of delight. He did not realise that it was good 
 to hear the rumbling sound of the old mill's wheel, to 
 hear it untrammelled by four walls. He did not truly 
 understand that the sound of birds in the open meant 
 so much more than the muffled noises he had heard for 
 the last three weeks. He only felt an overwhelming 
 joy when the air of the country side blew gently on his 
 face, and slipping his hand into Christina's, he said 
 
 " By Jove won't it be ripping next spring ! " 
 
 " Do you mean the daffodils ? " she asked. 
 
 " Everything," said he. " Tm going to find that 
 hawk's nest next spring." 
 
 " But no more snakes, Dicky." 
 
 Suddenly that brought it all back to his mind. He 
 looked up at her quickly with a nervous smile, and the 
 faint colour became fainter in his cheeks. Christina 
 took him inside and closed the door. 
 
 She knew then how much a change there was in 
 Dicky. In those three weeks, perhaps on that very 
 morning so little a while ago, there had been aroused 
 in Dicky the nervous quality of imagination. He could 
 see things now he had never seen before. He could see 
 the things which do not exist almost as plainly as those 
 which do. Christina put her arm round his neck as she 
 brought him into the sitting-room. 
 
 " What is it, Dicky ? " she asked gently.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 49 
 
 " Felt just a little cold," said he. 
 But Christina knew the coldness he had felt. It 
 clings about the heart and makes the spirit shudder. 
 She had often felt it at night as she listened to the 
 water falling over the weir. She had felt it only that 
 morning as she opened the hall door. When then 
 he tried to make casual his voice for the answer, she 
 tightened her fingers warmly on his shoulder, knowing 
 how efficacious a touch like that can be to drive such 
 cold away. 
 
 All that day he sat in his father's arm-chair by the 
 fire in the sitting-room where in the morning Anne did 
 her lessons. It was a great sense of importance he felt 
 to be occupying that exalted position and yet every 
 now and again his eyes turned longingly to the window. 
 Every fresh gust of wind was carrying down great 
 flights of leaves from the elm trees. They tapped 
 against the window as they flew by and then sped on 
 away into the garden, leaping and twirling as though 
 they laughed at his imprisonment. 
 
 Anne sat silently and conscientiously before her 
 books. He could see her lips moving as she com- 
 mitted the words to memory, and wondered how she 
 could stay at it so long. There came a moment when 
 he could bear the inaction of it no longer. He begged 
 her to play a game. Where he, had he been Anne, 
 would have leapt to the suggestion, she only shook her 
 head. Still he persisted. Anne drove her fingers into 
 her ears and her lips moved faster than ever.
 
 50 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 " Oh come on,"" said Dicky. " You aren't learning 
 a beastly thing." 
 
 But Anne was faithful to her duty. She certainly 
 was learning nothing. As fast as she repeated the 
 words, they went straight out of her head. But there 
 she was to learn her lessons and there it was her duty 
 to stay. Yet Dicky prevailed. 
 
 " You teach me painting,"" he said, and to that 
 she succumbed. Against all commands that he should 
 remain quietly in his chair, Dicky went out of the 
 room. To make reality more real, he was supposed 
 to be passing a window in the street and, seeing there 
 a notice to the effect that painting was to be learnt 
 within, should stop, enter, and take up his course. 
 With many gigglings, Anne wrote the notice on a 
 sheet of exercise paper and rested it on the table 
 against a book. Then Dicky entered. 
 
 Solemnly he walked round the table oblivious to the 
 existence of Anne. If the second party in the game 
 were enclosed within four walls, nothing on earth could 
 make Dicky see them. At last the notice attracted 
 his attention. Solemnly he stopped and read. 
 
 *' Oh Anne what rot ! " he said. " You might 
 play properly." For on the paper was written 
 *' Lessons in panting."" And Anne shook with laughter 
 ut her little jest. "Do it properly now," he begged, 
 for he longed to be at the painting he was supposed 
 to learn. " Til go out of the room again," he said. 
 " Only do it right this time."
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 51 
 
 For the second time he left the room and would 
 not feel the shaking weakness through all his body. 
 When he returned the paper was in the same place ; 
 the same detour was solemnly made around the table. 
 He stopped again and read. 
 
 " Anne ! You are a beastly rotter. Lessons in 
 putting on pants ! I don't call that funny a bit. I 
 wanted to paint." 
 
 Suddenly then the strain he had put upon himself 
 gave way. He stumbled. 
 
 " What's the matter, Dicky ? " cried Anne. 
 
 " I don't know," said Dicky in a whisper. " I 
 think I'm going," and he crumpled up like a tired 
 old man and tumbled to the floor. 
 
 With half a sense of joy in her heart, Christina laid 
 him back once more in the big bed, and when he came 
 to, did her best to be cross with him. 
 
 " I told you not to move, Dicky," she said sternly. 
 
 " I was so sick of it," said he ; " and it made me mad 
 to see Anne learning her lessons. She wouldn't stop 
 till I made her." 
 
 Christina smiled, but hid it from him. 
 
 " What shall I do with you ? " she asked and, believ- 
 ing that there was nothing in the world she could do 
 but what was kind, he answered 
 
 " Play the piano downstairs this evening, before tea 
 time." 
 
 At that she broke into laughter, as suddenly becom- 
 ing serious again when she thought what Dicky would 
 E 2
 
 52 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 be to women if he said things like that when he was a 
 man. 
 
 She played that evening nevertheless. While the 
 firelight was dancing on the ceiling and before they 
 brought the lighted candles to his room, Dicky heard 
 the notes of the piano come creeping up the stairs and 
 through his open door. 
 
 At first they crept on tip-toe, like children stealing 
 away from the house below to come up there and talk 
 to him. Christina played the Moonlight Sonata. To 
 the first movement of the notes Dicky lay back on his 
 pillow and thought of that bend of the river Avon 
 where it gurgles and whispers under the willow trees, 
 and the water rats swim silently in and out of the 
 weeds. 
 
 Suddenly the music changed ; the notes came tumb- 
 ling up the stairs, bounding in through the open door- 
 way, romping around his bed. Then Dicky sat up and 
 thought of the water racing over the weir. He 
 imagined himself in a boat that floated nearer and ever 
 nearer to the fall. At last, with a crash of chords, it 
 came. And then the house was silent. He turned his 
 head and listened. Surely she would not stop then. 
 But for a long while there was silence. At last the 
 notes began once more. Christina played the Sonata 
 Pathetique. Dicky lay back again upon his pillows ; 
 upon the ceiling the firelight danced with silent feet, 
 and round his bed the whispering children sang their 
 songs to him until he fell asleep.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 AND the spring came round again to Dicky's waiting. 
 The chorus of birds was almost deafening from the 
 hedgerows ; bread and cheese grew thick on all the 
 hawthorns. Wilfrid and Dicky munched it as they 
 walked across the fields. 
 
 Nothing had been said to stop their excursions in the 
 early mornings ; they kept them secret nevertheless. 
 With parents you never know. Sometimes it seems 
 they claim authority for the mere pleasure of its exer- 
 tion. Dicky was never certain when his father might 
 not lay down a law, and then only for the simple 
 gratification of seeing it obeyed. So they kept 
 their journeys secret. Only Anne knew at the 
 mill, and Anne was staunch. In the worst of tempers 
 there was no fear that Anne would ever tell. As for 
 the gentle Dorothy, she would sooner have given up 
 her life. 
 
 But something had gone out of the joy of these 
 excursions to Dicky. A sense of fear had entered his 
 heart, a fear of dark places, an unconquerable repug- 
 nance to the things he could not see. With the cleverest 
 
 of excuses he avoided the woods, kept to the open 
 
 53
 
 54 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 fields, and many a time came to the verge of a quarrel 
 with Wilfrid. 
 
 One early morning in the spring of that year their 
 quarrel came in earnest. They had traced a white- 
 throat to a spinney near the river. Dicky refused to 
 crawl into the undergrowth to find her nest. Wilfrid 
 stared at him amazed. 
 
 " Well I don't expect she's laid yet ? " said Dicky. 
 
 " Why of course she has, you silly ass. Look at that 
 robin hatched out last week."" 
 
 " Better not call me a silly ass," said Dicky, who was 
 only too conscious that he was. 
 
 " Well, why do you funk going into the wood ? " 
 
 " Who said I funked ? " asked Dicky dangerously. 
 
 Well you do," said Wilfrid. 
 
 There is no accusation more cruel than the truth. It 
 stung Dicky to blindness. Before he knew what he 
 had done, his fist shot out and Wilfrid was tumbling 
 backwards from a blow in the chest. 
 
 No word was said then as Wilfrid came back with 
 fists ready to his former position. Dicky knew it was 
 to be a fight. But whereas last year he had fought 
 fights with many odds, his back against a wall, laughing 
 then at every one of them, he now found his legs 
 trembling, his thumping heart accusing him of folly. 
 
 He was afraid. But why ? Because he could see the 
 blows in his imagination, one after another. He could 
 see the red blotches on Wilfrid's face, the little trickle 
 of red from a bleeding lip. He could feel the hot
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 55 
 
 blood streaming down his own face, and it seemed a 
 barbarous thing to do. Besides which, it hurt. He 
 felt the sting of each blow as it would fall and, as he 
 squared up before Wilfrid's dancing body, he knew that 
 he was a coward, devoutly wishing he had never struck 
 the challenge blow. 
 
 But there was no escape from it now. This Wilfrid, 
 who had always been afraid of him, must never realise 
 how it had become Dicky's turn to fear. It was not 
 the fear of Wilfrid himself; it was the fear of the 
 fight. Still, he had entered it now. There was no 
 drawing back. 
 
 In expectation of a rain of blows, Wilfrid waited 
 with pumping fists in such attitude as he had seen in 
 the pictures of many a boxer. But the blows never 
 came. Dicky stood there before him with thin lips 
 and white nostrils, his eyes burning as he watched the 
 galvanic movements of Wilfrid's arms. In time Wilfrid 
 had had enough of suspense. With a violent lunge, he 
 struck out with his right. A great grunt came from 
 him as Dicky parried the blow. Again he struck, 
 again right, left, and yet again. The last blow 
 grazed by Dicky's cheek, and at the pain of it he 
 answered back. But the aim was not at Wilfrid's face ; 
 full on his chest the blow fell like a hammer. He 
 toppled backwards and found himself sitting ignomini- 
 ously on the ground. 
 
 " Had enough ? " said Dicky, as casually as he could 
 between his breathing, fervently hoping that Wilfrid
 
 56 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 would give in. But in matters such as these, young 
 Leggatt was hard to convince. There was nothing 
 horrible to him in a bleeding nose ; nothing there he 
 need be afraid of. In a second he was on his feet again, 
 and straight at Dicky like a windmill in a storm. It 
 was he who rained the blows now ; yet through the rush 
 and excitement of it all, Dicky never lost the sense of 
 spectatorship. All the time he felt that he was looking 
 on, powerless to let his anger carry him into the blind 
 rage which sees and feels nothing. One more sharp 
 interchange of blows and Wilfrid spun again from off 
 his feet. 
 
 These blows on his chest were fast taking the wind 
 out of him. But he was not hurt at all. The sight of 
 Dicky's bleeding mouth gave him renewed energy. 
 Again and again he came up to the point, and then at 
 last, sent reeling backwards, lay in a bed of nettles by 
 the spinney's edge, exhausted in defeat. 
 
 " Well am I a coward ? " asked Dicky as he stood 
 over him. 
 
 Wilfrid shook his head. He had no breath to speak. 
 Yet in his heart Dicky knew well the fear that he had 
 felt and, turning towards home, walked silently back to 
 breakfast. 
 
 Anne sponged his face for him, but at the breakfast 
 table Christina noticed the cut upon his lip. 
 
 " How did you hurt your lip, Dicky ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " I fell," said he, and she knew he was not telling the
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 57 
 
 truth. She looked at Anne, but Anne was very busy 
 eating porridge. 
 
 There was a long silence then ; full of dread to Dicky, 
 who knew quite well that his mother had not believed 
 him. At last Mr. Furlong looked up from his plate and 
 gazed out of the window. 
 
 " We're going to have a thunderstorm in a few 
 minutes," said he. 
 
 " Oh, Lord ! " exclaimed Dicky, " my mustard and 
 cress ! " and swiftly left the room to go into his garden.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 IN the spring of that same year there was food for 
 gossip, sufficient to last them many a long day in Ecking- 
 ton. In one of those wild moments of madness which 
 may overtake the gentlest of women, Mrs. Leggatt, 
 wife of the schoolmaster, bought her own sorrow. 
 
 There lived in the house with them a young man 
 named Allen, the organist at Pershore, teaching music 
 in Mr. Leggatfs school. For many weeks, it transpired, 
 Mr. Leggatt had felt suspicious. From doubt, ungener- 
 ously he had let it grow into conviction, and all with 
 that secretive silence of a man who waits the proper 
 moment for revenge. 
 
 It never occurred to him to save that gentle wife of 
 his from the abyss on whose very verge she stood. It 
 never entered his head to protect Wilfrid and Dorothy 
 from their mother's folly. It was enough for him that 
 the wretched woman had allowed the tide to catch her 
 so far. To him all shame was then complete. He 
 needed only the moment to trap them in their sin, and, 
 for that moment waited, with eyes that smiled benignly 
 upon all they did, yet watched with an alertness only 
 
 men of cunning can possess. 
 
 58
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 59 
 
 Unconsciously, no doubt, he contributed towards her 
 downfall, omitting those little attentions the few, 
 slight thoughts of her which are more than straws to a 
 woman caught in such a tide as this omitting them 
 intentionally, and smiling, always smiling, when the 
 young man did them in his stead. 
 
 With conviction growing stronger every day, at last 
 he moved his room from hers and, for long hours into 
 the night stood listening at his own door. For a week 
 he heard nothing, yet still the miserable man was 
 convinced. 
 
 " I have to go away," he said one morning at break- 
 fast. " I have to go up to London." With a bitter 
 exultation in his heart he saw the dropping of his wife's 
 eyes, and the swift look from young Allen. 
 
 Then, all jealousy realised and the white heat of anger 
 burning in his blood, he smiled upon them and smiled 
 again. 
 
 " You can take my classes, Allen," he said cheerfully. 
 " Keep an eye on that young Furlong. He's not so wild 
 as he used to be, somehow or other, but he needs looking 
 after." 
 
 Mrs. Leggatt packed his things. He found her crying 
 as she struggled with the straps upon his trunk. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " he asked, and there was half 
 a fear in his heart that she was going to tell him all 
 while as yet there was not all to tell. 
 
 " My head aches," said she. " Why can't you get 
 back again to-day ? "
 
 60 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 " What from London ? All that distance ? Besides 
 I must stay a couple of days." 
 
 As he left the house, she put up her face to be kissed, 
 and shuddered when he kissed her. 
 
 " It's cold,"" she said, and he was gone. 
 
 That night he returned late that night. The house 
 was in darkness. He crept upstairs. The door of young 
 Allen's room was ajar. He peered within. The room 
 was empty. With silent steps then he made his way to 
 the door of his wife's room. That was closed ; but 
 stooping down to the keyhole he could hear voices, their 
 voices from within. 
 
 With all the bitter joy of that triumph of jealousy, 
 he made his way noiselessly out of the house, and in a 
 few moments was at the vicarage. With difficulty at 
 that hour he raised them from their beds. The night 
 became alive with the sound of barking dogs. They 
 heard it, those two, in their darkened room, and wondered 
 what marauder was abroad. 
 
 " You must come with me," said Mr. Leggatt to the 
 Vicar ; " you must be witness " 
 
 The Vicar blinked his eyes. 
 
 " Witness to what ? " said he. 
 
 And so next morning, Eckington and all the neigh- 
 bourhood, even beyond Pershore, knew of Mrs. 
 Leggatt's shame, and whispered their pity for the 
 poor schoolmaster. 
 
 Anne was alive with curiosity when she heard it. She 
 knew, yet knew nothing could understand, with all that
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 61 
 
 quivering instinct of a woman, but did not know what 
 she understood. With a mind torn by impatience and 
 curiosity, she came to Christina. 
 
 It is needless to say what she asked. 
 
 " But mayn't I know ? " she concluded. 
 
 Anne was twelve. Christina looked at her thought- 
 fully. 
 
 " What's the good, Anne ? " said she, " I shall tell you 
 soon. You'll know quick enough."" 
 
 " But Dicky knows," said Anne. 
 
 " Dicky knows ? " Christina echoed. 
 
 " Yes one of the boys at the school told him." 
 
 " Did Dicky tell you ? " 
 
 No he said it wasn't the sort of thing for girls to 
 know. But he's only ten." 
 
 Christina felt her heart shudder within her. Dicky 
 knew. Dicky had taken the first step out of childhood. 
 She could no longer look in his eyes and feel that she 
 was looking into the clear waters of a running brook. 
 The water was clear no longer. She wondered, with a 
 heart that ached, if it were going to make any difference 
 in her love for Dicky, but more, was it going to make 
 any difference in his love for her. Dicky knew, and for 
 one moment it was she who felt ashamed. 
 
 That evening when both the children had gone to 
 bed, Christina opened the door of the sitting-room, sat 
 down to the piano, and began to play Beethoven. 
 
 After a few moments Mr. Furlong rose from his 
 chair and closed the door.
 
 62 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 " Oh why ? " she said, and she took her hands from 
 the keys. 
 
 " Those children won't get to sleep,"" said he. 
 
 " Oh yes, they will," said Christina, and she opened 
 the door again. 
 
 " But, my dear Christina, they'll stay awake, and 
 then they'll begin to think " 
 
 " They'll think anyway," said she, " and I want 
 Dicky to think of the music. That'll send him to 
 sleep." 
 
 Mr. Furlong shrugged his shoulders and returned to 
 his reading of wild flowers. 
 
 " It's always best," he thought, " to be lenient with 
 women. After all, Dicky's a healthy boy, he'll get to 
 sleep presently." 
 
 When she had finished her playing, Christina closed 
 the door. 
 
 " Joseph," she said after a pause, " do you ever talk 
 to Dicky about things at all ? " 
 
 Mr. Furlong laid down his book and took off his 
 spectacles. Curiosity just saved him from being 
 annoyed at the interruption to his reading. 
 
 " About what things ? " he asked. 
 
 "Well " she smiled she frowned. He might 
 
 have known. " I mean there are boys older than him 
 at the school. It was only I feel afraid sometimes that 
 he might get a wrong idea of things, and and 
 I thought you might have spoken to him might just 
 have helped him to understand." 
 
 " But Dicky's only ten, Christina ! "
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 63 
 
 " He's just eleven now." 
 
 " Well when I was his age, I knew nothing about 
 things as you call them. My mind was clean and 
 fresh without a thought in it beyond my games or my 
 work. 11 
 
 " I know," repeated Christina ; " but then, Dicky's 
 not quite the same you surely see that, better even 
 than I do." 
 
 " I suppose you mean he's a Tennant and not a 
 Furlong," said her husband and, putting on his spec- 
 tacles again, he picked up his book. It meant that the 
 discussion was closed. 
 
 " You don't think it advisable to say anything, 
 then ? " said Christina. 
 
 " Certainly not," he replied. " I hope I shall know 
 my duty when it comes to me," and, in his prayers that 
 night, he asked that his duty might be shown him. 
 In the morning it had passed out of his mind. 
 
 But Christina had not forgotten. Long into the 
 night she had lain awake, thinking of Dicky, thinking 
 of Anne, thinking of Mrs. Leggatt. When the 
 morning came, she woke early. 
 
 She, too, just saw the poplar tree that reached the 
 window catch, and, with her head thrown back upon 
 the pillow, could gaze at those shimmering golden 
 leaves which trembled against the blue. 
 
 At seven o'clock Mr. Furlong rose and dressed, as 
 was his custom. 
 
 " I hear that Leggatt's forgiven his wife," said he 
 presently, when he saw her eyes were open.
 
 64 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 " Forgiven her ! " exclaimed Christina. 
 
 "A very noble thing to do," said Mr. Furlong, in 
 surprise. 
 
 " Forgiven her ! " she repeated, " oh I think I 
 never heard anything so cruel in all my life ! " 
 
 " Cruel ! " Mr. Furlong was amazed. 
 
 " Cruel yes ! Now I suppose she stays on at Eck- 
 ington to face the terrible forgiveness of everybody else. 
 Oh I think it is too brutal for anything ! Why did 
 he go and call the Vicar why did he let the whole 
 village know?" 
 
 " I suppose at the time," said Mr. Furlong, " he 
 intended to pursue a different course. No doubt she 
 begged his forgiveness. Young Allen, of course, has 
 been sent away. It appears Leggatt had been afraid of 
 it for some time." 
 
 "Who said that?" 
 
 Well I believe he told the Vicar so. Mrs. Fastiff' 
 heard it from the Vicar's wife." 
 
 Christina's lip curled. 
 
 "If he suspected why didn't he send young Allen 
 away before ? " 
 
 " I think it would have been better," Mr. Furlong 
 agreed ; " but of course that's a difficult thing to do. 
 He couldn't have turned him out of Eckington. He 
 couldn't have made him give up his post of organist at 
 Pershore." 
 
 " Yes but the horrible immorality of it ! To stand 
 by and watch it all to trap her to show her caught 
 in the trap, and then to forgive her ! Oh if I were
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 65 
 
 that wretched woman, what miles I'd put between 
 myself and Eckington ! " 
 
 Mr. Furlong looked at her in pain. 
 
 " My dear Christina," said he ; "I hope you never 
 will be like her." 
 
 The thought of it hurt him to the quick. He came 
 across to the bedside, thinking suddenly that perhaps 
 he was not so affectionate to her as he might be. 
 
 " Christina," he whispered, and bending over the bed 
 he kissed her. She clenched her hands beneath the bed 
 clothes as she returned the kiss. 
 
 That afternoon, when Dicky returned from school, 
 she called him. 
 
 " We haven't been for a walk," said she, " since you 
 were getting better." 
 
 " Well come on," he answered eagerly. " Let's go 
 to the hill. You haven't seen the place where the snake 
 bit me." 
 
 The prospect of that had no pleasure for her ; but 
 they would get their walk. 
 
 It was one of those spring evenings that long have 
 bid farewell to winter. In every ditch, in every hedge, 
 the primroses were bringing forth the last clusters of 
 their blossoms a myriad candles leaping up in flame 
 before they died away. In every bush, in every spinney, 
 the birds were chattering in song ; adding those last 
 touches to their houses with all the care as if they 
 should last for ever. In and out of the may trees the 
 blackbirds flew in low and noisy flights. High on an elm 
 tree a thrush sat singing to the dropping of the sun.
 
 66 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 " Well it's spring again, Dicky," said Christina, as 
 they walked. "Do you remember last autumn that 
 day when you first got up you said how ripping it 
 would be ? " 
 
 " Yes I remember," he replied. " Well it is 
 isn't it? You see me jump that hurdle." 
 
 " Dicky ! You'll hurt yourself ! " 
 
 But Dicky had gone. She closed her eyes. 
 
 " There you are," said Dicky from the other side. 
 
 " Splendid," said Christina ; " but it looked so high." 
 
 " I can jump higher than that," said he. Pilgrim, 
 who had tried the jump as well and failed, was quite 
 ready to assure her that this was time. He could not 
 keep his feet still. 
 
 "Don't try BOW," Christina begged. "Let's walk 
 along together. Tell me about the birds' nests you 
 found this year." 
 
 This kept him at her side on wires, but still beside 
 her. For a long, long while she listened with patient 
 interest while he told her everything he knew of nature. 
 They were garbled ideas, no doubt, of the laws of God ; 
 but she was unable to improve upon them. They 
 sounded full of knowledge and observation to her. 
 She found herself listening without hearing, all the 
 while wondering what Dicky would really be when he 
 came to man's estate. 
 
 " Shall you like going into the mill when you grow 
 up, Dicky ? " she asked presently. 
 
 Dicky dug his hands deep into his pockets and felt a 
 great sense of importance.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 67 
 
 "I haven't decided yet, 11 said he, after some con- 
 sideration. " Of course the mill's jolly fine. I could 
 afford to get a box of water-colours then couldn't 
 
 i ?" 
 
 Christina smiled, but the smile died away when she 
 thought of that piece of paper covered with roses the 
 first thin^ that Dicky had made for her. 
 
 " Shall I give you a box of water-colours soon ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 In a moment he was hanging to her hand. In the 
 belief that they were about to start running, Pilgrim 
 was dancing at their side. 
 
 " Will you ? " exclaimed Dicky ; " will you really ? 
 Don't say you'll make no rash promises, like father 
 does. Say you will or you won't. 11 
 
 " I will," said she, " I promise." 
 
 He covered the hand he held with kisses. 
 
 " I'll paint a picture one day," he said, " that'll make 
 you cry." 
 
 How little he knew it, but he had done it then. 
 Her eyes filled and were glitteringly bright. She had 
 seen a vision of Dicky painting a great picture, and he 
 had brought the vision to her mind. 
 
 But all this time there was hanging about her 
 thoughts the remembrance of what Anne had said. To 
 speak to him about this had been her express purpose 
 for their walk. Yet now that they were alone together, 
 she found the words all dry and clinging in her throat. 
 Supposing to speak of it were only to raise more 
 curiosity in his mind ? He was so terribly young. 
 F 2
 
 68 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 Joseph, no doubt, was quite right when he said that at 
 Dicky's age, such things had never entered his mind. 
 Was she quite right when she believed that Dicky was 
 a different sort of being altogether ? 
 
 It seemed to her, then, that she was on the verge of 
 a great experiment. Should she attempt it or should 
 she not ? Her heart felt sick, for ever since they had 
 started on their walk, she had heard herself say the 
 words, yet knew she could withhold them still. In a 
 sudden moment, then, she let her instinct carry her 
 away ; heard the words in the distance as they left her 
 lips. 
 
 " Dicky,"" said she, " Anne told me you knew 
 everything about Mrs. Leggatt." 
 
 Now they were said, and her heart stood still. She 
 could hardly believe that she had done it. For some 
 moments she dared not look at Dicky. They walked in 
 silence side by side along the road. At last she could 
 bear the suspense of it.no longer. Her eyes cast down 
 to Dicky's face. His cap was pushed back upon his 
 head. His cheeks were scarlet. Christina wished the 
 earth would open where she stood. 
 
 " Anne's a sneak," said Dicky presently. 
 
 Christina was swift to defend her. 
 
 " It was nothing to sneak about," said she. " I'm 
 not angry. Anne wouldn't have told me if she'd 
 thought it would make me that." 
 
 "Then what's the matter about it?" asked Dickie 
 evasively. " They all know at the school." 
 
 "All of them?"
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 69 
 
 " All the bigger chaps." 
 
 "Yes but Dicky some of the boys are fifteen 
 you're only eleven." 
 
 " Well I bet I know as much as they do." 
 
 Again they walked in silence. Christina's mind was 
 so confused by this, she knew not what to say. 
 
 " Would you tell me what you know, Dickie ? " she 
 asked at last, and in her voice there was the gentleness 
 of all the mothers in the world. 
 
 With hesitating words then, Dicky began his garbled 
 tale and, as she heard it, Christina hardly knew 
 whether to laugh or cry. He knew nothing. It was a 
 fairy tale he told her. And yet, behind it all, she 
 knew that life in Dicky had begun the turning of its 
 tide. Something had wakened in him, just as it had 
 awakened in Anne ; something that she would never be 
 able to set at rest, not with all the Beethoven Sonatas 
 in the world. 
 
 She might have taken her chance then. The sleeping 
 man had been awakened in Dicky ; she might have 
 taken him firmly by the hand and shown him the road 
 in which he should walk. But that garbled fairy tale 
 of Dicky's had deceived her. Really he knew nothing, 
 and in her joy at the thought of that, she put her arms 
 around his neck and hugged him to her. 
 
 " They didn't tell me right, then," thought Dicky. 
 '* I don't know after all." 
 
 In all unconsciousness, Christina had brought the 
 real turning point in the tide of Dicky's mind.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 BEFORE many days had gone by Dicky had received 
 the box of water-colours. These things will not wait. 
 Openly at tea one day he had said how ripping it 
 would be to carry on the mill and, hearing this, 
 Mr. Furlong was no longer afraid that his son would 
 become an artist. Now if Dicky knew what he meant 
 by that statement, his father certainly did not. To 
 a boy, the glory of manhood and its added glory of 
 independence make matter almost for dreams. To 
 Dicky, retaining in his imagination all the interests of 
 his childhood, the idea of carrying on the mill implied 
 the free pursuit of all his heart's desires. For the mill 
 itself he cared nothing. For what it brought, he cared 
 all. When then he declared how splendid such a 
 prospect would be, this, and no more than this, was 
 what he meant. 
 
 With the free permission, therefore, to use his box of 
 water-colours, he acquired a new interest in life. The 
 banks of the Avon are beautiful in those parts. Many 
 an artist comes there. One half-holiday that spring, 
 Dicky found a man seated down by the river, painting 
 
 a picture of the mill, half hidden in the wealth of 
 
 70
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 71 
 
 apple-blossom where the orchards stepped down the 
 sloping banks to meet the water's edge. 
 
 For half an hour Dicky had stood behind him, deaf 
 to Anne's endeavours to lead him away. Not even her 
 ultimate departure could stir him. He still remained 
 behind the artist's stool, watching with growing interest 
 every movement of the brush, every mixing of the colour. 
 
 " Do you learn drawing at school ? " asked the artist 
 presently, without looking round. 
 
 " Freehand," said Dicky. 
 
 " Dry stuff, isn't it ? " said the artist. 
 
 " Rotten," Dicky agreed. " But I've got a box of 
 water-colours now." The artist went on painting. 
 "Anne's going to give me a sketch book," Dicky 
 continued presently, " then I'm going to paint things 
 pictures." 
 
 The artist washed his brush and stood his picture 
 against the trunk of a tree, regarding it with half- 
 closed eyes. 
 
 " Better pictures than this, I hope," said he. 
 
 " I hope so," said Dicky simply, meaning no criticism 
 thereby, for he thought the picture wonderful. 
 
 The artist looked round at him quickly. Up to that 
 moment he had not given Dicky a thought. 
 
 " Oh you think you'll do better than this," he 
 remarked, for that half closure of his eyes had brought 
 him satisfaction with his work. 
 
 " I wish I could," replied Dicky, " I wish I could do 
 a billionth part as well."
 
 72 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 " But you think you will one day ? " 
 
 " I want to," said he ingenuously. " I told mother I 
 was going to paint a picture one day that'd make her 
 cry." 
 
 " P'raps you will,"" said the artist, and was so pleased 
 with his reply that he enlarged upon it. " Quite a lot 
 of people paint pictures like that. Young ladies do. 
 I have a sketching class in the summer, and a lot of the 
 girls who come round, paint pictures that make me cry." 
 
 " They must be very good," said Dicky, whose firm 
 belief in the highest power of art was to make some- 
 body weep. "That's how I mean to paint, anyhow," 
 he added. 
 
 " You'll probably succeed," said the artist and, 
 packing up his things, he walked away, generously sorry 
 to find conceit in so young a boy. 
 
 But Dicky hugged this to his heart. The artist had 
 said that he would probably succeed. The very next 
 day he persuaded Anne to turn out the contents of her 
 money-box, and a sketching book was purchased in 
 Pershore. On the next half-holiday he went out with 
 his book and his box of paints alone. 
 
 In its first inception all Art is imitative. The young 
 man breaks his heart and writes a poem. It is not so 
 much to ease his pain as because some great men before 
 him have laid their broken hearts upon a sheet of 
 paper. His only qualification to be a poet then is that 
 trend of mind in him which makes him seek to imitate 
 the poets that have been. When Dicky sat down with
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 73 
 
 his box of water-colours in the same place where he had 
 talked to the artist, his only claim to art was that he 
 chose to imitate it. The result had not one quality 
 contained therein to commend it to the most far-seeing 
 critic in the world. Even he knew that it was bad. 
 He knew it meant nothing nothing that he had seen. 
 In a fit of anger, tore it up. Had any critic seen those 
 ragged pieces of paper lying scattered on the ground he 
 might have had hope of Dicky then ; but Dicky had 
 none of himself. 
 
 He was cross all that evening and would not talk 
 even to Christina. 
 
 " What is it, Dicky ? " she begged of him as he was 
 going to bed. But he was in the very first of those 
 moods when the artist realises that God has made the 
 world before him, and only by the greatest suffering 
 can he hope to create one millionth part of it anew. 
 In the mere submission to that mood, Dicky had made 
 the first step upon his journey, that mad adventure 
 which men will make as ever the ages go by, that wild 
 pursuit of the unattainable which ever retreats as they 
 advance until all power of following it be gone, and 
 they fall by the wayside to watch the others in pursuit 
 pass by. 
 
 " You must have eaten something, Dicky, to disagree 
 with you,'" said Mr. Furlong ; " what was it ? " 
 
 In a vague knowledge that a definite answer would 
 please his father better than doubt, with a touch of 
 devilment beside, he said, " Some of Pilgrim's biscuits."
 
 74 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 "Well of course,"" exclaimed Mr. Furlong, "I 
 should have thought at your age you'd have known 
 better. You'd better go to bed. and be thankful if you 
 don't have nightmares."" 
 
 When Dicky had gone, Christina bent close over her 
 work to smile. She wondered, nevertheless, what it 
 could be. 
 
 Notwithstanding his disappointment, however, Dicky 
 persevered. To Wilfrid's disgust he spent every spare 
 moment until the summer holidays making pictures, the 
 majority of which he destroyed before ever he brought 
 them home. A few there were he kept, and these, 
 locked away within a drawer, were shown only to Anne, 
 who criticised them coldly from a standpoint of her own, 
 
 When the holidays came, Dicky was sent away to 
 stay with his uncle, Mr. Herbert Furlong, in Bucking- 
 hamshire. Anne went with him. Here was a farm, in 
 the farmhouse of which the Furlongs lived. In the 
 delight of that place Dicky forgot all his painting. 
 
 There is Romance in a farm, as there is Romance in 
 everything. With a boat and a stream you can find all 
 the Romance of battles by sea, of far discoveries. 
 With a wooden sword and a cardboard helmet you can 
 experience all the stirring Romance of war. The 
 Romance of the world's traffic can live out for you in a 
 tin engine and a piece of string ; and in a farm let it 
 be but just one acre and one cow there is the whole 
 Romance of the world's providing. To find two eggs 
 new laid in the early morning is as good as finding the
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 75 
 
 whole supply of a great market. To milk six cows in a 
 stall, to send off one can of milk, to bring in one load 
 of corn, one cart of hay, to make one pound of butter 
 or one jug of cream is as good if you are young enough 
 to know it as feeding the whole world in its hunger. 
 
 Dicky and Anne were young enough to know all this. 
 For the first two weeks of their visit they lived in a 
 paradise of Romance. Cumber Farm became the world 
 in little, and Trafford Mill for the time was almost 
 forgotten. 
 
 Yet it was here, in the joy of these surroundings, 
 that Dicky passed through the most painful, possibly 
 the most potent influence, in his life. There lived at 
 Cumber Farm with them, a sister of Mrs. Herbert 
 Furlong. Bertha Greddes was a strange woman tall, 
 of dark countenance, a pale face in which the eyes 
 set deeply. 
 
 Whenever in after years those weeks at Cumber came 
 back to Dicky's mind, ransack his memory how he 
 might, he could not recall anything of Bertha Geddes 
 during that first fortnight while he and Anne were at 
 the farm. She was a silent woman, given to the 
 reading of her Bible in the morning, taking long and 
 lonely walks in the afternoon. They saw but little of 
 her in those first few days at Cumber. 
 
 It was when their visit was drawing to its close that 
 Dicky one day fell ill. He had been fishing for eels in 
 the early morning, fishing for his breakfast no break- 
 fast can be so good. A hummock upon the bank on
 
 76 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 which he was standing gave way. Dicky found himself 
 above his waist in the water. These accidents will 
 happen, but seemingly when they happen to children, 
 there is a penalty attached. Dicky knew that it was a 
 culpable offence and accordingly said nothing. The 
 clothes were half dry on him by the time he returned to 
 breakfast ; by taking a hasty seat at the table and con- 
 cealing his wrinkled garments, he jnanaged to evade 
 detection. In two days he was in bed, and the doctor 
 spoke of congestion of the lungs. 
 
 " I don't think you need worry," said he ; " there's 
 nothing serious about it. Keep him to his bed that's 
 all." 
 
 Therefore, when Anne returned to Eckington, Chris- 
 tina had already received a letter to say that Dicky had 
 caught a cold, and would have to be kept in bed for a 
 few days. 
 
 " You needn't worry," wrote Mrs. Furlong. " He's 
 a very good patient. I'll send him back directly he's 
 well." 
 
 Christina fretted at heart when she thought of Dicky 
 in any one's hands but her own. She tried to persuade 
 her husband to let her go to Cumber, but he quoted 
 the letter from his sister-in-law. 
 
 " I think it would only be waste of money," said he ; 
 " he's being well looked after." 
 
 So Dicky remained behind at the farm, and Bertha 
 Geddes undertook to nurse him. At some period of 
 her life she had joined a hospital and spoke of remedies
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 77 
 
 for such complaints as Dicky's, which even the doctor 
 had not mentioned. In that silent figure then that 
 moved about his room, Dicky at last became conscious 
 of a personality which occupied his thoughts even to 
 the exclusion of his mother. 
 
 Whenever she moved him in the bed, lifting him 
 more comfortably upon his pillows, he felt a strange 
 shyness which, with the weakness of his body, made him 
 tremble. There is no doubt she noticed this, and those 
 slow dark eyes of hers watched him with unfailing ob- 
 servation. There were times when she put her hands 
 about him, lifting him in bed for no other purpose than 
 to see that trembling shyness shake his body in her 
 arms. 
 
 In the mornings when his room was tidied, for with 
 scrupulous care she attended to all these matters her- 
 self, Bertha Geddes would sit at his bedside, reading to 
 him the passages she knew by heart from her Bible. 
 
 Upon Dicky this had a strange effect. He grew to 
 loathe the sound of the Scriptures and yet, when one 
 day she thought she saw his impatience and was prepared 
 to stop, he begged her to continue rather than leave 
 him. 
 
 " But I don't think you like it do you, Dicky ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 For answer he just stretched out his hand and clasped 
 hers. 
 
 " How beautiful are thy feet with shoes, oh Prince's 
 daughter." So she read on from the Songs of Solomon.
 
 78 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 After five days there came a letter from Mr. Furlong, 
 inquiring of Dicky's health. When the answer was 
 sent back reporting upon his rapid improvement, 
 Bertha Geddes enclosed a letter to Mr. Furlong from 
 herself. 
 
 " I am nursing Dicky," she wrote, " and want to tell 
 you what a wonderful boy I think he is. God has 
 assuredly marked him out for something great in this 
 world. We read the Bible together every morning, 
 and I try in my poor way to instil the example of 
 Christ into his mind. One of these days, these quiet 
 little mornings of ours will bear fruit. One never 
 knows the seeds that fall on good ground. You can 
 rest perfectly contented that he is safe and well in my 
 hands.* 1 
 
 Mr. Furlong handed the letter across the breakfast 
 table to his wife. 
 
 " That type of woman," said he, " is very difficult to 
 find nowadays. An influence like that will do Dicky a 
 world of good." 
 
 Christina read the letter through and then in silence 
 passed it back to her husband. 
 
 " We must ask her to stay here one of these days," 
 said Mr. Furlong. And still Christina said nothing. 
 But having got that idea into his head, Mr. Furlong 
 embodied it in a short note to Dicky. 
 
 " When you come back," he wrote, " perhaps you 
 would like to bring Miss Geddes with you." 
 
 But Dicky was not coming back just then. One 
 night the servant negligently left open the window of
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 79 
 
 his bedroom. The next morning he was in a high 
 fever, and the doctor was sent for once more. 
 
 " Unless it's serious, 11 said Mrs. Furlong to her 
 husband, " we'd better not let Joseph know. They'll 
 think we aren't taking proper care of him." 
 
 So they knew nothing of this at Trafford Mill. A 
 little more care was all the doctor commanded and, at 
 some inconvenience to herself, Bertha Geddes had her 
 bed removed into Dicky's room. 
 
 " I shall be able to watch him better," said she ; " I 
 shall be able to see that nothing of the sort occurs 
 again. 
 
 Dicky's feverish eyes looked at her half in shyness, 
 half in gratitude, when she informed him of what she 
 was going to do. 
 
 "I shall come to bed and undress when you're 
 asleep,"" said she, and that night knew he was awake 
 but said nothing. 
 
 The next morning she read the Bible to him as usual. 
 He lay with his eyes fixed upon her face, hearing not 
 one word of all she said. It was whirling in his mind, 
 the thought that she was more than anything in all the 
 world to him, and the next night as both of them lay 
 awake in the darkness, Bertha Geddes heard a stifled 
 sobbing from Dicky's bed. 
 
 In a moment she was beside him. 
 
 " Dicky," she whispered, " why are you crying ? 
 What's the matter?" 
 
 " I don't know," he muttered, but with both his arms 
 he clung to her wildly in a fresh passion of teass.
 
 80 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 There they stayed then in silence this little boy of 
 eleven, stepping with trembling, unconscious feet upon 
 the very edge of life this little boy of eleven and this 
 disappointed woman of twenty-nine. 
 
 " Won't you tell me ? " she begged again presently ; 
 " tell me what it is." 
 
 " I love you," whispered Dicky. " I love you better 
 than anybody in the world."" 
 
 " Better than your mother ? " she murmured. 
 
 It seemed to Dicky then as though life were more 
 difficult than he could bear. He felt shame, he felt 
 fear, he felt he knew not what beside. But to the 
 sudden tightening of her arms about him, he gave way 
 in a short, hysterical cry. 
 
 " Oh better than any one in the world,"" he cried, 
 but he could not bring himself to say in actual words 
 that he loved her better than Christina. Yet it seemed 
 a great and magnificent thing, this love that had come 
 into his life. No longer did he feel himself to be a 
 little boy, but a man, before his years perhaps, yet 
 still a man with love that burnt in secret in his heart. 
 It was not his desire to know that she loved him. All 
 that concerned him was to prove to and convince her 
 of his love for her ; that it was the love of a man, to be 
 treated in all seriousness and with all respect. 
 
 And so, with trembling limbs, he lay close to her 
 long through that night, kissing her lips, her eyes ; 
 whispering how much he loved her, in words patheti- 
 cally childish, yet with all the meaning that he could 
 give them.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 81 
 
 Once she asked him if he were cold. 
 
 " No I'm not cold," said he. 
 
 " Then why are you trembling like this ? M 
 
 " I don't know,' 1 he replied, and trembled the more. 
 
 A week of such nights as these passed by. At last 
 Dicky was brought downstairs, a convalescent. 
 
 " You mustn't let any one see," Bertha Geddes had 
 said to him, " you mustn't let anyone see that you're in 
 love with me. They'd think it foolish, perhaps. They 
 wouldn't understand." 
 
 " But when I'm twenty-one," said Dicky earnestly, 
 " we're going to be married then." 
 
 " Yes we're going to be married then," said she, 
 " if you haven't got tired of me. Ten years is a long, 
 long time." 
 
 " I couldn't get tired," he declared. 
 
 " You never know, Dicky," she replied. " This world 
 is full of pain and disappointment. I always change 
 the letter D into the letter H, and that word disap- 
 pointment becomes His appointment." 
 
 Dicky thought her more wonderful than ever. 
 
 It came at length to the day of his return. They 
 were to go up to London together and there Christina 
 had persuaded her husband to let her meet them. 
 
 " You're going to come and stay, you know," said 
 Dicky to Bertha Geddes. " Father said in his letter 
 that I might ask you. I couldn't do without you 
 now." 
 
 She smiled, patting his cheek, and together they went 
 up to London to meet Christina. As the train steamed
 
 82 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 into Paddington station, Dicky leant out of the window 
 with eyes dancing for the sight of his mother. It was 
 the great longing in his heart then that these two should 
 meet. He knew that the one must love the other. He 
 loved them both. At last, among the crowd upon the 
 platform, he saw Christina. His handkerchief was 
 ready in his hand. He waved it wildly about his head. 
 At the instant of the train's stopping he had opened 
 the door, descended from the carriage, and was running 
 along the platform to meet her. At some little distance 
 behind him followed Bertha Geddes. 
 
 " Oh mother ! " he exclaimed, " I do want you to 
 meet her so. She's been so good." 
 
 Now what it was that stirred within Christina, not 
 even Christina knew. Her eyes met the eyes of Bertha 
 Geddes and, though jealousy was bitter in her heart, it 
 was not jealousy that nerved her then. With horror 
 that is inexplicable to itself, an animal will turn away 
 from the dead body of its kind. It was so that 
 Christina turned away from Bertha Geddes. When 
 once their eyes had met, she caught Dicky almost 
 roughly by the hand and, before he had had time to 
 realise it, had led him away to a cab. The door had 
 closed ; they were driving out of the station before he 
 realised what had been done. 
 
 The moment he understood he made a rush for the 
 window. With fingers of steel Christina held him back. 
 But he had seen his last glimpse of Bertha Geddes as 
 she stood alone upon the platform.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THIS was the first and only rift in Dicky's love for his 
 mother. But it was a long estrangement, lasting through 
 six painful months in which Christina, never seeming 
 to give way, won him slowly back into her heart. 
 
 She had forbidden him ever to see Bertha Geddes 
 again and, though it was impossible for him to break 
 this command, yet he kept burning the flame of his 
 hysterical passion. They wrote to each other. Her 
 letters came by arrangement with the first post in the 
 morning. Dicky secured them from the postman before 
 ever they had entered the house. The two pennies which 
 he received in weekly pocket-money were both spent 
 now upon stamps and, locked away with his sketches, 
 he kept the letters she wrote him. Every night when 
 he went to bed, he read them again and again. They 
 were full of wise counsel, telling him how he might 
 make his life. But it was where she wrote that she loved 
 him that he read the words over and over again. At 
 her conclusion, when she always ended yours in Christ 
 Dicky closed the letter up. There was something in 
 that termination which disinclined him to read again. 
 
 Yet for six months his opinion of her never altered, his 
 G 2 83
 
 84 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 anger with his mother remained the same. He did not 
 try to bring himself to forgive her for what she had 
 done. Yet with a patience that seemed almost inex- 
 haustible, Christina waited, ever watching for that 
 moment when he would let her take him back into her 
 heart. 
 
 Almost every evening of those days, she played the 
 piano when he and Anne had gone to bed. A thou- 
 sand other things she did which might have seemed to 
 Dicky to have no relation with him, for when he came to 
 kiss her in the morning and at night, she offered her 
 cheek in no way as she used. But the struggle within 
 her to keep her arms from clinging round him was 
 something almost beyond her power of endurance. 
 There were days when, in anticipation of that struggle, 
 .she would leave the room before Dicky could say good- 
 night, or purposely be late for breakfast in order to 
 avoid this heart-breaking ceremony. Never was any 
 wooing so determined as hers. When a man desires the 
 love of a woman, all reason takes flight and leaves him : 
 but when a woman means to win a man, the power of 
 cunning redoubles in her breast. A panther in pursuit of 
 prey is not more stealthy in his movements, more patient 
 or more watchful for the moment when he may spring. 
 
 "What is the matter with Dicky? 1 " Mr. Furlong 
 asked her one night when they were alone. 
 
 "Dicky?"" said Christina, "he's in love." 
 
 Mr. Furlong laid down his book upon his lap and 
 took off' his spectacles.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 85 
 
 " What nonsense you do talk sometimes, Christina," 
 he said with irritation. " You want to make a man of 
 that boy before he's in his teens." 
 
 " Do I ? " she answered. " What a very little you do 
 know about me. Why, I'd give all I know to keep him 
 the little boy he was two years ago. A boy of nine 
 has got all in him that a woman wants in a man. He's 
 brave, he's true, he's got a code of honour all his own, 
 from which scarcely any temptation can make him 
 depart. He's chivalrous ; he can love, and, with it all, 
 he knows nothing. Life what's called life has never 
 touched him then. His mind is as clean as a flower. It's 
 women like that men sometimes marry. It's men like that 
 women would give their souls to marry, but never meet.'" 
 
 Mr. Furlong gazed at her in astonishment. Never 
 had Christina spoken out her mind to him like this 
 before. At first he was bewildered. He could find in 
 himself no answer to oppose her statement ; something 
 in it rang more true than he was able to refute. After 
 a moment's silence, he returned to what she had said of 
 Dicky. 
 
 "I suppose you know best what you mean by all 
 that," said he. "I don't want to put you to the 
 trouble of explaining it. But you can explain what 
 you mean about Dicky. How can a boy who's not yet 
 twelve be in love ? Who's he in love with ? Some 
 little girl of his own age Dorothy Leggatt, I suppose 
 
 somebody like that ? " 
 " No," she replied quietly ; " nobody like that."
 
 86 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 "Then who ?" 
 
 "A woman of twenty-nine. A woman who has 
 shown Dicky what it means to love, who only in a few 
 weeks has killed all the childhood in him and made 
 him the man you say I'm trying to make him before 
 he's got into his teens. Dicky knows now knows 
 everything. She's told him everything there is to 
 know. Oh, can't you see it, Joseph ? And if you only 
 knew how it was hurting me ! I'd give my whole soul 
 to win Dicky back again ; to make him what he was 
 just two years ago." 
 
 Mr. Furlong left his chair and crossed to Christina's 
 side. Whenever she spoke with that pain in her voice 
 all emotion in him was roused. In this way he had 
 been moved when she had spoken so bitterly of the 
 forgiveness of Mrs. Leggatt ; now, again, he felt that 
 perhaps he did not understand her as well as he might. 
 He believed in the popular convention that no man 
 really quite understands a woman, not grasping the fact 
 that it is often because they are so concerned with the 
 understanding of themselves. 
 
 He sat down on the arm of her chair and laid his 
 hand upon her shoulder. 
 
 " Who do you mean, Christina ? " he asked gently ; 
 " it's not a woman in Eckington, is it ? " 
 
 " Do you mean to say you don't know, Joseph ? 
 
 " No you don't mean Miss Geddes, do you ? " 
 
 " Of course I mean her."" 
 
 " But, my dear child she's a woman of twenty-nine !
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 87 
 
 Besides, she's a good woman. Look at her letter to 
 me." 
 
 " Do you think because a woman mentions the name 
 of Christ that she's good ? " asked Christina. 
 
 " Oh but I can't believe any woman being so great a 
 hypocrite,"" he replied warmly. " There doesn't live such 
 a woman. Besides she's my sister-in-law by marriage. 
 
 Christina rose quietly from her chair. 
 
 " We must say nothing to Dicky," said she. " That 
 would only make it worse. I'm afraid even now he 
 writes to her. I saw him early the other morning from 
 the bedroom window he was talking to the postman." 
 
 "Well ask the postman if he receives letters," 
 suggested Mr. Furlong. "We shall know then quick 
 enough." 
 
 " Yes and then Dicky will know, too. Please don't 
 do that, Joseph. It would be terrible if he lost his 
 faith in us. Promise me you won't do that. He's 
 nearly lost his faith in me." 
 
 She recounted to him then their meeting at the 
 station. 
 
 "He's never been the same to me since that day," 
 she continued ; " I know by the way he kisses me." 
 
 " What do you mean, Christina ? " said her husband, 
 suddenly realising that Dicky had consciously adopted 
 an attitude towards his mother, and a critical attitude 
 at that. Without knowing it, he felt it reflect upon 
 the power of his own authority. " Do you mean to 
 say that boy has the impudence to treat you with
 
 88 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 disrespect ; to kiss you in any other way but what a son 
 ought to kiss his mother ? I never heard of such im- 
 pertinence. That boy wants a caning, and that's the 
 first thing he shall have to-morrow morning from me." 
 
 Christina had been about to leave the room ; now she 
 came swiftly back. Her eyes were full of apprehension. 
 This was a danger she had not thought to find. 
 
 " Oh whatever you do don't do that ! " she begged, 
 and her fingers clutched upon his arm. " Think, if you 
 cane him because he doesn't kiss me as he used, he'll 
 never kiss me with love again. He'll hate you, but it'll 
 be nothing to the way he'll hate me ! " 
 
 " Hate me ! " exclaimed Mr. Furlong irately ; " but I 
 won't be hated by my children. It's the duty of a child 
 to love his parents, not hate them. ' Honour thy father 
 and mother ' I will be honoured, Christina, and so 
 shall you." 
 
 Christina looked him straightly in the eyes. 
 
 " If you cane Dicky to-morrow morning," said she 
 slowly, " I shall come and wrench the cane out of your 
 hand, and you'll never see me in this house again." 
 
 She left him with those words and went to her bed. 
 Mr. Furlong stood in the middle of the room gazing at 
 the closed door and wondering what the world had 
 come to. 
 
 " A boy of eleven ! " he muttered, as he went back to 
 his chair, and strive as he might, it was all beyond him. 
 u A boy of eleven ! " he repeated protestingly. But he 
 could say no more than that.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 IT was impossible that this should continue for long. 
 It marvelled Christina that it should have lasted with 
 Dicky as it did. 
 
 But next year's spring saw an end of it. Dicky's love 
 for Bertha Geddes cooled. With a seeming malicious 
 humour, Nature sometimes kills her highest emotion 
 with the cheapest and most worldly weapon she can find. 
 There came a day in April when the warm winds were 
 blowing the shadows of the clouds over Bredon Hill ; 
 when in the meadows down the valley, the cuckoo- 
 flowers were laying out their fairy carpet in the sun. 
 Dicky wanted a new sketch-book then, and Anne's 
 coffers were empty. 
 
 "Why don't you save up yourself?" said she. 
 " You're always asking me for money." 
 
 " I want my money for something else," said Dicky. 
 
 " For what ? " said Anne. 
 
 Dicky gave her no reply. 
 
 " You needn't tell me if you don't like," said she ; 
 "I know." 
 
 *' But you don't," he answered quickly. 
 
 " Bet I do. It's to post your letters to that woman." 
 89
 
 90 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 How did she know that ? He seemed inevitably to 
 be confronted with this strange way women had of 
 knowing things. How had his mother known about 
 Bertha Geddes? She must have known to take him 
 away that day as she did on the platform known 
 without ever having seen Bertha Geddes before. For 
 by this time he knew he had been doing wrong knew 
 with that animal instinct which has no power of reason. 
 What sort of wrong it was, or why it should be so, he 
 did not understand. It had never been entered in his 
 category of sins ; yet intuitively he knew it should 
 be there. 
 
 It was the first realisation of this which blew a cool- 
 ing breath upon his infatuation. Shame is a great 
 factor in one's life when one is as young as Dicky. In 
 the first heat of their separation, Dicky would have 
 cried out his wrongs to the whole world. But as the 
 months went by and he received those letters of good 
 counsel wherein the name of Christ was so freely used, 
 a sense of shame began to creep into his mind. The 
 secrecy in writing those letters of his became more 
 necessary than ever. He had been cunning before in 
 order that he should not be prevented ; now he was 
 cunning lest he should be found out. 
 
 Love cannot prosper in such an atmosphere as this ; 
 and when the demand of a new sketch-book first brought 
 cessation to the writing of his letters, the matter was 
 ended then. Dicky was in love no more. 
 
 How Christina found it out it would be almost
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 91 
 
 impossible to say. An idle word from Anne, a sudden 
 look from Dicky, and she knew all that was taking 
 place. Morning after morning she watched from her 
 bedroom window down the road. The postman came 
 up to the wicket gate alone. She learnt that Dicky 
 was only getting up, and had not yet been out. 
 
 Then it had come at last, this hour for which so 
 tenderly and so patiently she had been waiting. Dicky 
 was free again, and she knew full well that Dicky could 
 not do without love. For love is a food, the manna in 
 this wilderness of ours ; and once a human creature has 
 tasted of it, none other can so well sustain him. With- 
 out his letters to write, without his letters to read, 
 without the numberless thoughts of Bertha Geddes 
 which for the past six months had filled his mind, 
 Dicky was now disconsolate. He refused the com- 
 panionship of Anne. He ignored the friendship of 
 Wilfrid. It was the moment when Christina knew her 
 chance had come. With a sure hand, she took it in 
 her grasp. 
 
 It was one afternoon in the early part of May when 
 Christina saw Dicky set off alone with his sketch-book. 
 By the wide-open window of the best parlour she had 
 been playing the piano that morning the most joyous 
 of Chopin's Preludes. Every glad note of it was in her 
 heart. The world seemed as young again as did the 
 year. And as she had played, it suddenly was brought 
 to her senses that all the birds in the garden were silent. 
 She had lifted her hands from the keys. For an instant
 
 92 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 everything was still until they took up the burden of 
 the music she had laid down. Her eyes and lips had 
 turned to sudden smiles, and 
 
 " Oh Dicky," she had whispered. 
 
 It was when she saw him start out alone in the after- 
 noon that she went hastily to that watch tower, the 
 window of her room, stood there until she knew in 
 which direction he had gone, and then put on her hat 
 and coat. 
 
 No one saw her depart. Mr. Furlong heard the snap 
 of the catch on the wicket gate, but when he looked 
 out of the mill, Christina was hidden behind the bushes 
 of laurel, already on the road to Bredon Hill. 
 
 She walked slowly, for it was not her wish to overtake 
 him at once. She meant silently to come and sit beside 
 him while he was painting one of his little pictures ; 
 those pictures of which he had never made a present to 
 her, not since the day when he had picked the roses 
 from the wall-paper in her room. The apple orchards 
 were all in bloom, the may trees massed with the pale 
 green of a million breaking buds. Her step was light, 
 her head high. You would have thought her a girl of 
 twenty-one had you come up behind her on the road. 
 
 She was less than twenty-one that day. No little 
 maid going to meet her lover could have been lighter 
 of heart than was Christina then. And when she saw 
 the slight figure of Dicky on the hillside, her pulse stood 
 still, then raced away a canter in her breast. Like the 
 little maid again who goes to meet her lover, trembling
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 98 
 
 in the thought that that day perhaps she will be kissed, 
 Christina's hand shook ; her breath came short and 
 quick with the hasty beating of her heart. 
 
 She made a wide detour to reach him, and for some 
 moments had lost him from her sight. When she came 
 within view of him again, she found he was quite close. 
 Then she stood still. Dicky was lying flat upon his 
 chest, his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking. On 
 the ground by his side a few scattered pieces of paper 
 were lying in idle confusion. 
 
 At the sound of her sudden footsteps, he turned round 
 and sat up. His eyes were red. The smearing lines of 
 tears were on his cheeks. At the sight of him there 
 alone upon that hillside Christina thought her heart 
 would burst. 
 
 " Dicky ! " she said. " Oh Dicky are you so un- 
 happy as all that ? " 
 
 With a brave gulping, he swallowed his tears. There 
 was yet his pride to be broken down. It was with him 
 strongly then. 
 
 " I'm not unhappy," he said. " How did you know 
 I was here ? " 
 
 " I saw you," Christina replied. " But you've been 
 crying." 
 
 He pointed to the torn-up scraps of paper on the 
 ground. 
 
 " It's no good my trying to paint," he complained 
 with bitterness, " I do them worse every time." 
 
 Christina took that willingly as the reason of his
 
 94 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 tears. It was probable she knew the aching of his heart 
 far better than he did himself. 
 
 " Put the pieces together," she whispered, " and let 
 me see." 
 
 In fear lest she should do it for herself, he raked them 
 together quickly in his hand and thrust them in the 
 pocket of his coat. 
 
 " No please not, 1 ' he said, " ifs so silly." 
 
 He was a difficult lover, this Dicky of hers. She 
 wooed him first this way and then that. And all the 
 time, when he thought she was not looking, his eyes 
 would wander to her face. There would creep over him 
 the longing to throw his arms about her neck. Christina 
 was not ignorant of what was passing in his mind. Time 
 and again she gave him the opportunity he sought ; but 
 like a timid colt in an open field, he kept shying at it, 
 just when she thought she had won him to her heart. 
 
 Perhaps it made the struggle all the dearer to her 
 soul, the conquest all the greater when it was won. 
 For at last, in a beating silence, while they both looked 
 out over the far country, his hand stole into hers as it 
 lay upon her lap. Christina swallowed something in 
 her throat. She could not have been certain whether 
 it were laughter or whether it were tears. The next 
 moment she knew, for his arms were tight about her. 
 It was both.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 WHEN Dicky was thirteen, Mr. Furlong sent him 
 away to school in the north of England. Here a friend 
 of Christina's was headmaster of the grammar school 
 in the town and certain reductions were made which 
 enabled Dicky's father to meet the greater expense. 
 
 " You'll only have the mill when I die, Dicky," said 
 Mr. Furlong. "All money that I save will come 
 eventually to Anne, so you must make the best advantage 
 you can of the education that I give you." 
 
 Dicky promised to do his best. He would have made 
 a world of promises rather than continue at Leggatfs 
 school. The thought of leaving Christina was certainly 
 disturbing when it came to him ; but in the desire to 
 see new worlds, he put it from him as often as he could. 
 There were times at night when, lying awake, listening 
 to the sounds of the piano in the house below, Dicky 
 realised how nothing in this life was gained without 
 some loss to counterbalance it. In time to come he 
 was to learn still yet a wider knowledge than this ; he 
 was to find that no success is won without some failure 
 made ; that when a man shall fail, he may be nearest to 
 
 success. 
 
 95
 
 96 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 There would be no sound of a piano as he went to 
 sleep at that school in the north. This was one of 
 the things he must lose. But by degrees he made up 
 his mind to that. Already he was entering that phase 
 of stoicism when to be manly in everything is the 
 heart's desire of a boy. 
 
 For a ransom he would not have shown to Anne or 
 even to Christina, the doubts that sometimes threatened 
 all his joy at going away. Sometimes Mr. Furlong 
 thought him callous, and Anne wondered, believing he 
 had no heart. But for the few days before he left, 
 Christina watched him narrowly, growing in jealousy 
 of life until she knew. Then she comforted herself 
 with that sorry counsel which bids a woman tell herself 
 that hers is not the only heart left aching. She knew 
 that Dicky felt his going. He had all the heart she 
 needed for him and for herself. If he were brave, what 
 could she be but proud ? And so these two acted their 
 little comedy of deception Dicky for the sake of that 
 vague and elusive virtue called manhood, Christina for 
 the reason that most women are brave, in order that 
 some man may keep up his heart to the last. 
 
 At last the day arrived for Dicky's departure. 
 Christina drove him in the trap to the station at 
 Pershore. It was the same trap, the same horse which, 
 two years before, had sped one morning into Eckington. 
 At the sound of the horse's hoofs upon the road, 
 Christina remembered that morning, thinking how 
 many changes had come to Dicky since then.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 97 
 
 At the moment of parting from the mill, Dicky had 
 held his head high. He had wanted merely to shake 
 hands with his father. This is one amongst the first 
 signs of manliness when a boy realises that between 
 men, a shaking of the hands is all that is consistent, 
 even with the greatest parting in life. But this had 
 ruffled Mr. Furlong's sense of the fitness of things. He 
 was not the man to understand so fine a point as this. 
 
 " Aren't you going to give me a kiss, Dicky ? " he 
 asked, but there was more command than question in 
 his voice. He was thinking of what Christina had told 
 him when Dicky was at enmity with her. 
 
 Dicky obeyed, but the blood was hot in his cheeks. 
 Yet Mr. Furlong was satisfied. The principle of 
 obedience meant a great deal to him. Even the feeling 
 that Dicky was annoyed did not make bitter the kiss 
 he had received. He had been obeyed. It was, how- 
 ever, that sensation of annoyance which helped Dicky 
 through much of the trial of parting at the mill. 
 He kissed Anne without flinching, though the tears 
 were perilously near her eyes. Over Pilgrim in his 
 barrel in the yard, he felt the wrench worst of all. 
 Pilgrim was so sublimely unconscious of what was taking 
 place. He believed that Dicky was going to take him 
 out for a walk, and danced in such a wild exuberance of 
 spirits that Dicky realised another pleasure in life which 
 he was leaving behind him. There would be no more 
 walks in the early morning with Pilgrim. He set his 
 teeth and turned away, looked once round the yard with
 
 98 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 all its familiar sheds and corners, and then came back 
 to where the trap was waiting in the road. Then he 
 caught sight of the new hat box, containing the tall silk 
 hat which he would have to wear on Sundays, and, 
 setting his teeth again, swore bravely beneath his breath 
 that he would not cry. 
 
 This was all very well so long as he knew that 
 Christina was still with him. It was when the trap had 
 been spinning along the road for some distance, and not 
 a word had passed between them, that it was suddenly 
 borne in upon Dicky's mind how soon he would even be 
 parted from her. Tears in a volume then had almost 
 taken him unawares. He held very tight on to the 
 handrail at his side and swallowed quickly, trying his 
 utmost to think of other things. 
 
 The whole country-side as they passed was yielding 
 to the warmth of summer. A luscious note was in the 
 song of every bird, and all the trees were swollen in 
 their pride of leaf. The river gurgled through the 
 rushes, while, up and down the glittering water, the 
 martins sped in rushing flights that swept them out of 
 sight beyond the bend. 
 
 As they approached the old stone bridge at Ecking- 
 ton, Dicky sat up in his seat. 
 
 "There's old Wilfrid," he said, "waiting on the 
 bridge." 
 
 " Who's that with him ? " asked Christina. 
 
 " Oh that silly little ass Dorothy, I suppose." 
 
 Despite the trouble in her heart, Christina smiled.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 99 
 
 There was something healthy in that brief summary of 
 what Dorothy Leggatt was to him. 
 
 " Good-bye, Dicky ! " Wilfrid called out as they went 
 by ; " write and tell us about the cricket." 
 
 " Course," Dicky shouted back. " You write too." 
 
 "You never said good-bye to Dorothy," said 
 Christina. 
 
 Dicky looked back a moment over his shoulder. 
 Dorothy was still standing on the bridge with Wilfrid, 
 looking after them. The long strands of her dark 
 brown hair were blowing out in moments as the wind 
 caught it. 
 
 " She isn't a patch on Anne," he replied as he turned 
 back again, and therein lay his answer to Christina's 
 statement. 
 
 As they drew near and nearer to the station, Dicky 
 became more and more uncomfortable in his seat ; 
 Christina's lips set to a thinner line. 
 
 " Can I get a funny paper ? " he asked as they walked 
 into the station. Until it was time for him to get into 
 his carriage, he was so restless that Christina had 
 difficulty in keeping near him. 
 
 At last he stood up in the doorway of the carriage, 
 while the last luggage was being thrown into the vans. 
 He looked down at Christina below him. 
 
 " Will you write to me about everything, Dicky ? " 
 she avsked. 
 
 He nodded his head. 
 
 " Write every week ? " she added. 
 H 2
 
 100 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 He nodded his head again. It would have been very 
 dangerous to speak just then. His grey eyes were 
 glittering suspiciously already ; his lips were closed very 
 tight. There was an unnatural pallor in his cheeks. 
 After those few words of Christina's, they said no more 
 but, whenever their eyes met, each looked quickly away. 
 There came the moment when the doors of the carriages 
 were being slammed. Christina put her foot on the 
 step, raising herself on a level with Dicky's shoulder. 
 
 " Good-bye, Dicky," she said bravely. 
 
 "Good-bye," said he, and his voice cracked. The 
 sound of it was unmistakeable, but he looked at her 
 with a wry smile, the last effort he could make, and 
 
 " That must be my voice breaking," said he. 
 
 " Oh, Dicky ! " she exclaimed. " How soon you'll be 
 a man !" 
 
 It was just that sentence of her's which sustained him 
 until the guard's whistle was blown and the train moved 
 away from the platform. After that it was an easy 
 thing to lean out of the window and cheerfully wave his 
 hand to Christina all the while that hot tears were 
 tumbling down his cheeks.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 AT that grammar school in the north Dicky began to 
 learn the things which Circumstance builds to make the 
 corners of life. He made few friends. For most of the 
 boys there, he was far too old. Often he wondered what 
 they would think of him if they knew all his secrets ; 
 how he had loved a woman of twenty-nine before any 
 one of them were good enough for the first fifteen at 
 football. 
 
 In those days he must have been very old, for he kept 
 that secret to himself, when many another boy would 
 have boasted of it. But one friendship there was he made 
 which, at such an impressionable time as that, meant 
 much to the moulding of his future. Mr. Hollom was 
 the master of the upper fourth, a man more suited to 
 the study than the schoolroom. Amidst a lot of boys, 
 he was like a shepherd without his dog. Strive or 
 storm as he might, he could not keep them in order. 
 The moment he entered the room, he was at their mercy. 
 Only in the constant fear of those sudden visits of the 
 headmaster were they amenable at all to the studies 
 that he set them. Once when the headmaster was 
 away, they reduced him to tears. 
 
 He was a young man of twenty -three, made for a 
 101
 
 102 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 scholar, with ill-set shoulders, a stooping back, and 
 spindle legs. He never played in their games on the 
 football field. They made their judgment by that 
 and, on this occasion, when no danger of a visit from 
 the headmaster was imminent, they played with him 
 as a cat plays with a mouse. Trap after trap they laid ; 
 trap after trap he fell into, and then a rippling tremor 
 of laughter would quiver through the class. At length, 
 when he upset an ink-pot which had been cunningly 
 placed behind his elbow, the quiver of laughter became 
 a shout. 
 
 With burning cheeks, and flinging back the long 
 sleeves of his gown, Mr. Hollom jumped down from 
 his desk. 
 
 " Who put that pot of ink at my elbow ? " he cried. 
 
 The biggest boy in the class, the heaviest forward 
 they had in the first fifteen, a boy who could never in 
 his life have been so ingenious even with a pot of ink, 
 rose at once to his feet. 
 
 " Plea-sir I did, sir." 
 
 Before he knew what he did ; before he considered its 
 consequences, Mr. Hollom swung round his open hand 
 across the boy's face and dropped him with a stinging 
 cheek into his seat. 
 
 Through the whole class then there was a moment's 
 hush. But instead of being satisfied with what he had 
 done, the next instant the wretched man was a slave to 
 its reaction. He stood there with white lips, his eyes 
 nervously twitching, his breath coming fast. He gave
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 108 
 
 no impression of control. There was no sense of 
 deliberation in what he had done. In a moment there 
 was not a boy in that class who did not know it, 
 who did not murmur approvingly when Butcher primus 
 leapt up again to his feet with squared fists and a look 
 within his eyes which some of them there had reason to 
 know too well. 
 
 u If you want a fight, sir,' 1 said he, " we can have it 
 here, or outside whichever you like." 
 
 That had been the moment to repeat the blow ; 
 repeat it with calm and calculated deliberation. Instead, 
 Mr. Hollom said that he was sorry and, when the class 
 broke up for the hour of dinner, he remained behind 
 seated in his chair. 
 
 Five minutes later Dicky came back quietly into the 
 room and found him with his head in his hands leaning 
 forward dejectedly upon his desk. Instantly, though 
 he had been amongst the worst of them, Dicky went 
 up to his chair. 
 
 " Don't cry, sir," said he. 
 
 As though it were a sting from another of these 
 hornets, the young master lifted his head, preparing to 
 face them again. 
 
 " What do you mean, Furlong ? " he demanded. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir ; I thought you were 
 crying." 
 
 "And you were as bad as any of them weren't 
 you ? " 
 
 Yes sir."
 
 104 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 He turned away. 
 
 "My God!" he muttered thoughtlessly; "they'll 
 never keep me on after this ! " 
 
 Then realising the words he had used, he turned 
 quickly again to Dicky. 
 
 " I suppose you heard what I said then ? " he asked. 
 
 "Yes sir," said Dicky. "And I wouldn't stay to 
 be cheeked by Butcher primus, if I were you." 
 
 Mr. Hollom smiled. 
 
 " Oh wouldn't you ? " said he ; " what would you 
 do?" 
 
 " Fd go to another school." 
 
 " With the reputation of being unable to keep order 
 amongst boys? What school do you think would 
 have me?" 
 
 " But you're awfully clever, sir." 
 
 Somehow or other the incongruity of talking to this 
 little boy of thirteen did not make itself clear to Mr. 
 Hollom. Without his knowing it, it was the same quality 
 of understanding Dicky had once proved to Christina 
 which was showing in him now. The fact of the matter 
 was, it was good to speak to any one. 
 
 " Boys don't want to be clever," replied Mr. Hollom. 
 " It's no good having brains. Brains won't teach boys. 
 You want the fist of a prizefighter, and the nerves of a 
 prizefighter too, to teach a pack of boys. The brains 
 you can get for yourself out of a book." 
 
 " But I want to be clever, sir." 
 
 " Do you ? What do you want to do ? "
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 105 
 
 " Paint," said Dicky. " Pictures." 
 
 " What sort of pictures ? " 
 
 Dicky shook his head. 
 
 " Don't know yet, 11 said he. 
 
 " Do you learn drawing here ? " asked Mr. Hollom. 
 
 " Only a rotten sort of freehand, 11 said Dicky. 
 
 " Well I wouldn't despise it if I were you. It'll 
 teach you little or nothing about shape, but it'll do 
 what it purports to do it'll give you a free hand with 
 a pencil." 
 
 Dicky looked thoughtful. 
 
 " I didn't know it meant that," said he, and in one 
 moment had grasped the first principle of education. 
 Many boys may do this, but few apply the knowledge 
 they have gained. Dicky applied it. He wasted no 
 more moments in the drawing classes when they came. 
 
 The next term Mr. Hollom invited him one day to 
 his rooms to tea. Dicky's heart was big with importance 
 when he went. He was shown drawings and sketches 
 that Mr. Hollom had done. In all the gentler arts, he 
 dabbled in a dilettante way ; played the piano, acted 
 on speech days and, late in the night, wrote stories 
 which the London papers occasionally printed in their 
 columns. 
 
 Dicky thought that he was the clererest man he had 
 ever met. His portraits of boys that he sometimes drew 
 in school were wonderful. Dicky recognised them all. 
 But it was in his landscapes in water-colour that Mr. 
 Hollom liked himself. Mostly to him they represented
 
 106 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 long, peaceful hours in the sun, by the bank of some 
 river or the rise of some hill, far from the penitentiary 
 of school. When he had painted those pictures, he 
 could look his God in Nature in the face. He liked 
 them for that reason; he liked them, too, because, 
 when mounted and placed in little gold frames, he 
 thought they looked rather well. He was not ashamed 
 to put his initials to them and hang them on his walls. 
 His landlady had the good taste to like them too. 
 She wished her daughter could paint like that, and had 
 asked him one day to give her a picture. Concealing 
 both pride and pleasure, he had promised that he 
 would, but not even then had made up his mind which 
 he could spare. 
 
 All these he showed to Dicky, saying : " Of course 
 I never took lessons, so they're naturally very poor. 
 One of these days we must go out together and see 
 what we can do." 
 
 " Next Wednesday, sir," said Dicky, answering to the 
 suggestion as the report of the pistol answers to the 
 trigger that is pulled. 
 
 Mr. Hollom smiled. He was not quite so keen as 
 that himself. 
 
 " Isn't there a football practice next Wednesday ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Nothing at all ? " 
 
 No, sir." 
 
 "Very well, then," he agreed, "next Wednesday. 
 You've got a box of water-colours, have you ? "
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 107 
 
 " Yes, sir my mother gave me it, birthday before 
 last." 
 
 " And a sketch-book ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 * And a stool?" 
 
 " I can sit on the grass, sir."" 
 
 On Tuesday evening, Mr. Hollom looked out his 
 paraphernalia, his leather satchel, his stool, his best 
 sable brushes, and his expensive water-colour paper. 
 The next day then they set out, telling each other all 
 they knew about the history of nature as they walked. 
 Mr. Hollom found that he had made a companion who 
 interested him so much as to take him out of himself. 
 
 As soon as they had selected a place, they began to 
 work at once. In less than half an hour Dicky had 
 finished. 
 
 " I can't do any more, sir," he said, and he threw his 
 book on to the grass by his side. " It's all started 
 running it's just a beastly mess, that's all." 
 
 Under great persuasion he showed it at last. The 
 master took it, saying cheerfully 
 
 " Well now, let us see." 
 
 Then, for a time that seemed to Dicky interminable, 
 he was silent. 
 
 "Why did you make those near trees there that 
 funny grey ? " he asked at length. 
 
 " They're willows, sir." 
 
 " Yes yes I know that but why that colour ? 
 Willows are distinctly green."
 
 108 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 " Not when the wind's blowing their leaves back, 1 ' 
 said Dicky at once. 
 
 "Yes- well perhaps that is so. But they're only 
 occasionally like that. You ought to paint them as 
 willows, and therefore should paint them surely as you 
 most often see them." 
 
 " But it's windy to-day, sir." 
 
 "Yes, I know but you're not trying to paint the 
 day are you ? " 
 
 " I was trying," said Dicky. 
 
 Mr. Hollom smiled. 
 
 " You might as well say," he suggested, " that you 
 were trying to paint the wind." 
 
 " But I was, sir." 
 
 " You try and paint the wind ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir it's as much there as the willows well, 
 it's everywhere. The willows are only by the side of 
 the river." 
 
 " Furlong," said Mr. Hollom suddenly and then he 
 stopped. He was about to say "Furlong one day 
 you'll be a great painter." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Dicky. 
 
 " Oh nothing," said Mr. Hollom.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 WHATEVER Destiny it was which shaped the ends of 
 Dicky Furlong, it never faltered in its course. Some 
 Destinies there are, shaping the ends of men, which 
 seem at times to weary of their labour, casting aside 
 their tools because the work is dull. Upon some men 
 even it would seem that Destiny never laboured at all. 
 She passes them by in the great counting and, like 
 straws upon a stream, they drift in whatever direction 
 the eddies carry them. 
 
 But the Destiny that shaped the soul of Dicky 
 Furlong never rested. Who is there to say why Mr. 
 Hollom that morning was reduced to the dejection of 
 tears ? Was it to be of that service to him, which only 
 some far-seeing Providence could arrange ? Or was it 
 to be in the service of that young animal who, with 
 squared fists, drew from him his pitiable apology ? Yet 
 the only seeming benefit it brought was to Dicky, who 
 thereby made a friend. 
 
 That Wednesday afternoon was the first of many 
 which Mr. Hollom employed in taking Dicky out to 
 sketch. He never told him what he thought of his 
 
 future. There was a vein of common sense in him, 
 
 109
 
 110 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 unusual in so young a man. To the headmaster, how- 
 ever, he ventured to speak his mind. 
 
 " Of course I may be quite wrong, sir," he said, " but 
 it seems to me that one day he might do anything with 
 his brush." 
 
 " Let me see one of his paintings," said Mr. Blaith- 
 waite. 
 
 " You wouldn't gather anything from them," replied 
 Mr. Hollom. " It's not so much the effects he gets, it's 
 the effects he tries to get. They're mere daubs, of 
 course. But I try my hand at it in a small way, and 
 I shouldn't dream of attempting to paint what he does. 
 The whole secret of art is expressing the moments of 
 everlasting things. It's only in moments that things 
 are everlasting. I asked him what something was that 
 he showed me the other day, and he said : * When the 
 wind's blowing very high and there are a lot of clouds 
 in the sky, their shadows keep racing across the 
 meadows' ' Well ? ' said I. ' Well,' he said, that 
 was what I wanted to do only it looks all wrong.' 
 Movement, mind you movement in shadows ! Fancy 
 a boy of his age trying to do that ! Of course the 
 result was ludicrous. But if he sees it like that, he'll 
 get it. He's always trying to paint the wind as he 
 calls it. And one of these days he'll do it.' 
 
 u How old is he ? " asked Mr. Blaithwaite. 
 
 "Just fourteen." 
 
 " His mother was a capable woman," said the head- 
 master ; " played the piano beautifully when she was 
 twelve."
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 111 
 
 He wrote home to Christina that night. 
 
 "Would you like your boy to be an artist?" he 
 asked. 
 
 Christina wrote back as it were in a whisper, saying 
 she would, but begging him not to mention it to her 
 husband. The next vacation Mr. Hollom was asked to 
 stay at the mill. Mr. Furlong was more than agreeable. 
 The young man played chess and played it well. They 
 sat long together in the evenings over the chess-board, 
 but Mr. Hollom seldom won. He was listening to 
 Christina playing Beethoven. 
 
 " It's a funny thing," said Mr. Furlong one night, 
 just after he had declared check-mate ; " but I've 
 noticed amongst chess-players, that when a man is a 
 good musician too they sometimes go together he's 
 generally a most vicious man. There was a young 
 organist here at Pershore young Allen he was a good 
 chess-player. You don't play the piano do you ? " 
 
 Mr. Hollom gave out his lie with a truthful face. 
 
 " Oh no,' 1 said he. 
 
 " Neither do I," said Mr. Furlong, but then he spoke 
 the truth. 
 
 Those evenings of Beethoven at Traffbrd Mill lived 
 long in Mr. Hollom's memory. In the three weeks 
 that he was there, he discovered a secret in his heart. 
 He discovered that he loved Christina. What is more, 
 she discovered it too. 
 
 They talked often and long together about Dicky. 
 A secret there was already between them. Dicky's 
 father must never know that one day he might be an
 
 112 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 artist. She firmly instilled into Mr. Hollom's mind 
 that he must never tell Mr. Furlong that. Now a 
 secret, even of so harmless a nature as this, is a fatal 
 bond between any man and woman. It necessitates 
 glances of understanding which are swift to be read to 
 other things. Sometimes they would take long walks 
 together, talking of Dicky all the while. It was in his 
 appreciation of Dicky's future that his intelligence 
 showed to the best advantage in Christina's eyes. She 
 knew the value at that moment that he was to Dicky. 
 Therein lay Christina's snare. 
 
 One evening, when Mr. Furlong was compelled to 
 drive into Eckington to see a farmer about some corn 
 that was to be delivered at the mill next day, she 
 played Beethoven to him as usual. Really it was to 
 Dicky lying upstairs in his bed that she played. But 
 a man in love can lose sight of these things. He can 
 confuse the real meaning of the smallest incident. Mr. 
 Hollom lay back in a deep armchair, his thin legs 
 stretched out straight in front of him and, with clasped 
 hands and closed eyes, he listened to the last dying 
 chords of the first movement of the Moonlight Sonata, 
 believing that she played it for him. Then, as Christina 
 came to the door, he knew he was in love. 
 
 He rose quickly to his feet as he saw her standing 
 there. To a woman who, after some years of marriage 
 has forgotten them, they are always pleasing, such little 
 attentions as these. She begged him not to move. 
 
 " Is that all you're going to play ? " he asked, for he
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 113 
 
 realised by then that he feared her near him in the 
 room. 
 
 " Yes that's all," said she ; " I'm tired to-night. 
 And that piano ! It's rather sad isn't it ? I wonder 
 if I'll ever have a really good one." 
 
 "In a few years," said Mr. Hollom, "Dicky'll be 
 selling a big picture for some hundreds of pounds 
 then he'll give you one." 
 
 He prophesied the gift to Dicky ; but in his heart he 
 was longing that he might say : " Let me save up all 
 my money and buy you one." 
 
 And as yet Christina had not guessed. Her eyes lit 
 up with excitement at the thought of the prospect he 
 had raised. 
 
 " Do you really think that'll ever be ? " she asked. 
 " Do you think he's going to be as great as that ? " 
 
 " Of course it's all very speculative," said Mr. Hollom 
 guardedly. " How can one possibly say ? The things 
 he says and does now are just those sort of things 
 which are quoted of a man's childhood when he be- 
 comes great. He must become great for them to mean 
 anything at all. They may mean nothing but a certain 
 amount of precociousness." 
 
 ** I suppose he is precocious," said Christina. " I've 
 always known that. Ever since he was eleven." 
 
 They sat in silence then, and in the square hall 
 outside, the old Cromwellian clock that had been in 
 Mr. Furlong's family past all memory ticked out its 
 hollow moments in ironical contrast to Mr. Hollom's
 
 114 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 ears to those pregnant moments within himself. He 
 felt as though every instant he must clasp Christina's 
 hand in his. Nothing had he known it was more 
 unlikely. He sat there quietly in the deep armchair, 
 a slave to the doubt of what she would do, obedient 
 also to a better impulse which keeps a man from stealing 
 until his hunger be too great. 
 
 The sound of that clock outside in the hall, the 
 sound of the silence there in the room, drove him at 
 last to speak. 
 
 " Once upon a time," said he, " they thought I was 
 going to be clever. I did well up at Oxford wrote 
 for their magazines wrote for the Oxford papers. 
 They printed an article of mine in the Saturday 
 Review, I followed it up with another in the Hibbert 
 Journal. I thought I was rousing the world then. 
 I seemed to hear it echoing with what I'd done, re- 
 sounding with all I was going to do. Now I'm a 
 schoolmaster at a hundred and twenty pounds a year 
 completely, hopelessly unfit for my job." 
 
 " No ! " interrupted Christina ; " how can you say 
 that ? Look at all you've done for Dicky ! You've 
 encouraged him in his painting more than any one else 
 in the world could possibly have done." 
 
 " Even if that were true," he replied, " and willingly 
 I'll take it to my credit if you like but what have I 
 done for myself? Imagine what it is to be a man of 
 twenty-five at the beginning of your career, as they like 
 to call it, yet at one and the same time at the end of
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 115 
 
 it. To see the years a thin, gaunt, failing line drifting 
 away into nothingness. 1 " 
 
 He buried his face in his hands, just as he had done 
 that day in the class-room when Dicky had come to his 
 aid. So now Christina came. With an impetuous and 
 a full heart she leant towards him, and with her hands 
 took his hands from his face. For some long moments 
 they looked into each other's eyes, and then before 
 Christina knew she knew. 
 
 As long as he dared, he bore it, realising that this 
 was the first and the last time he would feel the touch 
 of her hand. 
 
 " Please take your hands away," he said at last. 
 
 Knowing, she took them away quickly not knowing 
 and in surprise, she asked him why. 
 
 " Because I love you,"" he said quietly. These he 
 knew were his last moments in that house. A mood of 
 desperation was with him then. It was going to be the 
 one glorious moment in his life, this hearing himself 
 say to Christina that he loved her. 
 
 " I know I have no right to say this," he went on 
 quickly. " I'd only ask you to try and imagine that I 
 have said it of some other woman telling you about it 
 as I would make a confidence. I know no other woman 
 in the world I'd sooner make a confidence to than you. 
 So I'm just telling you that I love a woman, and the 
 mere telling of it is going to be the best moment I've 
 ever lived. With all the knowledge of my failure, I love 
 her. With all the dim hope of what for her sake I 
 
 I 2
 
 116 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 might still be able to do, I love her too. It means 
 nothing to me that she belongs to some one else. 
 Marriage is a property act, it protects the jewels we 
 possess, the pictures and the books that we have 
 bought. But it cannot prevent a man from standing 
 outside the case in which that jewel is kept and loving 
 that jewel as I love you in all admiration, in all respect, 
 in all devout obedience." 
 
 He rose slowly to his feet. 
 
 " Now I've told you," said he, " I can touch your 
 hand again if, of course, you'll shake hands with me. 
 To-morrow morning I shall go. Good-night and good- 
 bye. I shah 1 look after Dicky at school. He brings 
 you to me. I can't do too much for him to show my 
 gratitude for that. Good-night," 
 
 The ticking of the clock became louder as he opened 
 the door ; it died away as he closed it again. Christina 
 sat on in her chair staring far through the wall before 
 her. 
 
 Half an hour later, when Mr. Furlong canie in, he 
 found her still seated there. 
 
 " Not in bed yet ? " said he. 
 
 She shook her head and rose to her feet. At the 
 door she turned. 
 
 " Mr. Hollom says he has to go to-morrow," she said. 
 
 " Oh I'm sorry for that. He's a good fellow." 
 
 " Yes," said Christina, " he is." 
 
 The stairs creaked under her as she walked up to her 
 bedroom. She counted them one by one.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 SORROW is a great master. No man truly learns the 
 lesson of life without such a teacher as this. For 
 though there is pain, as well there is gentleness, and 
 when the day comes that time has healed, then Sorrow 
 has taught, and a man may go out into the world with 
 a new knowledge in his heart. 
 
 Dicky began his lesson at an early age. At the end 
 of his fifth term, just as his heart was rising to the 
 anticipation of his holidays at home, Christina wrote 
 to say that she would not be at the mill. A sister of 
 hers a worker, too, as she had been was lying alone 
 in some wretched lodging house in Dublin at the point 
 of death. Christina had gone over the sea to nurse 
 her. It was that going over the sea which made it seem 
 so far away to Dicky. He came back to the mill feeling 
 that, in her absence, the real meaning of his holidays 
 was gone. 
 
 Anne did her best to cheer him Anne, growing now 
 swiftly towards that moment when she was to put up 
 her hair and be a girl no longer. But it was the conso- 
 lation of Christina that he needed. At the end of that 
 term he had failed miserably in a Cambridge local 
 examination. The only subject in which he had passed 
 
 117
 
 118 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 was that of chemistry, a subject to which his inquisi- 
 tive mind had quickly taken. In all classics and 
 mathematics, his papers had been beneath contempt. 
 
 His father had written sternly but justly to say that 
 he saw no purpose in keeping him on at school. 
 
 " You are well over fifteen,"" he wrote, " at that age 
 I left school with, I hope, a better equipment than you 
 have now. Through Mr. Blaithwaite 1 s kindness, I am 
 not paying the full amount for your schooling and, 
 therefore, since you are doing so badly, cannot injustice 
 to him impose upon his kindness any longer." 
 
 It was that last sentence which burnt into Dicky's 
 mind. He tore the letter up. Whenever Mr. Blaith- 
 waite's eyes rested on him, he felt the blood hurrying 
 to his cheeks. 
 
 In such disgrace as this, the consolations of Anne, 
 given with her whole heart, though sadly limited by 
 her imagination, were of no avail at all. He needed 
 Christina and, in her absence, was driven to the com- 
 pany of himself. For long hours of the day he would 
 wander alone across the hills that overhang this valley 
 of the Avon, watching the winter mists rise up from 
 the river's edge like ghosts of the summer that had 
 passed away. 
 
 A phase of morbidness was coming to him then. 
 He wondered how long they would search for his body 
 across the hills, if one night he died there, far away 
 from the mill. He wondered would his father be sorry 
 if he found him dead. From his coat pocket, where
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 119 
 
 he always carried it, he would bring out a bottle of 
 ether which he had stolen from the laboratory at the 
 school. He would smell this, thinking how quiet and 
 easy it would be were he just to lay down on the 
 grass, saturate his cap and lie with his head upon it 
 till he slept. There would be no awakening no dull 
 grey morning in an empty house. 
 
 In the midst of these days of depression came the 
 disquieting news that Christina had caught typhoid 
 fever and had been taken to the fever hospital in 
 Dublin. Mr. Furlong was asked to come over at once. 
 
 Even in the short time in which he was preparing 
 for his departure, his face grew thin and pinched. His 
 eyes fell into deep hollows and, from them, looked out 
 in fear and apprehension. Dicky and Anne moved 
 silently about the house, afraid to watch the things he 
 did. And then he was gone. The house was more 
 empty than ever. Certainly the common fear drew 
 them closer together. They walked to the hills ; they 
 walked far across the country. But they had little to 
 say. 
 
 " Should we have to see mother if she died ? " asked 
 Dicky once. 
 
 Anne shuddered. 
 
 " How can you talk like that, Dicky ? " she ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " I don't know," he replied. He did not know. He 
 could not appreciate the meaning of what he said. He 
 only knew that he could not bear it.
 
 120 TJE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 But in a few days there came better news. Christina 
 was getting well. There was still some danger, but 
 her improvement was constant. Dicky's heart rose up 
 and, like a lark in early spring, tried with beating wings 
 to lift above the surrounding mist. 
 
 They heard at last that she was approaching con- 
 valescence ; had, in fact, been moved to a convalescent 
 home, but was looking so fragile that they would 
 scarcely know her. A date was mentioned when they 
 might return. Upon that day, Dicky's mind swiftly 
 fixed itself, seeing there once more the breaking of the 
 sun. 
 
 Two days went by in silence, and then from Ecking- 
 ton on his red bicycle came a telegraph boy. He 
 brought a telegram addressed to Anne, standing by 
 while she read it, watching her face, for he knew the 
 news it bore. 
 
 Christina had had a relapse. The danger was worse 
 than it had been. Anne turned away with a sense of 
 dread and went alone to her room. Dicky went down 
 to the river, where for an hour he stared into the water. 
 The tears were never farther from his eyes. They 
 glittered like glass, but it was not with wetness. His 
 mind was already steeling itself for his bitter enmity 
 with God. 
 
 It was Anne at length who found him by the side of 
 the river and, in her common sense, begged him to come 
 back home to their meal. They sat then down to table, 
 eating little and in silence. Dicky made numberless
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 pellets with his bread, building them one upon another 
 in a pyramid on the table before him. 
 
 When the meal was cleared away they took the two 
 big armchairs, with books upon their laps. Neither 
 read a word from the printed page before them. And 
 the clock in the hall ticked and ticked and ticked. 
 At last the hammer rose and it struck the hour of 
 nine. 
 
 Dicky sat up suddenly in his chair. His face was 
 grey as ashes. The pupils of his eyes were large and 
 black as coal. 
 
 " Anne," he said in a hoarse voice. " I'm sure 
 mother's dead. Fin sure. I'm sure."
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 DICKY'S vision had been a true one. Almost at that 
 very hour the soul had quivered from Christina's body. 
 She lay quite still in Mr. Furlong's arms and when, 
 with bowed head, he saw the nurse leave the room, he 
 knew that he was alone. 
 
 The next morning the telegraph boy came once more 
 to the mill. Anne took the yellow envelope, but could 
 not open it. She turned away with it in her hand and 
 the sickness at her heart overcame her. Dicky took it 
 from her and tore the paper. 
 
 "I knew," said he strangely, and gave it back to 
 Anne. 
 
 The telegram had contained an order for mourning, 
 and ended with the words : " Get mourning and come 
 Dublin at once for funeral." 
 
 The sudden necessity for so long a journey was a 
 salvation to Dicky and Anne. There was no time for 
 thought, no time even for comprehension. They must 
 go and at once. 
 
 When the question of expenses was gone into, it was 
 found that Mr. Furlong had not sent enough money. 
 
 Only by travelling third class and steerage on the boat, 
 
 122
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 123 
 
 by having no meal over the journey of sixteen hours, by 
 buying nothing in the way of mourning, neither gloves, 
 nor ribbons for Anne's black hat, only by this could 
 they make the money just suffice to bring them to 
 Dublin. 
 
 "We must do that then," said Dicky, who talked 
 without tears as one who talks in a dream. 
 
 It was blowing almost a gale from the north-west 
 when they reached Holyhead that night. The rain 
 whipped and stung their cheeks as they both, with the 
 cardboard boxes containing the few things they had 
 brought, walked down from the train to the landing- 
 stage. In the violent gusts of wind the flames of the 
 lamps were blown to a blue light, whistling and hissing 
 in the semi-darkness. 
 
 Neither Anne nor Dicky had ever been to sea before. 
 The boat seemed like a great hotel. They could see 
 the rich people entering the saloons which were 
 glittering with lights and looked, to Dicky, like a 
 glimpse he had obtained through the windows of one of 
 the hotels in London. But these places were not for 
 them. When they showed their tickets they were 
 hustled into a fore part of the boat, the few bunks in 
 which were already taken. The rest of the space below 
 the deck was occupied with crates of fish yielding a 
 strong odour. They were piled one upon the top of the 
 other, leaving narrow passages to the companion-way 
 leading to the deck. 
 
 Dicky clutched their cardboard boxes very tightly,
 
 124 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 for people in Eckington had warned them that they 
 could never know whom they might meet on a long 
 journey such as that. Soon there was a loud clattering 
 as the gangways were cast off, a busy hurrying of feet 
 upon the deck above them. At last the deep note of 
 the siren vibrated through the ship and a shudder 
 passed through all the passengers at the thought of the 
 night they had to face. 
 
 A man looking round about him for some one to 
 speak to, saw Dicky's eyes in his direction and said, 
 with chattering teeth, " It may not be bad over the 
 other side." 
 
 "Are we off?"" asked Dicky. 
 
 " We are indeed, sorr," said a sailor ; " but shure 'tis 
 only two hours and three quarters ye wouldn't be 
 mindin' that. If we're up to time that's what we'll be 
 doin' ut in. But I'm afraid we'll be late. They say 'tis 
 blowin' the best part of a gale off the Kish." 
 
 " I thought it was generally smoother that side," 
 said the man with the chattering teeth. 
 
 " Well ut is an'ut isn't," replied the sailor am- 
 biguously ; " it dipinds on the wind." 
 
 He spat on his hands cheerfully and looked at Dicky. 
 
 " It dipiiids in the number o' knots in the wind," he 
 repeated. " Did ye ever hear o' knots in the wind 
 before, sorr ? " then he saw the look in Dicky's eyes as 
 the first wave struck the bows and the ship lurched out 
 into the night. He bent down to Dicky's ear. 
 
 " D'ye want to be sick ? " he whispered.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 125 
 
 " I'm not going to be sick," said Dicky bravely. 
 
 " Well, thin, go up on deck and I'll find ye a place 
 close to the mast. Ye'll be sick down here as shure as 
 wather runs." 
 
 " I can't leave Anne," said Dicky. 
 
 "An' who's Anne?" 
 
 " My sister she's over there sitting on that box." 
 
 " Lave her be there," said the sailor wisely. " Tis 
 no help for ye to be staying with her." 
 
 Dicky crossed with difficulty and asked her. 
 
 " Would you like to go up instead of me ? " he 
 inquired. 
 
 Anne shook her head. 
 
 " I'll just stay where I am," she said and, in a 
 moment of calm, the thought of Christina came to her, 
 driven away the next instant as the whole ship quivered 
 beneath a wave, the lamps rattled, and the sound of 
 toppling feet shook in her ears. 
 
 On deck, Dicky found a few passengers huddled 
 together by the companion-way. 
 
 " Just wind yeer arm around this belaying pin," the 
 sailor told him. " Ye may get splashed, mind ye. But 
 shure what harrm, 'tis salt wather. I'll come back 
 presently and see how ye're gettiu' on." 
 
 He reeled away then into the darkness, balancing 
 for one moment in absolute stillness, then struggling 
 onwards out of sight. 
 
 Dicky was splashed indeed. As the bows sank down 
 into the trough of the sea, the waves flung over her and
 
 126 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 the wind carried the spray of them like pellets hurled 
 from a catapult across the decks. In less than ten 
 minutes he was drenched to the skin. One by one the 
 passengers around him left their posts and went below. 
 But Dicky remembered what the sailor had said, and 
 clung determinedly to his belaying pin on the mast. 
 
 That was a night that lived forever in Dicky's 
 memory. He knew all the time that Christina was 
 dead, but either the knowledge had come too suddenly, 
 or his surroundings were so strange, which ever it may 
 have been, he could not bring his mind to think of it. 
 This sudden facing of God in the wind, this roaring 
 battle with the sea, occupied all his thoughts. Beyond 
 the realisation of his surroundings, he was dazed. 
 
 There was no light in the sky ; there was no light 
 across the sea. They ploughed onwards through the 
 everlasting darkness. When the waves had drenched 
 him through so that he felt the water trickling down 
 his body inside his clothes, then Dicky began to believe 
 that the world was a terrible place a chaos of shrieking 
 sounds. For the shrouds rattled like pistol shots 
 against the mast above his head ; the ventilation 
 funnels screeched as the wind swung them round in 
 its madness the whole ship tossed and moaned like a 
 woman in her agony, and Dicky wondered if it would 
 ever end. 
 
 His hands had lost all feeling. Only with his arms 
 could he still cling to the belaying pin that he held. 
 
 At last, after what had seemed a time of hours, the 
 sailor came back to him.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 127 
 
 " She takes the wather well doesn't she ? " he said 
 cheerfully. 
 
 Dicky nodded his head, not knowing what he 
 meant. 
 
 " Is ut yeer first visit to Ireland ? " the sailor con- 
 tinued, but Dicky never heard a word. The wind had 
 caught the sentence from the sailor's lips and flung it 
 far out into the night. He repeated it, shouting in 
 Dicky's ear. 
 
 " Yes," Dicky shouted back. 
 
 4< Are ye goin' to stay long ? " 
 
 " Only a few days." 
 
 " Shure what the hell's the good of crossing a night 
 like this if ye're only goin' to stay a few days ? Ye 
 ought to see some av the country 'tis a fine place. I 
 say what the hell's the good ? " 
 
 So they shrieked into each other's ears. Presently 
 the sailor pointed to a far-off light. 
 
 "That's the Kish lightship," said he. "They're 
 havin' a damn fine tossin'. We shall only be half an 
 hour late after all." 
 
 When they came in between the heads and reached 
 the harbour of Kingstown, Dicky was a shadow of 
 himself. His eyes were dull and sunken. A fit of 
 shivering had caught him. His teeth ached and 
 chattered in his head. He found Anne below guarding 
 the two cardboard boxes. She had been sorely ill, but 
 now, in the smoother water was the better for it. When 
 at last they found their carriage in the Dublin train, 
 they sat close together under the flickering oil lamp,
 
 128 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 and then Anne, touching his coat, found out that Dicky 
 was wet through. 
 
 " Oh, Dick," she whispered, " I wish you weren't so 
 wet" 
 
 " It doesn't matter," he replied. " Don't you worry 
 we'll soon be there." 
 
 But he found that last half-hour in the train the 
 longest time of all. Only that he dared not give way, 
 even before Anne, he would have cried to God to let it 
 all end and at once. For this was not only the suffering 
 of physical discomfort ; there lay also behind the con- 
 sciousness of his mind a sense of terror, of foreboding, 
 which as yet had taken no definite shape. Christina 
 was dead, but he had not come to the absolute realisa- 
 tion that the world no longer held Christina ; that when 
 he asked for her she would not be there to answer, that 
 there would be no longer sounds of the piano in the 
 evening at the mill. His whole attitude of mind was 
 that this was some fearsome nightmare, real enough 
 while it lasted, but out of which there must ultimately 
 be awakening. 
 
 With a tearing of brakes and a groaning of springs, 
 the train at last came into the station at Dublin. 
 Anne looked out of the carriage window for her father. 
 He was standing there on the platform, a black figure 
 with drawn cheeks and bloodshot eyes. She began to 
 understand it all then. 
 
 As she stepped down from the carriage, he kissed 
 her; in silence took her arm affectionately, and led
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 129 
 
 her away. For the first moment for many hours, 
 Dicky felt the hot blood in his face. There rose no 
 pride in him then. He had been ignored, left behind 
 and, with a trembling lip he followed silently behind 
 them. He questioned his mind for no reason for this 
 injustice. Whatever he had done could not allow of 
 punishment of such punishment at a time like this. 
 With all the strength of his being he cried out inwardly 
 against God and his father then. This was more than 
 he could bear. 
 
 Suddenly Mr. Furlong turned round. Anne had said 
 something to him. He came quickly back to Dicky. 
 
 " My dear boy," he said there were tears falling 
 from his red eyes "I didn't know not till Anne 
 said something about you. You see I only meant 
 Anne to come, she was the eldest. I only sent enough 
 money for her. She says you've had nothing to eat. 
 Why didn't you speak ? I should have seen you 
 then." 
 
 Dicky did not explain why he had kept silent. It 
 still remained. He had not been expected. In a 
 vivid rush of his imagination he saw all his life an 
 intrusion now that Christina was dead. 
 
 " I'm not hungry," was his reply. 
 
 " Hungry or not," said Mr. Furlong, " you must 
 eat something." And in his voice, the quickness of 
 Dicky's ear detected even then the note of authority. 
 
 But for the rest of that time in which they remained 
 in Dublin, Mr. Furlong was gentle as a child to both
 
 130 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 of them. Taking Dicky aside from Anne as they 
 walked to the Convalescent Home from which the 
 funeral was to take place, he told him with quivering 
 words of the last moments when Christina was alive. 
 
 " She had never been very religious, Dicky not 
 very. She was a true, good woman, but when she 
 died, I think she knew I think she knew the love 
 of her Maker." 
 
 "Did she say anything about me?" asked Dicky. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Furlong, " her last words were- " 
 
 " Were what ? Were what ? " 
 
 " Just Dicky Dicky Dicky three times, like 
 that" 
 
 The poor man's heart ached as he told them. He 
 had known then ; known how much more Dicky was 
 in the world to her than any one else beside. He 
 would eagerly have kept that secret to himself; but 
 the same night, upon his knees, he had prayed for 
 help to reveal it, if revelation there were in the 
 recounting of Christina's last words. 
 
 " It must be my duty to tell Dicky," he had said to 
 himself. Once he was convinced of that, he followed 
 his duty to the last. The only ease he found from 
 the pain of it was when he considered that it was 
 not necessarily his duty to tell it to Dicky before 
 Anne. Anne need never know. 
 
 After a long silence as they walked together, Dicky 
 summoned the courage to put at last the question that 
 had been occupying all his mind since their arrival.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 131 
 
 "Shall we have to see mother before she's buried ?" 
 he asked. The first thankfulness he felt for anything 
 that day was when he heard that they would not. The 
 coffin had been sealed. The light of day would never 
 fall on his mother's face again. 
 
 When he first saw the coffin being lifted on to the 
 hearse, his mind vibrated with imagination. In that he 
 could not see with his eyes, he had been saved the terror 
 of death, yet that case of polished oak, with its gaudy 
 brass fittings, made no obstacle to the vision of his 
 mind. It was his mother's body only they were lifting 
 on to the hearse. He saw her face, with eyes closed in 
 sleep, as plainly as last he had seen it when awake. 
 
 Two wreaths of white flowers were laid upon the 
 coffin. Dicky wondered what she would have said if 
 she could have seen them ; wondered if she would have 
 cared that flowers should die with her. 
 
 At last they started from the Convalescent Home to 
 the cemetery, the hearse, on the driving seat of which 
 sat three men, followed by the single closed carriage 
 in which Dicky sat with his father and Anne. They 
 sat in silence. It reminded Dicky of the moments 
 when they walked up the aisle in church to the Com- 
 munion Table. He could not feel that it had anything 
 to do with the loss of his mother. It was a strange 
 ceremony that rather kept his mind from the thought 
 of death. He felt no sympathy with it, as often he 
 felt no sympathy with going to church. 
 
 The three men upon the hearse looked really sorry. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 He felt grateful to them for that ; but then he vaguely 
 believed that they must have known his mother before 
 she died and had no wonder that they looked as they 
 did. 
 
 Yet all this time, no tear had ever come into his eyes. 
 He saw Anne sobbing in the corner of the carriage ; he 
 saw the tears trembling upon the edge of his father's 
 eyes. He knew why they were crying, but could not 
 cry himself. It was only when, as they passed along 
 a narrow road, that a crowd of urchins, playing in 
 the gutter, flung up their caps in the air, shouting 
 " Hoorah ! Hoorah ! " in shrill treble voices, it was 
 only then that a rage of anger broke the flood gates 
 of his heart and, burying his face in his hands, he let a 
 fit of weeping shake his body through and through. 
 
 After the service in the chapel, not one word of 
 which he heard, they went out into the garden of the 
 dead. There, in the midst of many white tombstones, 
 a great pit had been dug in the earth. He steeled 
 himself with clenched hands as he watched the gaudy 
 coffin being lowered beneath the ground. 
 
 " How soon that brass will get green," he thought, 
 and then he turned away. He could bear no more of 
 it 
 
 When he saw him about to walk away, Mr. Furlong 
 laid his hand gently on his arm. 
 
 " Dicky,"" he whispered, " the service isn't quite over 
 yet" 
 
 Dicky looked in his father's eyes. There was no
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 183 
 
 answer to that gaze of his. He could see and hear 
 no more. Mr. Furlong let him go. They found him 
 later in the chapel, racked and torn with the storm 
 of his weeping. 
 
 As they drove back again in the carriage, Mr. 
 Furlong leant forward and took both their hands. 
 
 " My dear children."" he said brokenly, " you've lost 
 your mother. Nothing can ever repair that loss. But 
 youVe still got me, and 111 try and be mother and 
 father to you both."
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE next two weeks at the mill were days of the 
 greatest suffering that Dicky had to bear. It was 
 there, in the familiar places, that he found the true 
 loss of his mother. Her chair had been taken away 
 from the table when they sat down to meals. The arm- 
 chair in which she used to sit in the evenings remained, 
 but no one occupied it. Its very presence tortured 
 Dicky's mind. At night there were no sounds of the 
 piano. The house was still. 
 
 Mr. Furlong would read his books of wild flowers, or 
 sit with the pages of Carlyle before him in silence until 
 they went to bed. In these days Dicky was working 
 his apprenticeship at the mill. The even monotony of 
 the work was already jarring at his nerves. All his 
 imagination was fettered in a chain of regular undevi- 
 ating hours. He was a slave as we all are but 
 recognised his slavery. The realisation of it brought a 
 bitterness to his soul. There were no moments of the 
 day or night when he could find release. 
 
 In the gentle duty of his heart, Mr. Furlong had 
 promised to be mother and father to them both. 
 Never was a man more incapable of any but the paternal 
 
 capacity. The memory of Christina sometimes rose in 
 
 134
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 185 
 
 a flood of tears to his eyes, but only when her name was 
 mentioned, or some actual incident took place which 
 vivified the knowledge of her absence. He did not miss 
 her in the long silences of the day. God knows how much 
 he may have missed her in those long silences of the night. 
 
 But with Dicky it was in the rushes of his im- 
 agination that he felt the want of her most of all. He 
 grew thin and a pallid look came into his cheeks. He 
 was fighting against greater odds than many a boy is 
 ever called upon to oppose. Mr. Furlong one day 
 remarked upon his health. 
 
 " I don't think you take enough exercise, Dicky," he 
 said. " Go out for walks go out for walks with 
 Anne." 
 
 Anne slipped her arm into his and asked where they 
 should go, but Dicky went alone. He began then 
 to think about his health. He began to grow proud of 
 the thought that he looked ill. Perhaps if he died, then 
 they would know how ill at heart he had been. 
 
 Such a state of mind as this could not last. At the 
 root of all things, in the inner being of his constitution, 
 you could have found no healthier boy than Dicky. 
 But sorrow had come to him as a master at that 
 critical age when a boy is in the internal whirlpool of 
 life. Some external influence was needed to save him 
 from himself and, seemingly, there was none. 
 
 It came at last to the breaking point. His work 
 had been done badly at the mill that day. With 
 every sense of justice in his mind, Mr. Furlong had
 
 186 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 made reference to his failure at school. Dicky listened 
 and listened till the last word was said. 
 
 "Is that all? "he asked. 
 
 Mr. Furlong had detected a note of rebellion in his 
 voice. 
 
 " That is all," said he, " and I wish no impertinence 
 from you."" 
 
 Dicky turned away in silence. There was no doubt 
 in his mind that no man can be a mother. " That's 
 all," he kept saying to himself. " That's all." But 
 he could not have said exactly what he meant by it. 
 Had he remembered it that night, he would have 
 known. 
 
 He went to his room at nine o'clock. A sense of 
 decision was working in his mind. He became 
 conscious of it when he took the bottle of ether out of 
 his pocket. The world was empty. He believed that 
 in all earnestness. The world was empty. He could 
 go to sleep and there would be no morning to wake to, 
 no other day of toilsome monotony. He did not think 
 of himself as dead, but as free. There were no romantic 
 thoughts in his mind of meeting his mother in Heaven. 
 He scarcely thought of her. He would be free, free of 
 this terrible need of companionship. 
 
 With a steady hand he uncorked the bottle and 
 poured the contents upon his pillow. The sweet pung- 
 ency of it rose to his nostrils and reached his mind in a 
 sense of relief. With the same clearness of brain, he 
 got into bed, extinguished his candle, and lay down.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 137 
 
 The fumes soothed him. He felt the numbness of 
 sleep creeping slowly up his body to his brain. He 
 believed that he said aloud, " It'll soon get to my head, 
 
 and then " but he said nothing. He just lay in 
 
 silence in the darkness and waited. 
 
 It was then, when the torpor of the anaesthetic had 
 almost overcome him, that there stole through the 
 house and to his room the sound of the piano. At first 
 he thought it was a dream. It reached his stifled senses 
 .and yet seemed far away. He asked himself if he were 
 dreaming it. But some door must have been opened in 
 the house below, for the sounds came clearer and more 
 distinct. It was Anne Anne playing the piano with 
 that gentleness of touch which she had learnt from 
 Christina in the months when he had been away at 
 school. 
 
 Then the world was not empty ! There was Anne ! 
 
 With the last energy he possessed, he pushed the 
 pillow to the floor and fell back upon his bed asleep.
 
 BOOK II 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IT is as if with those who are in her charge that 
 Destiny leads them blindfold to the very centre of 
 the maze of life. Never do they guess in whose foot- 
 steps they are following ; they scarcely know the end 
 of that journey they pursue. All unconsciously they 
 obey the voice a voice, indeed, crying within their 
 wilderness until one day the journey ends, the bandage 
 is loosened and drops from their eyes the journey ends 
 in the journey's beginning. 
 
 Then they are in the midst of the maze of life. 
 Never completely does Destiny leave them ; but here 
 she steps aside. This is the moment when the boy 
 becomes the leader of his own soul, the captain of his 
 own salvation. All around him in that circle where he 
 stands are the countless pathways leading through the 
 thorns of failure to the flowers of success, through the 
 soft avenues of pleasure to the dark forests of despair. 
 No longer Destiny leads him by the hand. Here he 
 must choose for himself. In that blindfold journey to- 
 the heart of the maze, the sinews of his character have 
 been made ; now he must use them for himself in the 
 
 journey homeward. Of himself he must choose the 
 
 138
 
 ECKINGTON BRIDGE. 
 
 W. R. DAKIX.

 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 139 
 
 path he will take, and Destiny is that marble statue 
 with impassive face which, in the centre of the maze, 
 stands high above the hedges, watching the wanderers 
 as they struggle towards their goal. 
 
 When his mother died, Dicky had indeed reached the 
 centre of the maze. The bandage had been dropped 
 from his eyes. Before him, around him, on every side, 
 he had seen the countless pathways and, in the first 
 moment of bewildered loneliness, not knowing which 
 way to choose, needing the hand of Destiny which, with 
 Christina's death, had loosed its grasp, he had courted 
 failure at the very outset. 
 
 At such an age as his most boys are still pursuing 
 their blindfold journey. The majority are men before 
 they realise they are alone. The stress of circumstance 
 had been great upon Dicky then. But no stress is 
 more than a man can bear, and the greater it is the 
 more is expected of him. 
 
 It was when Dicky cast the saturated pillow from his 
 bed that he made his first choice ; took of his own 
 accord that first pathway between the high hedges, and 
 set out upon his journey from the centre of the maze. 
 
 From that moment onward, Dicky became the leader 
 of his own soul. His first act in that leadership was 
 to choose the companionship of Anne. 
 
 The man who would do anything in this world must 
 first deposit his heart in the bank of some woman's 
 keeping. In time doubtless he will transfer it, but in 
 that time the interest she has bestowed upon it will
 
 140 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 have made it worth the more. The heart of a man 
 cannot be too big so long as his brain keeps pace with it. 
 
 Dicky gave all his heart to Anne. When once the 
 desolation of that winter had passed ; when once the 
 fairy fingers of the spring had dropped her jewelled 
 buds upon the may trees and the meadows, then a 
 great light of courage set its flame in Dicky's heart. 
 He did his work in the mill, but now, instead of bowing 
 his head beneath its monotony, contrived for every 
 moment he could be free. 
 
 Whenever he could effect his escape, they would set 
 out to the hills together, trembling as they left the 
 house lest they should be called back. 
 
 Through all this time, so certain was Mr. Furlong 
 that Dicky was destined for the mill, that in these 
 lapses from duty he saw nothing but a gross capacity 
 for idleness. Set with the best intention in the world, 
 moreover with a genuine love for Dicky, the poor man 
 was confronted with a problem he could not understand. 
 
 On one occasion when Dicky should have been at 
 work, he discovered that his time had been spent in 
 sketching. 
 
 " When are you going to drop this nonsense ? " he 
 asked in righteous anger. " Bring your sketch here and 
 show it to me. 1 " 
 
 With a mind embittered by that word nonsense 
 Dicky obediently brought his book. Mr. Furlong 
 looked at the sketch he had done ; looked at it first 
 this way and then that.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 141 
 
 " And you think it advisable," said he, " to waste 
 valuable time upon such rubbish as this ? " 
 
 " It's not rubbish," said Dicky. 
 
 " What is it then ? " demanded Mr. Furlong. " It's 
 like nothing I've ever seen in Nature. What do you 
 call this grey part here ? " 
 
 " That's a meadow." 
 
 " But meadows are green." 
 
 " Not when the mist's on them." 
 
 "But there's no definition in it," continued Mr. Furlong. 
 
 " It's the best thing I've done," said Dicky quietly. 
 
 " Well I'm sorry for you if you can't get more defi- 
 nition than that. There's no shape in the thing at all." 
 
 " I didn't want to get shape," Dicky replied. " I 
 wanted to get mist. Mist makes everything shapeless." 
 
 " Then you've missed it," said his father, and smiled 
 at his little jest. It was no doubt a gentle attempt of 
 his to avoid the argument in which he felt he was 
 the loser. Had Dicky smiled with him perhaps all 
 might have been well. But though he wanted to smile, 
 Dicky kept it back. The matter was too serious for 
 him. To have treated it lightly then would have been 
 false to all his ambition. With a stolid expression he 
 looked back in his father's eyes saying nothing. 
 
 The subconscious knowledge that his little attempt 
 had failed, the conscious realisation that Dicky had 
 chosen to make himself superior to his humour, irritated 
 Mr. Furlong beyond control. With quivering fingers 
 he tore up the book in front of Dicky's face.
 
 142 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 " If I find you pursuing this ridiculous nonsense any 
 longer," he said, and his voice quivered ; " wasting your 
 valuable time at the mill, and behaving generally like 
 a young fool, I shall find some drastic means to put a 
 stop to it." 
 
 In silence Dicky began to pick up the pieces from the 
 floor. 
 
 " Leave those there, sir ! " thundered Mr. Furlong. 
 
 " You often tell us not to be untidy," said Dicky. 
 
 " Leave those there ! " repeated Mr. Furlong. " The 
 untidiness I make, I am quite capable of seeing to 
 myself." 
 
 That was the early morning of a Good Friday. By 
 half past ten, Mr. Furlong had put on his black coat, 
 his gloves and hat, and come down into the square hall 
 with his prayer-book under his arm. Anne was there 
 waiting. Now that her hair was put up there often 
 seemed to be a look of Christina in her face. Mr. 
 Furlong noticed it that morning. He put his hands on 
 her shoulders and looked into her eyes. 
 
 " What is it ? " she asked. 
 
 " Nothing," said he. " Where's Dicky ? " 
 
 Anne knew well enough but hesitated to say. She 
 had heard what had happened that morning, and all 
 her sympathies were on Dicky's side. As Mr. Furlong 
 went to the foot of the stairs and called, her heart beat 
 a little quicker on Dicky's account. She knew well his 
 frame of mind just then and trembled for what might 
 happen.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 148 
 
 " Dicky ! " called Mr. Furlong for the second time 
 id in a louder voice. 
 
 After a moment Dicky appeared at the top of the 
 stairs with an old, dilapidated hat in his hand. 
 
 "You can't go to church in that hat," said his 
 father. 
 
 " I was not going to church," said he. 
 
 " Not going to church ? " 
 
 " No, father." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " I didn't feel I wanted to." 
 
 " But, my dear boy, this is Christ's day." 
 
 The face of Bertha Geddes sped across Dicky's mind. 
 
 " I'm sorry," he replied. " I know it's Good Friday, 
 but I don't know how you can expect me to feel like 
 going to church after what happened this morning, 
 ['m boiling inside still." 
 
 For a moment surprise confused Mr. Furlong's mind. 
 Can there ever be a moment, he asked himself, when a 
 father loses command over his child ? And if such a 
 moment must come, then surely with his children it 
 had not come so soon as this? In that moment of 
 confusion, he felt alone in the house. These two were 
 against him. He could feel it in the expectant silence 
 of Anne ; he could see it in the glitter of Dicky's eye. 
 This was a moment, he told himself, when the heaviness 
 of his hand must be felt. Not the whole life force of 
 the new generation would have made him give in then. 
 Reason and logic he cast from him for it is ever at a
 
 144 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 moment like this that a man chooses the wrong weapons 
 and, going to the foot of the stairs, he clutched the 
 bannisters. 
 
 " Get your hat at once,"" he said. Even through the 
 stillness of his voice, Dicky could see there was no 
 control. 
 
 " What for ?" asked Dicky. 
 
 " You're to come to church,"" said Mr. Furlong. 
 
 " I don't see any good in going to church when I 
 hate it." 
 
 "Then you'll go to church because you must obey 
 me,"" thundered his father. 
 
 " Of course," said Dicky, " that's a different matter," 
 and he went to get his hat. 
 
 All through the reading of the lessons that day a 
 duty both morning and evening which Mr. Furlong had 
 fulfilled without a break every Sunday for six years 
 the poor man questioned himself, wondering in his 
 calmer moments whether he had really retained the full 
 power of his authority. In those moments Dicky was 
 drawing faces on little scraps of paper and passing them 
 down the pew to Anne. 
 
 That night at prayers, Mr. Furlong chose to read a 
 portion of Scripture which dealt with filial duty. His 
 voice had tears in it as he read. 
 
 When she had gone to bed, Anne heard a noise out- 
 side her room and saw a slip of paper thrust under her 
 door. She picked it up. It was a caricature of Mr. 
 Furlong whipping Dicky with the Bible.
 
 CHAFrER II 
 
 NEARING the summit of Bredon Hill there stood in 
 those days an oak tree with wide spreading boughs, 
 with gnarled and knotted trunk that had faced the 
 winds of a hundred winters and more. For long years 
 its upper branches had been caught by the north-west 
 gales. From the valley below it looked like a Valkyrie 
 woman's head, with loosened hair, combed out in the 
 wind as she might ride to battle. 
 
 It was this tree which became a secret place to Dicky 
 and Anne. By slow degrees, visiting it one day and 
 another, they built there, in its branches, a house. 
 None but the most curious traveller would ever have 
 suspected their secret, and there were few but the 
 shepherd who ever climbed the slopes of Bredon Hill. 
 
 From the topmost branches, Dicky could see wide 
 across the distant country and, on the platform below 
 him, itself some twenty feet above the ground, Anne 
 would sit by the hours together where even the sun 
 could not pierce the dense roof of foliage above her 
 head. 
 
 From one branch to another they slung a hammock, 
 taking it in turns to lie there with a book through the 
 
 late hot afternoons of summer. Here, in fact, Dicky 
 L H5
 
 14-6 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 first learnt the love of reading, beginning that education 
 of himself which he had never pursued at school. One 
 by one he brought up the books from the bookshelves 
 at the mill, returning them again when finished. 
 Carlyle he read devouringly. At that age he found 
 in the " Heroes " all that he needed for great incentive. 
 While Anne sewed and it was his turn to lie in the 
 hammock, he would read aloud to her his favourite 
 passages passages he had read to himself time and 
 time again. 
 
 Dicky learnt much in those days. From the topmost 
 branches of the tree, he drank in Nature as the leaves 
 around him drank the light. He watched the face of 
 the sky until, like the face of a woman he might love, 
 he came to know its every change of expression, to 
 learn the passing meaning of the clouds. It was what 
 he had done before when he lay in Christina's bed in 
 Christina's room. But they told more than stories to 
 him now, those clouds that raced across or lingered in 
 the heavens. He came to know the meaning of them 
 all the cloud that bears for rain, the cloud that bears 
 for wind, the cloud that a summer breeze has caught, 
 like a sheep strayed far beyond its fold. 
 
 And then, at last, there came to Dicky the great 
 incentive, the spirit of inspiration which first set light 
 in him the overpowering desire to conquer all he knew. 
 
 It is in the nature of many artists to feel all and 
 know little. They rush to expression then as a man 
 to the pleasure of wine. To them expression is both
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 147 
 
 stimulant and drug. To acquire it they will whip 
 themselves into feeling a flagellation of the spirit to 
 excite their abnormal passion for Art. 
 
 But there are a few men whom the world has chosen 
 to be great who not only feel, but know. To these, 
 expression is the natural function of their spirit, the 
 relief which Nature gives to the body she controls. 
 They, indeed, are fathers of the children of the mind. 
 Their passion for Art is no unnatural one. Their 
 highest aim is not to gratify themselves. Gratification 
 they have indeed for this is the compensatory balance 
 which Nature has not denied to any man but they 
 suffer, too, the agony of spirit, such travail as all true 
 women suffer in their great hour of deliverance. So 
 long, then, as they are true to what they know, these 
 men are the fathers of the mind, just as surely as all 
 true women are the mothers of the race. Once let 
 them be false, once let them seek expression for the 
 gratification that it gives, as men seek the light woman 
 for the pleasures she will spare, then you will see the 
 beginning of the end that end which is the libertinage 
 of Art. 
 
 To acquire knowledge then and to acquire it un- 
 ceasingly, is the first duty of the artist. He will 
 always feel, for he was born to feel ; but knowledge is 
 a prey, as elusive as the doe in flight. To keep it 
 within view, a man must pursue it till the end. 
 
 In that Dicky had pursued the knowledge of Nature 
 from the first moment when his eyes were clear to see,
 
 148 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 he was on the way towards that greatness which the 
 name of Richard Furlong carries to us now. Feeling 
 he had had, too, but as yet the great need of expression 
 had not found its full life in him. Both in body and 
 in mind he was still a boy upon the very verge of man- 
 hood. It needed but the touch of a woman's hand, the 
 glance of a woman's eye, to launch his spirit on to the 
 waters, to set him forth upon that voyage of discovery 
 from which no man can ever return to the days of his 
 youth. 
 
 And ever it is that when the woman is needed, the 
 woman is there. Fate, Destiny call it what you will 
 has charge of the spirit that needs a mate. When- 
 ever a boy is at the gates of manhood, Providence finds 
 some woman to lead him through. It is women who 
 make the souls of men, as it is women who give them 
 birth. 
 
 One afternoon, late in summer, when he was free 
 from his duties at the mill, Dicky set out for the oak 
 tree where Anne had gone but an hour before him. 
 The roads were dusty, the hedges white. He kept to 
 the fields, walking in the shadows as they fell from the 
 hedgerows. 
 
 In his pocket lay a copy of Darwin which, in direct 
 disobedience to his father's commands, he had purchased 
 in Pershore, and was reading day by day in his seat in 
 the oak tree. That preface to the " Origin of Species " 
 had brought a lump to his throat as he read. The 
 modest simplicity of so great a man, offering so great a
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 149 
 
 work to the world, in words so unvarnished and so 
 plain, had brought close to him the sense of his own 
 littleness. He felt it to be a just reproof, raising the 
 tears almost to his eyes. 
 
 He had been reading it aloud to Anne. Anne sewed 
 and thought she listened ; but she heard no more than 
 if the wind had been stirring through the oak leaves. 
 Darwin meant nothing to Anne. Darwin means noth- 
 ing to any woman ; for within her very essence lie 
 revealed all the secrets that he found, lie hidden all the 
 secrets that no man will ever know. 
 
 Again and again as he walked, Dicky's hand would 
 wander to his pocket to see that the book was safely 
 there. The country all around him had too close a 
 hold upon his thoughts to let him remember for long 
 that it was secure. His eyes were ever watching for 
 effects of light, his mind ever comparing near with 
 distant tones. In those days his eagerness to see, his 
 insensate desire to know, mastered him in everything 
 he did. 
 
 It was as he climbed up the hillside, nearing the oak 
 tree, that he heard voices and stood still. Some one 
 was talking to Anne. He could hear her voice in 
 answer. Then some one had discovered their secret 
 the sacred privacy of that place was gone. He would 
 never be able to bring up his books again and read in 
 the hammock without fear of discovery or interruption. 
 Here was another joy of life broken by a single blow. 
 
 " Damn ! " said Dicky within himself, then added an
 
 150 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 apology, but to whom he did not know. It was the 
 first time in his life he had sworn. 
 
 After a moment he crept quietly up to a point where 
 he could see the platform in the branches without 
 being seen himself. Anne, as usual, was seated there, 
 as usual sewing, but in the hammock, swinging back- 
 wards and forwards in easy enjoyment, was Dorothy 
 Ixjggatt. 
 
 After a moment's hesitation he gave the call to 
 Anne that whistling of the first bar of the refrain 
 of the British Grenadiers, the very tune with which 
 Dicky enters into this biography. At the end of it he 
 called her name. Even in the sound of his voice, Anne 
 knew her guilt. 
 
 " He's awfully angry," she whispered to Dorothy as 
 she swiftly put aside her sewing and commenced to 
 climb to the ground. Dorothy checked the swinging 
 of the hammock, waiting with stilled breath for the 
 verdict upon her presence in the oak tree. She could 
 hear their voices in subdued altercation, but could 
 follow no word that was said. 
 
 As soon as Anne had reached the ground, Dicky 
 beckoned to her. 
 
 " I don't want her to hear," he said when she had 
 reached his side. " Why on earth did you let her come 
 up ? It's all spoilt now. She knows. She'll tell 
 every one." 
 
 " She's promised on her dying solemn oath she won't," 
 said Anne. " I made her say it."
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 151 
 
 " Yes but why did you let her come ? " 
 
 " I didn't let her I couldn't help it. I was up there 
 when she came along and I sat as quietly as ever I 
 possibly could. But she came right underneath the 
 tree, and then she saw. I told her you wouldn't 
 like it." 
 
 " She didn't seem to care much," said Dicky, " swing- 
 ing about in the hammock. Well of course it's spoilt 
 it all now. Can't you tell her to go ? " 
 
 As though she had anticipated the issue of their con- 
 versation, Dorothy had descended, and now appeared 
 at the foot of the tree. 
 
 " It's all right I'm going, Anne," said she, and with 
 one short, reproachful glance into Dicky's eyes, she had 
 started off down the hillside. 
 
 Dicky looked after her, surprise mingling with in- 
 decision in his face. 
 
 " When did she put her hair up ? " he asked 
 presently. 
 
 "'Bout a week ago," said Anne. "It makes her 
 look awfully pretty." 
 
 " It makes her much older," said Dicky ; " she looks 
 quite grown up," and he climbed up slowly into the 
 oak tree.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 DOROTHY walked back to Eckington a different girl 
 than when she had set out. In that quick instant she 
 had seen the new regard of her in Dicky's eyes, had 
 seen it perhaps the more readily since she had antici- 
 pated its coming. 
 
 There are a thousand signs by which a girl knows she 
 is approaching womanhood ; not one of these, facetious 
 though it may sound, brings such complete realisation 
 as when she lengthens her frock and first puts up her 
 hair. These are the outward and visible signs which 
 herald her entry into the arena where is fought out the 
 everlasting antagonism between men and women. 
 
 The nearer you approach barbarism the more formal 
 and ceremonious is this moment made. A dance is 
 given, a party is held. She is shown to the world as 
 a woman. In a barbarous state of things doubtless she 
 feels it less. But with a girl in such station of life 
 as Dorothy, the moment is one of tremulous and 
 exhilarating excitement. 
 
 The concern she had grown at its inception had been 
 ostensibly on account of her appearance. Mrs. Leggatt 
 had done her hair for her, first this way and then that. 
 
 Considerably more than an hour was spent before both 
 
 152
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 153 
 
 were satisfied. But beneath this outward concern there 
 was the deeper knowledge that now from that moment 
 she was a different being. 
 
 When her mother had left her, bidding her good- 
 night, she sat long before the mirror regarding her 
 reflection. From a child she had thought of Dicky, as 
 a playmate who would not play with her. Now, seeing 
 herself a woman, she thought of Dicky as a man. 
 Would he still pass her by ; still look at her with 
 unconcern ? The reflection in the mirror could not 
 answer. It looked at her with a faint lifting of the 
 eyebrows, a faint shadow of doubt within the eyes. 
 
 Yet this, it seemed, were a more serious matter than 
 the other had been. A new pride she had not dreamed 
 of was involved within her now. She thought of his 
 disregarding her as of old and a hot flush burnt in the 
 cheeks of that face she saw reflected in the glass. 
 
 Wasn't she pretty ? She did not know. In every 
 attitude, at every angle, she looked at her face. It was 
 impossible to think she was ugly. Far away beyond 
 conceit she believed that she looked well ; that men 
 would consider her with favour. But would Dicky 
 look at her? 
 
 She had stood the looking-glass upon her bed, 
 advancing and retreating before it that she might 
 see every effect. Would Dicky look at her ? With 
 sudden fingers she undid the blouse about her neck, 
 dragged it from the shoulders, arranging it about her 
 breast as once she had seen her mother dressed on
 
 154 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 a night when Mr. Allen, the organist, had given a. 
 concert in Pershore. 
 
 Now would Dicky look at her? As she gazed at 
 herself she felt her heart beat quicker. She saw her 
 lips parted as the breath came hastily between them. 
 In a sudden sense of shame she pushed the mirror back 
 upon the bed and, with trembling fingers, began pulling 
 out the hairpins till her warm brown hair was hanging 
 down once more. For the moment she was a girl 
 again. 
 
 The next day she had dressed it again upon her 
 head, but in a calmer frame of mind ; yet in the days 
 that followed, the thought of Dicky returned continu- 
 ously. At last she had determined to walk past the 
 mill in the hope that they might meet. The mill was 
 working, but Dicky was nowhere to be seen. Continu- 
 ing her way then to Bredon Hill, she had discovered 
 Anne in the oak tree. Finally Dicky had come, and 
 Dicky had looked at her. 
 
 Now she was returning to Eckington, a different girl 
 than when she had set out. It hurt her, indeed, that 
 he had been annoyed at finding her there, that he had 
 not wished her to stay. But she had come down from 
 the oak tree of her own accord. By reason of this new 
 pride which she had found, she had determined that no 
 persuasion would ever induce her to stay, and all this 
 decision of action had arisen out of the knowledge that 
 she was a different being. With that dramatic sense 
 which is the gift of every woman, she chose to descend
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 155 
 
 from the oak tree then ; to go while they were still 
 talking of her. Dicky had never seen her with her hair 
 done up ; wherefore, when she reached the ground, she 
 had anticipated that look in his eyes. The whole way 
 home the remembrance of it thrilled her. Often as she 
 walked along, a smile half parted her lips. When 
 any one passed her on the road, instinctively her hand 
 rose to her hair to thrust in a hairpin, to push aside a 
 fine lock of hair which, loosened, had fallen across her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Mother, " she said to Mrs. Leggatt the next morn- 
 ing as she helped her with the household duties of the 
 day. " Mother, when does a man first fall in love ? " 
 
 Mrs. Leggatt stopped in the work she was doing. 
 Had she been Christina and the question had been asked 
 by Anne, she would have continued her work without a 
 pause. 
 
 " Why do you ask that, Dorothy ? " she enquired. 
 
 " I I was reading in one of the books father has on 
 the bookshelves " 
 
 " One of those yellow-backed books ? " 
 
 " Yes.' 1 
 
 " What were you reading ? " 
 
 "About about a boy of just seventeen falling in 
 love." 
 
 Mrs. Leggatt took her daughter's face in her hands 
 and looked sadly into her eyes. 
 
 " Are you beginning to think of these things already ? '" 
 she asked.
 
 156 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 " Why already ? I've got my hair up." 
 
 "That doesn't make a woman of you, my dear,"* 
 replied Mrs. Leggatt, and she tried to convince her 
 heart that that was true. " You oughtn't to read those 
 books yet. They weren't written for little girls." 
 
 " But Fm not a little girl." 
 
 Mrs. Leggatt smiled and took away her hands. 
 
 " You say that as if I had said something that wasn't 
 kind. Please God there'll never come a time when 
 you'll long to be able to say it of yourself, not at least 
 until the years compel you to. Why don't you like to 
 be a little girl ? " 
 
 " I've been a little girl," said Dorothy petulantly ; 
 " it's different now. I suppose you don't want to tell 
 me." 
 
 "Tell you what?" 
 
 "What I asked you when a man first falls in 
 love." 
 
 " What does the yellow-backed book say ? " 
 
 " Well, I told you. It's about a boy of seventeen. 
 Can a boy of seventeen fall in love ? " 
 
 " If the book says so I expect it's right." 
 
 Dorothy turned away. 
 
 " That's not an answer," said she. 
 
 " Well, my dear child how can I answer ? A boy 
 of seventeen may just as likely fall in love as a man of 
 fifty. You can never know when it will come to any 
 one man or woman." 
 
 " When did you fall in love ? " asked Dorothy.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 157 
 
 The poor woman turned away and went on with her 
 work. The tears had gathered quickly in her eyes. 
 It was now more bitterly than ever that she felt the 
 punishment of her folly. She could not look her own 
 child in the face to give her that advice and counsel 
 which every child must need. The very thought that 
 Dorothy knew so little of the past she would not have 
 asked such questions had it been present in her mind 
 filled her with a sense of dread for that moment when she 
 must come to know and understand it all. 
 
 But something in the line of her shoulders as she 
 turned away brought the consciousness of it quickly to 
 Dorothy's mind. In a moment she was at her mother's 
 side, her arms about her neck. She guessed, but did 
 not know even then. Only the faintest rumours of that 
 scandal had ever reached her ears. Being a child, and 
 in the very house where it had happened, no one had 
 ever spoken of it to her, as at the time, they had spoken 
 freely of it in Eckington. Mr. Allen had been sent 
 away. For many days her mother had been in tears, 
 and for many weeks had never ventured out of the house 
 until it was dark. A sense of shame and disgrace had 
 fallen upon the family, repelling all childish curiosity. 
 She had asked no questions at the time and, since then, 
 life had gone on in its accustomed ways. She had 
 almost forgotten it. 
 
 But now, upon an impulse, she knew that what she 
 had always guessed was true. Her mother had loved 
 Mr. Allen. With that knowledge came rushing the
 
 158 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 thousand possibilities vaguely, nebulously, to her 
 mind. 
 
 " Dearest," she whispered. " I'm so sorry I didn't 
 mean it like that. 11 
 
 The little courage which the wretched woman still 
 possessed was lifted by her daughter's pity. 
 
 " Like what ? " said she. " Like what ? " 
 
 " You loved Mr. Allen, didn't you ? " 
 
 " Did your father tell you that ? " 
 
 " No. 11 
 
 " Then how did you know ? " 
 
 " I guessed." 
 
 For one moment Mrs. Leggatt looked at Dorothy ; 
 one moment in which she yet had hope to keep the 
 secret from her still. The moment passed and then her 
 eyes fell. It was too late. Dorothy was quite right. 
 She was different now. No longer was she a little girl ! 
 Something had taught her ; some sleeping instinct had 
 awakened. She knew now the meaning that love can 
 bring into a woman's life. There was nothing she could 
 hide from her now. Often and often she had meant 
 to give her a false impression concerning Mr. Allen's 
 sudden departure, but she had left it over long. It 
 was too late now. In a few more months, in a few 
 more days, perhaps, she would come to understand it 
 all. As her eyes fell, she shuddered. 
 
 " Mother, 11 said Dorothy presently, when the silence 
 had expressed the countless words which passed 
 through both their minds. " Mother do you think
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 159 
 
 that's why the Furlongs don't like me to be with 
 them ? " 
 
 Mrs. Leggatt looked quickly up. A bright light of 
 anger was in her eyes. All a mother's instinct for 
 protection stirred fiercely in her then. 
 
 " What have they done ? " she asked. 
 
 Dorothy told her of what had happened in the oak 
 tree. 
 
 " It wasn't Anne at all," she added ; " it was Dicky." 
 
 Mrs. Leggatt smiled again. 
 
 "If it wasn't Anne," said she, "it doesn't matter. 
 It's women who make the laws for women ; women who 
 judge their own kind. If it was only Dicky, that's not 
 the reason. Men don't censure women who have loved. 
 It's only women who hate them. They hate them in 
 self-defence. If it was only Dicky, you needn't mind. 
 P'raps he's in love with you and doesn't know it." 
 
 It was when she said that, and when she saw the look 
 in Dorothy's eyes, that she would have given years from 
 her life to have those words back again.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 FOR the whole of the next week, Dicky waited in 
 expectant apprehension of Wilfrid appearing at the 
 oak tree. The days of their friendship were long over. 
 No two boys who once were friends could have grown 
 more dissimilar in their pursuits. During the eighteen 
 months in which Dicky had been away at school in the 
 north, all ties had been severed between them. The 
 growth of Wilfrid^s mind had been too slow. When 
 he came back for his last holidays Dicky found that 
 they had nothing in common. Wilfrid had found 
 another companion at his father's school, and there the 
 whole friendship had ended ; not in enmity not in 
 dislike. It had died because there was no food left 
 upon which it could eke out the merest existence. 
 
 And now, with growing apprehension, Dicky waited 
 in full confidence, believing that as soon as he had 
 heard of it, Wilfrid would be drawn by the glory of 
 secrecy, and come at once to the oak tree. But Wilfrid 
 never came. 
 
 At last Dicky grew to believe that Dorothy had kept 
 her dying solemn oath. She had not told any one. 
 Against all his pre-conceived ideas he found she was 
 capable of regarding a secret. 
 
 He thought about this often at night, and with 
 160
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 161 
 
 astonishment. For not only had she kept the secret, 
 she also herself had never appeared at the oak tree again. 
 Seeing that now she knew, that seemed rather foolish to 
 Dicky. After a week, he questioned Anne about it. 
 
 "I don't see how you could have expected her to 
 have done anything else," said Anne. " You showed 
 her plainly enough that you didn't want her to be 
 there. She's fearfully sensitive. She's always thinking 
 that people don't want to speak to her because oh 
 well, you know why." 
 
 " Why ? " asked Dicky. 
 
 " Her mother, of course." 
 
 " Oh ! " That had never entered Dicky's head. But 
 now he was taking his first lessons in that strange art of 
 little things which guide the whole course of women's 
 lives. He had not realised till then that Dorothy's life 
 might still be in the shadow of her mother's folly. 
 Whenever he had seen her himself, the thought had 
 never entered his head. Now suddenly he became 
 doubly conscious of it ; conscious most of all that this 
 Dorothy, whom he had despised, had a sorrow of her 
 very own to bear, moreover bore it bravely too. 
 
 As the thought materialised in his mind, he turned 
 quickly to Anne. 
 
 " Ask her to come up to the tree again," said he. 
 
 Anne flung her arms round his neck. 
 
 " Oh, Dicky ! " she exclaimed, " may I really ? She 
 will be so glad. And you can read just the same. It 
 won't matter her being there." 
 
 Dicky turned away.
 
 162 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 " Oh, I don't mean when I am there," said he. " She 
 wouldn't understand Darwin. She'd hate it. No you 
 can ask her when I'm not there. I shan't be able to 
 come till at least six to-morrow. There's a huge load 
 coming in in the morning. Take her along with you 
 to-morrow afternoon." 
 
 At three o'clock the next day, Dicky heard the click 
 of the catch on the wicket gate. Without inquiring 
 of the reason in his mind, he climbed the ladder into 
 the mill loft, where the grey dust lay deep like snow 
 upon the rafters ; there he watched Anne from a window 
 in the gable as she walked along the road towards the hill. 
 
 " Lord ! " he said aloud, " I wish I was a girl," and of 
 all girls would have been the most miserable in the world 
 had his wish been gratified. 
 
 He followed her with his eyes till she was out of sight, 
 wondering, as he climbed down the ladder, what girls 
 found to talk about when they were alone. For the 
 next hour he could think of nothing else but those two, 
 sitting there by themselves in the oak tree, while he had 
 to pursue his monotonous labours in the mill. Loathing 
 his work as he did, the seeming injustice of it was almost 
 unbearable. He kept looking out of the window, with 
 eyes bent longingly in the direction of Bredon Hill. 
 
 Of course Dorothy would be gone before he could get 
 there. But would it ever even reach the hour of six, 
 when he could start. From the moment the clock had 
 struck four he would look at it every five minutes. It 
 occurred to him then that he had never known how 
 grotesquely long was the period of a man's life. If
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 163 
 
 minutes went as slowly as that, it was well-nigh im- 
 possible to have any conception of the three-score years 
 and ten. 
 
 At half-past four, Mr. Furlong ordered the trap to be 
 got ready, informing Dicky that he was driving into 
 Pershore. He left instructions for as much work to be 
 done as Dicky could well accomplish by six o'clock. 
 
 " If you put your shoulder to the wheel," said he, 
 " you'll be able to get away by six. I believe in work- 
 ing under pressure, it doesn't do anybody any harm." 
 
 " I shan't be later anyhow than half-past six," said 
 Dicky. 
 
 Mr. Furlong's mind was easy as he rode away. If he 
 works till half-past six, he thought, I can't grumble. 
 But Dicky had not the faintest intention of working for 
 another moment. No sooner had the rumble of the 
 trap's wheels died away along the road than he was 
 using the utmost of his persuasions to induce one of the 
 men in the mill to do the work for him. By bribery 
 and that corruption of the way Dicky had with him 
 when his needs were great, he gained his point. WiH'um 
 agreed to do his work as well as his own. The sixpence 
 a week which Dicky was now getting in pocket money 
 was pledged for a fortnight in order to gain his ends. 
 
 He could not have said why on this afternoon in 
 particular he was so anxious to be free. The sky was 
 cloudless, the sun a fierce flame in the heavens. There 
 were none of those tones of light across the meadows 
 or in the shadow of the hills to stir his interest in the 
 
 countryside. The sun was bleaching the colour out of 
 M 2
 
 164 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 the world. Even the distant forests which could be as 
 blue as the seas of the Orient, were paled to a misty 
 grey. The heat was intense. Only the incessant hum 
 of insects, the bees in the meadows, the dragon-flies 
 across the reeds, gave evidence that the world was yet 
 alive. Not a leaf stirred on the willow trees. It was 
 the insects alone that dared to move on so hot a day. 
 
 As soon as he had made sure that his duties would be 
 done, Dicky effected his escape. He closed the wicket 
 gate in silence and started running down the road. By 
 the road was the shortest way. True, it was dusty and 
 hotter there than through the meadows. A flock of 
 sheep in the distance, with the old shepherd at their 
 heels, raised a white cloud of dust that hung about 
 them as they walked. But Dicky chose the road. 
 
 " Afternoon, Master Dicky," said the shepherd, " 'e 
 be in a fair hurry for a hot day."" 
 
 Dicky wiped the perspiration from his forehead. 
 
 " Mr. Angel," he said, coming up close to the shep- 
 herd's side, " don't ever say you saw me out here this 
 afternoon." 
 
 " I woan't, indeed," said the shepherd slowly ; " but 
 look you, supposin' I'm asked what be I to do then ? " 
 
 " I suppose you wouldn't tell a lie ? " suggested Dicky. 
 
 " No indeed no," said the shepherd. " How could 
 I do that if I were asked fair an 1 square ? How could 
 I say I didn't see you when I did ? " 
 
 " You mightn't have seen me," said Dicky, " if I'd 
 gone by the meadows ; but I should have been out all 
 the same. You can't work in a mill on a day like this.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 165 
 
 I can't. Well that's what you can do imagine I went 
 by the meadows you needn't really have seen me at 
 all. I don't suppose you'll be asked anyhow." 
 
 Feeling then that he had wasted enough time over 
 a purely hypothetical possibility, Dicky went on with 
 lengthy strides. The shepherd followed behind with 
 his sheep, watching his swiftly diminishing figure. 
 
 "That's right enough," said he to himself, "if he'd 
 gone by the meadows ; but if Mr. Furlong asks me did 
 I see 'en on the road, what be I to do then but say I 
 did ? Mrs. Angel might know summat else I could 
 say. I'm dommed if I do." 
 
 In less than twenty minutes, Dicky had reached the 
 foot of the hill, had stopped, breathless, to whistle the 
 call. Before he had finished it, there came the answer- 
 ing whistle from the oak tree and, as he mounted the 
 steep hill path, he listened keenly for the sound of 
 voices. Everything was silent. A heron soared over 
 the hill through the burnished blue of the sky, sinking 
 down to the trees that clustered by the river. Dicky 
 watched that great comprehensive sweeping of the 
 wings. In the vast silence about him, it almost seemed 
 that he could hear the whirr of the beating pinions as 
 the great bird passed overhead. 
 
 As soon as he had partially gained his breath, he set 
 to the same pace again up the hill. Presently he saw 
 the figure of Anne descending to meet him. Then she 
 was alone. Imperceptibly his pace slackened in a 
 scarcely conscious sense of disappointment. 
 
 " What is it ? " he asked before she had reached his side.
 
 166 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 " I thought you weren't coming till after six," said 
 Anne. " Dorothy's still there." 1 
 
 " Oh well, it doesn't matter," said Dicky. " If she 
 doesn't like my reading, she'll have to put up with it. 
 I got WilTum to do my work. Father's gone in to 
 Pershore." 
 
 " I don't expect she'll mind," said Anne. 
 
 It was full of embarrassment, that meeting of theirs 
 in the oak tree. Dicky felt the warmth in his cheeks, 
 and said it was the hottest day they had had that year. 
 Dorothy leant uncomfortably against one of the 
 branches with a none too certain foothold. She felt as 
 though everything were slipping from beneath her feet. 
 Even the consciousness of being so high above the 
 ground made her feel suddenly ill-at-ease. 
 
 " Where are you going to sit ? " asked Dicky, " be- 
 cause I'm going to read. I suppose you'd better lie in 
 the hammock, hadn't you ? " 
 
 "No I can sit here easily," she replied. "I can 
 sit on the platform, Dicky. You always have the 
 hammock, don't you?" 
 
 " Did Anne say that ?" he asked. 
 
 "I said you liked it," said Anne; "but we take it 
 in turns. It's your turn to-day. That's what I told 
 Dorothy." 
 
 Dicky spread out the hammock, then looked at 
 Dorothy. 
 
 "In you get," said he. And she obeyed. 
 
 For half an hour then, Dicky's voice made a dim 
 monotonous note in the silence of the day. He found
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 167 
 
 the " Origin of Species "" more difficult to understand 
 then than he had done at other times. The passages 
 seemed more complex. He was scarcely aware that 
 there were moments when his eyes wandered from the 
 printed page to the profile of Dorothy's face as she lay 
 in the hammock. He did not realise that it is difficult 
 to follow the intricate law of Evolution, considering at 
 the same time the suddenly discovered beauties of a 
 woman's face. Anne had been quite right. Dorothy 
 was a prettier girl since she had put up her hair. He 
 could not follow what difference it had made. He did 
 not even know where her prettiness lay. It had not 
 been in the nature of his instinct in Art to consider 
 the beauties of line in a woman face. He did not 
 perceive in the warm fulness of her lips that promise 
 of caresses a promise which has beauty in itself. It 
 did not appeal to him that the whole line of her 
 face, from her forehead to her throat, had a grace of 
 proportion, that the grey eyes were set honestly and 
 wide apart. It was more he liked the character he 
 saw ; yet character there was little. A certain degree 
 of patience, a great look of fidelity in the eyes, a need 
 for great love that lay in the half-drooping corners of 
 her mouth. 
 
 But of real character this was all. She had few of 
 the subtleties of her sex, none of its brilliant flashes 
 of a superior intelligence. Yet the character he found 
 there made Dicky say to himself that Anne was right. 
 Dorothy was prettier since she had put up her hair. 
 Thinking all these things, he went on reading aloud,
 
 168 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 wondering why the " Origin of Species " was so difficult 
 to understand. 
 
 " Getting tired of it ? " he asked presently, looking 
 up from the pages. 
 
 Both of them stirred quickly and emphatically de- 
 clared that they were not. He was surprised at the 
 sound of genuine interest in their voices, not realising 
 that he had asked because he was getting tired of it 
 himself. 
 
 Presently Anne laid down her work. 
 
 " Wait a moment, Dicky," she said. " Dorothy, did I 
 give you a piece of that stuff to hold when we came up ?" 
 
 Dorothy shook her head. 
 
 " Well, just see if you're lying on it in the hammock. 1 " 
 
 Dicky waited. The piece of material was not to be 
 found. Anne rolled up the sewing in her lap. 
 
 "I shall have to go back," said she. "I must get 
 this finished to-day, and IVe left a piece behind me." 
 She rose to her feet. Dorothy began slowly to descend 
 from the hammock. 
 
 " Are you both going ? " exclaimed Dicky. 
 
 " I must," said Anne. 
 
 " I suppose Fd better," said Dorothy. 
 
 Dicky shut up the book. 
 
 " Oh, I say ! What awful rot ! After sweating all 
 this way out here. 1 ' 
 
 The sublime selfishness of his sex did not seem to 
 appeal to any of them. The world is full of women 
 who are content to listen to the " Origin of Species " ; 
 the world is full of men who expect such contentment
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 169 
 
 of them. Here they were, studying Darwin's law of 
 Selection, with the very law taking force under their 
 eyes, and none of them, not even Dicky himself, had 
 understood a word of what he had been reading. 
 
 "Dorothy needn't come," said Anne. In the back 
 of her heart, far behind her own consciousness, she had 
 determined that Dorothy should stay. 
 
 " Well, I don't suppose she cares very much for the 
 reading," said Dicky, hoping, without knowing it, that 
 he might put it to her pride to stay. 
 
 Dorothy looked from one to the other. 
 
 " But p'raps you wouldn't care to go alone, Anne ? " 
 she asked, and put it to the pride of Anne that she 
 might say she would. 
 
 "Of course I don't mind going alone," declared 
 Anne, and started quickly to climb to the ground. 
 
 " Don't tell the pater where I am when he comes 
 back," Dicky called out after her. " Will'um's going 
 to say I left off at a quarter-past six." 
 
 Anne made her promise. She smiled when she 
 reached the ground. 
 
 " Who'd ever have thought," she said to herself. 
 " He used to call her a little ass. I \vonder if he got 
 away on purpose." 
 
 High up in the oak tree, as she descended the hill, 
 Anne heard the droning note of Dicky's voice as he 
 started reading once more. With every step it grew 
 fainter until, at last, she heard it no more. The 
 thought sped across her mind that he must have 
 stopped altogether. She smiled once more.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 SOLEMNLY Dicky read of the habits of crustaceans, 
 while Dorothy lay back on her cushion in the hammock 
 and watched his face. Whenever he looked in her 
 direction, her eyes were swift to the dense canopy of 
 leaves overhead. Not once did their several glances 
 meet. Still Dicky read on, the words coming slower 
 and slower, laboured and more laboured in their 
 meaning, until he scarcely realised the sense of it 
 at all. 
 
 " Sure you're not tired of it ? " he asked again. 
 
 Most earnestly Dorothy assured him she was not. 
 
 " He must have been a wonderful old man Darwin,"" 
 and he closed the book with his finger marking the 
 page. 
 
 " Wonderful," said Dorothy. 
 
 " Fancy to have thought all that out, steadily, for years 
 and years, and then to write it all down. Fd like to 
 do something that \id take me years and years." 
 
 " Something at the mill ? " 
 
 " Lord, no ! I hate the mill ! " 
 
 " Do what then ? " 
 
 " Paint a picture." 
 
 *' Yes Anne told me." 
 
 170
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 171 
 
 "Told you what?" 
 
 " About your wanting to be a painter." 
 
 Dicky laid down the book. There were things more 
 interesting to him just then than the " Origin of 
 Species." 
 
 " Anne doesn't really know," said he and then, as 
 he looked at her, she looked back at him and he 
 thought it seemed as if she would understand every- 
 thing. "It's no good really telling Anne," he went 
 on. " She's an awful brick, but I can see she doesn't 
 know. It's no good really telling her." 
 
 Dorothy turned round on her cushion and, in a voice 
 half whispering, half pleading 
 
 "Tell me," she said. 
 
 " You'd only laugh at me," he replied. " Anne 'ud 
 laugh too. The pater 'ud be mad." 
 
 " I wouldn't laugh, Dicky," said she. 
 
 That was the first time in his life that Dicky really 
 knew he had heard the voice of a woman. He looked 
 out through a window in the foliage of the oak tree. 
 The sun was dropping slow through the heavens, the 
 humming insects were winging homeward with their 
 spoil. Far away on the road to Little Cumberton he 
 could see an old man, stepping it slowly through the 
 dust in the shadow of the hedges. A bundle was on 
 his shoulder. His back was bent. Further away still, 
 in a bend where the river lay open in the meadows, the 
 red cattle and the white were knee-deep in the silver 
 water. He thought the world was very wonderful.
 
 172 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 " Fm going to be a painter," he said, turning suddenly. 
 " One of these days I'm going to leave the mill. I 
 don't care what any one says. If the pater doesn't let 
 me go, I shall run away." 
 
 " You won't leave Eckington, Dicky ? " she asked 
 quickly. 
 
 " Leave Eckington ! " he laughed, and it hurt right 
 in lier heart. " What's the good of Eckington ? I 
 shall go to London." 
 
 She looked away and was silent. Who could say 
 how much of the future she saw then ? Women have 
 that sight of which a man knows nothing. 
 
 For that instant Dicky had been riding in the vault 
 of heaven on the clouds of his ambition. When 
 suddenly he realised her silence, he came to earth. 
 
 " Would you mind if I went to London ? " 
 
 Still she looked away and still was silent. But in 
 those days Dicky knew nothing of women's silence. 
 He had yet to learn how it is in the things she leaves 
 undone, the words she leaves unsaid, a woman says 
 more a thousand times than ever is asked of her. She 
 was telling him then that she loved him with every 
 beating of her heart, with every silence of her lips. 
 Dicky thought she did not care enough even to answer, 
 and longed to make her say that she would mind his 
 going, but knew no means to accomplish his desire. 
 He saw her hand lying idly over the side of the 
 hammock, and wondered if he touched it what she 
 would say.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 173 
 
 After long moments he asked her if she believed in 
 palmistry. At the unexpected question, she turned 
 with lifted eyebrows and with puzzled eyes. 
 
 " Anne's got a book," said he, holding out his hand. 
 " That's the line of Fate, and these are the lines of 
 Art. The book says I shall do something in Art. I 
 I wonder if you'll ever do anything." 
 
 With all ingenuousness she held out her palm for 
 him to see. He took her hands timidly in his. How- 
 ever cold the blood may be, hands may be warm. It 
 is not a bodily warmth, but the very touch of them 
 can tingle through the veins. Both felt the sudden 
 warmth within them as his fingers closed over her 
 wrists. For this is the first caress of lovers and, in 
 those early moments, means as much as any touching 
 of the lips. 
 
 The power of speech was gone from Dicky then. 
 He could only sit in silence holding her hand, looking 
 at the lines upon her palms, yet seeing only the smooth 
 skin, following only the lines of her arm to where the 
 sleeve of her dress hid it from his eyes. 
 
 In moments, Dorothy watched his face, wondering 
 why he had spoken of palmistry, seeing he had said 
 nothing of it since. At the hazardous risk of losing 
 the touch of his hand, she took her own away and shifted 
 her position in the hammock. While she was moving 
 Dicky did nothing ; but when she had settled down 
 again, he leant forward as casually as he could to 
 where her hand lay out on the hammock's edge. In
 
 174 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 the firm belief that he had concealed his own clumsiness, 
 he took it in his own once more. 
 
 She caught a short breath in her throat. She knew 
 now. He had never meant to talk of palmistry at all. 
 It had been worth the risk to learn so much. 
 
 There then for long minutes they sat without 
 speaking. At last, with ready apprehension, Dicky's 
 fingers stroked the softness of her wrist. Neither be- 
 cause she wanted to, nor because she thought she 
 ought, Dorothy was about to take her hand away. 
 But his fingers were ready, and his fingers held her 
 fast. 
 
 " Does it matter ? " he whispered. 
 
 And she whispered it did not. 
 
 So he still caressed her hands. Lest she might 
 become nervous of it again, from time to time he made 
 remarks, the most casual in the world. 
 
 " Do you like it up here ? " he asked. 
 
 Dorothy nodded her head. 
 
 Again, after a long pause, he inquired if she had told 
 Wilfrid of their secret. 
 
 " No, 11 said she. 
 
 " Why not?" 
 
 " I knew you weren^t friends with him now besides, 
 Anne made me swear." 
 
 Dicky looked for one instant in her eyes and then 
 made up his mind. However daring a thing it was to 
 do, he meant to do it then. Whatever it cost, and if 
 she would never speak to him again, his determination
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 175 
 
 was fixed. With his heart hammering in his breast 
 and a hot wind beating on his forehead, he bent 
 suddenly over her hand, kissing the fingers that he 
 held. 
 
 There was one moment of a vibrating pause. Their 
 hearts were leaping in a wild excitement. Something 
 had happened, something had been said in silence, a 
 thousand times more sudden and arresting than if a 
 voice had hailed them from the hill below. He knew 
 what it meant ; she knew what it meant. It was the 
 suddenness of it that frightened them both. 
 
 Dorothy looked at him with burning cheeks. 
 
 " We ought to be going," she said in a breath. 
 
 Having carried out his intention, Dicky was ready to 
 obey. In silence they climbed down from the oak tree. 
 In silence, through all that distance from the hill they 
 walked back towards Eckington. 
 
 When at the mill they parted, Dicky spoke at last. 
 
 " Are you angry with me ? " he said. 
 
 Dorothy just shook her head and smiled.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 IN a few hours Dicky had discovered a new world. 
 He had crossed the plains, had penetrated into the 
 deep shadows of the valleys, had mounted the high 
 hills and now, upon the other side, there stretched 
 before him, at his feet, a land of gold, a land of sun- 
 shine, a land of such promise as made his heart leap 
 and the blood go racing in his veins. 
 
 He was in love ; wildly, passionately, overwhelmingly 
 in love. The suddenness of it bewildered him, yet he 
 wondered constantly in his thoughts why he had not 
 found out his love for Dorothy years and years ago. 
 
 Again and again he told himself that it must have 
 been meant from the beginning. Then why had he 
 only learnt it now ? He, too, remembered how he had 
 thought her a little fool. He laughed aloud in the 
 darkness as he lay in bed that night, calling the 
 thoughts back to his mind. A little fool ! She was 
 the most wonderful creature in the world ! He said 
 her name aloud Dorothy ; then lay there listening to 
 the echoes of it as they reverberated down into the 
 very depths of his consciousness. 
 
 At sunrise he was awake. Sleep is no luxury to a 
 
 boy in love. Indeed, he may dream, but the night is 
 
 176
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 177 
 
 wasted when no dreams have come. In the daytime, 
 with all his thoughts, he makes the world be full of 
 her. She sings in the throat of every thrush, her voice 
 is there in the tinkling music of the running brook, she 
 whispers in the leaves that rustle to each gentle wind. 
 There is nothing living in the world but her. 
 
 Before the sun was well into the heavens, Dicky was 
 making his way up the pathway on Bredon Hill. The 
 clocks of the churches in Little Cumberton and Ecking- 
 ton rang out the hour of five in a distant chorus as he 
 climbed the branches into the oak tree. This was 
 where it had all happened. There was the hammock 
 in which she lay. He stood looking at it with all that 
 awe and wonder of a pilgrim at a shrine. There, in- 
 deed, the miracle had been wrought ; there he had held 
 her hand, there looked into her eyes and seen the whole 
 meaning of life, why the earth had been made and he 
 been born in it. There was no need now for the 
 smallness of a fieldmouse or the nimbleness of a wren. 
 He had discovered why God had made the world. It 
 was that he, Dicky, might love Dorothy as no man had 
 ever loved a woman before. 
 
 For long moments he stood by the side of the ham- 
 mock, living again that hour when they had been alone ; 
 living in swift imagination the countless hours that lay 
 before them. There was some purpose in it, he knew 
 that. Not knowing what purpose it was, he fulfilled it 
 in all the blindness of his desire. 
 
 In a little cupboard they had built out of an old box
 
 178 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 on the platform, Dicky kept the paint box Christina 
 had given him together with all the impedimenta he 
 required. To this cupboard he went, almost uncon- 
 scious of the need that urged him. The world was 
 there below him. With the divine conceit of a boy in 
 love, with that outrageous pride of power, he set to 
 work to paint a picture of the world, a picture of all 
 life, of all romance. He painted a picture of the sun. 
 
 This was the greatest failure he had made. Away 
 beyond him in that white light of heat, the fields, the 
 river, the whole country side was lying breathless in 
 pale sunshine. There was no form to mould, no lines 
 were there to draw. The river moved through fields of 
 gold and, like a serpent gliding through the shimmering 
 grass, vanished in silver mist that had no beginning and 
 no end. Such shadows of the trees as fell were toned 
 in gold, transparent as a dragon-fly's wing. No subject 
 was there there for him to paint but the greatest 
 subject of all Romance the breathing, golden, all- 
 effulgent light whose soul and being is the very sun 
 itself. Dicky painted a picture of the sun. 
 
 For two hours he sat there. At last he rose and put 
 his paints away in the cupboard. For one moment he 
 looked at the sheet of paper in his' hand. It was all 
 white, as spotless as when he had torn it from the 
 block. He had done nothing. This was the greatest 
 failure he had made, the greatest failure which had 
 brought him nearest to success. 
 
 That picture took him ten years to paint, and he
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 179 
 
 began it that day in the oak tree. Now every one 
 knows Richard Furlong's picture called Romance. It 
 is not so many years ago since it passed into the posses- 
 sion of the French Government. It is the same picture 
 which that early morning he began with a blank white 
 sheet of paper.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE days of Dicky's love-making came and went. 
 Their passing was so swift, he could not mark their 
 going. It was autumn again, and the oak leaves 
 were red before he could believe the summer really 
 gone. 
 
 They had been alone a great deal together. Dorothy 
 would accompany him long distances into the country 
 to sit beside him while he sketched. His energy for 
 work then was uncontrolled. Yet during all that time 
 he had never touched her hand again or said one word 
 of what had passed when they were alone together in 
 the oak tree. 
 
 For long hours at night Dorothy would lie awake 
 with wondering mind. She loved. She was content 
 with that. In the shallows of her heart she believed 
 that Dicky loved her. He kept her closely with him 
 wherever he went. But in the quiet depths of her con- 
 sciousness, those depths which a woman only fathoms 
 when her heart is beating in the stillness of the night 
 she was unsatisfied with the progress of their love. 
 Something was needed to make it live with that burn- 
 ing reality which love meant to her. In what it lacked 
 
 she could not guess. He might take her hand again ; 
 
 180
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 181 
 
 he might kiss it again as he had done that day in the 
 oak tree. He might even kiss her lips. And when she 
 thought of that her heart throbbed wildly in her breast ; 
 she laid her head in faintness on her pillow, murmuring 
 his name beneath her breath. 
 
 But none of these things did Dicky do. He had 
 caught the first meaning of Romance and, as a boy 
 when he catches the first butterfly of the year, feared 
 as yet to touch it with his hands lest he should bruise 
 its wings. 
 
 As surely as the day must vanish into night, the 
 night unfold its darkness and set free the day once 
 more, so surely did Dick know that the moment would 
 come when Dorothy would be in his arms and his lips 
 be seeking hers. So the thousand lovers proved their 
 love. But his was like no other love the world had 
 ever known. In those first days when he had seen 
 Romance, such proof of love as this would have brought 
 it all to earth. It was in the spirit of it he lived ; in 
 the spirit of it he worked with an untiring energy while 
 Dorothy sat beside him, waiting for the hour when she 
 might truly know. 
 
 And so the days of summer fell behind them into 
 autumn. One night as she passed her daughter's room, 
 Mrs. Leggatt stopped, hearing the sound of sobbing 
 from within. She listened, making doubly sure. Then 
 she turned the handle and went in. 
 
 " Dorothy ? " she whispered. 
 
 The sobbing ceased.
 
 182 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 " What is it ? " she asked and knelt beside the bed. 
 " What is it ? Aren't you well ? " 
 
 A broken voice assured her that she was. 
 
 "Then what's the matter?" 
 
 There was no reply. It needed the gentleness of her 
 arms, the quiet, soothing fingers on her daughter's 
 head, before Mrs. Leggatt could bring the story from 
 Dorothy's lips. Mrs. Leggatt's heart misgave her as 
 she listened. The world was very old; was very change- 
 less in the midst of all its change. Adam and Eve 
 might well, indeed, have been turned out of the Garden, 
 but they had only been driven into the world. She laid 
 her head upon Dorothy's pillow, adding a sigh to her 
 daughter's tears when the little story was ended. 
 
 " But if you're sure he loves you," she asked presently, 
 "isn't that enough?" 
 
 Dorothy was silent. 
 
 " Isn't it ? Isn't it ? " persisted Mrs. Leggatt. " What 
 more can you want but that ? " 
 
 " But he doesn't say so," whispered Dorothy. " He 
 doesn't show it. Never not once since that first day 
 when when he held my hand and then kissed it. 
 He asked me that day if I was angry. Perhaps when I 
 only shook my head he didn't understand that I meant 
 no. But I know he'd wanted to take my hand. It 
 hadn't been anything to do with looking at the lines, 
 because I took it away to see, and he got it back again 
 as soon as he could." 
 
 In the darkness, Mrs. Leggatt smiled ; a smile in
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 183 
 
 which no thought of laughter lay concealed. You smile 
 at memories that only bring you pain ; it is the gentle 
 smile of recognition. That is all. 
 
 " Well if he wishes to be with you now," she said, 
 " isn't that proof enough ? Isn't that all that you need ? 
 It is so easy to get more, and when it comes it is always 
 more than you ask. ' The little more and how much it 
 seems ' I must read Browning to you. It was read 
 to me once. But it's never the little more you get, for 
 the little more is the very edge and then oh what 
 more do you want ? " 
 
 " If he if only he " she could not bring herself 
 
 to say the words. 
 
 " If only he kissed you, Dorothy is that it ? Oh, 
 hell do that one day, my little girl ; why should you 
 want it now ? He may love you to-day better than ever 
 he will in his life again. Oh isn't it the world ? it's 
 the world all over again ! Be content, my dear, be 
 content with little. It is just the more a woman wants 
 which makes the much more that she gets. Be content 
 with little it is enough." 
 
 She could give no better advice than this. In her 
 good-hearted but foolish way the poor woman could 
 not find it in her conscience to adopt an attitude of 
 stern reproval. Her own folly was known. How could 
 she pose in virtuous censure of this very passion to which 
 she herself had given way ? It was the world, she had 
 said, it was the world all over again. It stirred up 
 memories which for years she had striven to subdue.
 
 184 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 She could only speak from them. All she said was 
 true only too true, with that painful truth which comes 
 from bitter experience. But it was no advice from a 
 mother to her child. 
 
 She may have thought her words contained a warning, 
 saving Dorothy from the abyss into which she herself 
 had fallen, but their effect was far from what she sup- 
 posed. The great tide of Nature which turns in every 
 woman at such an age had fully turned in Dorothy then. 
 She loved Dicky with her whole heart and understand- 
 ing. There was nothing else in Life for her but this. 
 To that end, therefore, of its complete and perfect 
 comprehension, she set the whole purpose of her mind. 
 Nothing more than this was to be gained. She knew 
 nothing of, nor cared for, the development it brought 
 her. The moment a girl becomes a woman, her develop- 
 ment is complete. She can become no more. The 
 experiences of Life lie still in front of her ; they harden 
 or soften as they come. But in the development of pur- 
 pose in her soul, the journey of a woman's life finds its 
 completion when love conies knocking at her heart, and, 
 in answer to its summons, she steps forth into the light 
 of womanhood. 
 
 To Dorothy, the advice her mother had given her, 
 served only to quicken her mind to its end. If it were 
 not the little more which she needed, but the much 
 more she would get, what was that more and could it 
 ever be too much ? 
 
 The next time she met Dicky alone, her mind was 
 trembling in expectation. That premonition which
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 185 
 
 comes to women, that occult sense which gives them 
 power to see ahead of time, bade her prepare with those 
 delicious warnings love brings triumphantly to a woman's 
 heart. She knew that things would happen then, felt 
 the foreshadowing of them in her mind, but did not 
 realise she only knew, because she meant that they 
 should be. It is often that a woman's instinct warns 
 her of events she means herself to bring about. 
 
 It was a night in late September when, during a party 
 at Mrs. Leggatt's house, they both slipped away. 
 
 " Just come along to the bridge," Dicky had whispered 
 to her. " The moon's rising at a quarter to nine 
 harvest moon I want to see it down the river." 
 
 At first she had demurred. There would be trouble, 
 she said, when it was found that they were gone. 
 
 " They wouldn't find out till the party's over," Dicky 
 had urged. " It won't be over till nearly eleven. Do 
 come, Dorothy. We won't be gone more than half an 
 hour." 
 
 " But why do you want to see the moon ? " she asked. 
 " You can see it from the window here." 
 
 " Not like it will be on the bridge." 
 
 " But won't it be fearfully cold ? " she objected. 
 
 " Do you mind if it is ? " he murmured. " We can 
 stand close together. It won't be so cold then." 
 
 That had not really been his purpose in going. It 
 thrilled him to think they might stand close together, 
 but he had wanted to see that harvest moon, had waited 
 nearly the whole month for it. 
 
 He did not know it, but it was she who had made him
 
 186 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 say how they would defeat the cold, this simple, gentle 
 Dorothy, who, with a quiet obedience, did all that 
 Nature commanded her. 
 
 " Do come," Dicky whispered. 
 
 She said no other word against it. Together they 
 crept out of the house, making their way down the 
 road, past the old butter cross to the tortuous bridge 
 of Eckington, which for so many hundreds of years has 
 been the only path across the Avon between Pershore 
 and the West. 
 
 Countless lovers before them have stood in the little 
 niches of that bridge ; countless lovers have leant over 
 that grey stone parapet, worn with the weight of years 
 and discoloured by many a winter. They were not the 
 first to stand there, looking down into the running 
 water, not the first to find some likeness in its passing 
 ripples to the steady ebbing of their lives. 
 
 But no such thoughts as these occupied the minds of 
 Dicky and Dorothy then. Through the brush stems of 
 the willows as they reached the bridge, the harvest 
 moon, deep orange, like a burning lamp, was swinging 
 up against the dark velvet of the sky. Dicky forgot 
 all coldness of the night. Nature was using her colours 
 in such subtlety of tone as he knew he could never hope 
 to master. Yet he saw it all with no sense of envy or 
 regret. The ambition to conquer then was not so great 
 as the knowledge of Romance. At that moment, as 
 the beauty of the world surrounded him, he knew that 
 he was master of it all. There was nothing in life 
 which Dorothy might ask him then to do which he
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 187 
 
 could not have accomplished. He felt in himself the 
 strength and virtue of a hundred men. Life was almost 
 too wonderful, yet great and wonderful as it was, he 
 could have sacrificed it all to the mere murmur of her 
 wish. 
 
 " I wouldn't mind if it never came to to-morrow 
 morning,"" he said at last. " Look where just that one 
 ripple catches the reflection of the moon." 
 
 With heart beating, Dorothy pressed closer to his 
 side. 
 
 " Don't you feel cold ? " she asked. " You've got 
 nothing on your head. 11 
 
 " Do you ? " he replied. At her request he could 
 have put an end to life then and there ; but it would 
 have gone hard with him had she suggested they should 
 turn back because she felt cold. 
 
 " Do you feel cold ? " he repeated. " It's really quite 
 warm, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Oh, I'm all right," said she. " I've got on a warm 
 coat. This fur cap's warm, too. I wish I'd brought 
 my gloves. 11 
 
 " Hands cold ? " he asked. 
 
 " They are a little," she replied, and there was expec- 
 tation in her heart. 
 
 Half then in joy and still in wonder, his hands 
 groped down in the darkness until they found the touch 
 of hers. 
 
 " I don't expect they feel cold outside," said she 
 quickly ; " but they do in." 
 
 He took them closely in his own, crushing the fingers
 
 188 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 in his grasp. She felt the pain of it, and loved the 
 pain. No cry of complaint came near her lips and, as 
 Dicky held them, still gazing at the glory of the rising 
 moon, her eyes were closed. All joy and all delight 
 she felt within herself. So far with Dicky the enchant- 
 ment was in life. 
 
 For some long time they stood there, his hands 
 caressing hers. One by one the words were mounting 
 to his mind, just as the moon, turning from orange to 
 gold, was mounting above the willows into the vault of 
 stars. Too well he knew he loved her, but never had 
 the words come home to him till then. Now they were 
 burning in his brain long passionate sentences in 
 whose embrace the whole meaning of love was com- 
 passed. One by one they rolled across his mind. He 
 thought he had grasped them, had found the great 
 moment for expression and, before he knew it, had 
 whispered her name. 
 
 " Dorothy ! " 
 
 She leant still nearer to him. Her heart was beating 
 in the prison of her breast. 
 
 " What, Dicky ? " she whispered. 
 
 " I love you," said he. " Oh I love you that's all 
 that's all." 
 
 His great sentences had gone from him. The mo- 
 ment before they had all been there ; but in the moment 
 itself there were only three words which he could say. 
 
 " Do you love me ? " he asked presently. 
 
 " Frightfully," she whispered.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 189 
 
 He held her hands yet tighter and still looked at the 
 moon. 
 
 " I love you better than anything else in the world,"" 
 he went on, and believed it was the first time in the 
 world such words had ever been said. 
 
 " Better than your painting ? " she whispered and, 
 knowing that he must, he was quite willing to say 
 yes. 
 
 One hand she disengaged to draw it gently round his 
 neck. They looked in each other's eyes then ; their 
 breath was on each other's cheeks. How long in silence 
 that lasted neither of them could ever have told. The 
 night was like a furnace about them as they stood 
 there then. 
 
 " Why don't you kiss me, Dicky ? " she whispered at 
 last, as a woman fainting asks for water. 
 
 For one second the world stood still to let the mad 
 race of thoughts crash on through Dicky's mind. 
 Something was ending here. The virtue and the 
 strength of all those hundred men were going from his 
 heart. Like the tramp of a company leaving the gates 
 of a city, he felt them passing from his soul. One by 
 one one by one their footsteps fell away. Nearer and 
 nearer her eyes drew his into the complete oblivion of 
 their depths. One moment he was free, the next a 
 slave. His lips leant down to hers. In the warmth of 
 them he forgot all those moments of Romance. Dicky 
 would not have sacrificed Life then for all the Romance 
 in the world.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 DURING all that period since he had left school, 
 Dicky had kept in touch with Mr. Hollom. Had the 
 matter been left in Dicky's own hands, doubtless the 
 friendship might have dropped ; but, true to his word 
 to Christina, Mr. Hollom never allowed his interest in 
 Dicky to abate. Every week he wrote and every week, 
 in letters not exactly to be commended for their length, 
 Dicky replied, giving information mainly about his 
 painting, or his troubles at the mill, but never confess- 
 ing his love for Dorothy or letting it be understood 
 what changes in life that love had brought to him. 
 
 In the mental composition of Dicky there was a 
 degree of reticence, contrasting oddly with that im- 
 pulsiveness of mind which he showed in most of his 
 dealings. This reticence no doubt he inherited from 
 his father. On all subjects concerning himself, Mr. 
 Furlong was slow to speak. Indeed, with him, it 
 amounted to secretiveness. He was secretive about his 
 age, about the income he made from the profits of the 
 mill. Because of this secretiveness he had never gained 
 the confidence of his children, had never even gained 
 the confidence of his wife. 
 
 The fringe of this mantle then, perhaps, had fallen 
 190
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 191 
 
 upon Dicky. He did not even speak to Anne about 
 his love for Dorothy, though in his heart he knew well 
 enough that she was a conscious spectator of it all. 
 Yet still he clung to the deeper secret of it, dimly 
 realising that the unspoken word may be more truly a 
 talisman than that which is spoken. So of his love for 
 Dorothy, Mr. Hollom knew nothing. One morning, at 
 breakfast, early in the next year, Mr. Furlong remarked 
 upon the letter that lay on Dicky's plate. 
 
 " Who's writing to you, Dicky ? " he asked, and he 
 smiled as though he would suggest his suspicions that 
 the letter was addressed to Dicky's heart. 
 
 Dicky avoided the smile. 
 
 " It's from Mr. Hollom," he replied. 
 
 " Oh from him ? He's a nice fellow. I've often 
 thought of asking him to come and stay here again. 
 
 He's never been here since since you left school. 
 
 You'd like to see him again, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Rather," said Dicky eagerly. 
 
 " Well I'll write and ask him. What does he 
 write to you about ? He writes often doesn't he ? " 
 
 " 'Bout once a week," said Dicky. 
 
 " May I see his letter ? " asked Mr. Furlong. 
 
 " I don't know," replied Dicky quickly. " I haven't 
 read it yet." 
 
 There were a thousand things likely to be in that 
 letter which might surprise Mr. Furlong to read. 
 Dicky thrust it swiftly into his pocket, meaning to close 
 the matter once and for all.
 
 192 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 u Oh, of course, don't show it me if you don't wish 
 to, 1 " said his father. " I have no curiosity to see it. 
 But I don't think I quite like this exhibition of secrecy 
 on your part, Dicky. You can't expect me to give you 
 my confidence or treat you as I most earnestly wish 
 to treat you, if you conceal things from me like that. 
 A letter from Mr. Hollom to you can surely contain 
 nothing but of the most ordinary nature in the world. 
 Mind you, as I say, I'm not curious. But that was a 
 thing I had often to tell your dear mother about. She 
 would keep things to herself." 
 
 Anne looked quickly at Dicky and then left the 
 room. Mr. Furlong scarcely noticed her going. He 
 had discovered a subject upon which in this last year or 
 so, since Christina's death, he had thought a great deal. 
 He had hardly realised, in fact, how much he had 
 thought about it until he began to speak. 
 
 " Don't you see," he continued, " how impossible it 
 is for me to help you in any way if you don't give me 
 the full measure of your confidence?" 
 
 " I spoke to you once about my painting," said Dicky. 
 
 " Oh, yes, about that, but then you can't expect me 
 to take a thing like that seriously that's that's 
 
 " You took it seriously enough," said Dicky ; " you 
 tore up my sketch." 
 
 " I tore it up," replied Mr. Furlong sharply, " because 
 it was foolish there was no sense in it. You can't 
 expect me to sympathise with you when you waste your 
 time like that."
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 198 
 
 " If I waste my time," retorted Dicky, " I ought to 
 be sympathised with. I don't waste it wilfully I don't 
 mean to do any harm I believe I'm doing some good. 
 If if there's no sense in my sketches " he stammered 
 for his words " if if they're foolish, I I ought to be 
 pitied." 
 
 The heat of the moment lent him reason. It was not 
 the gift of sympathy for which he pressed. At the 
 back of all he said was a fierce defence of his art. In a 
 moment, almost of inspiration, he rose to irony. His 
 eyes were lit with it. A pause followed him before Mr. 
 Furlong could reply. He was confronted again by that 
 antagonism which he always met with in his son. Now, 
 with the shafts of irony added to his defence, Mr. 
 Furlong was for the moment confused and knew not 
 where to strike. 
 
 "If what you paint is nonsense," he said then, 
 suddenly, with a rising voice, " it's not so nonsensical as 
 the things you say. How dare you argue with me a 
 boy of your age ! I never heard anything so ridiculous 
 as to suggest that I should sympathise with your folly 
 because you're fool enough to waste your time. For 
 goodness' sake try and talk sense, and then I'll listen to 
 you. As it is, it annoys me to talk to you. Go and 
 get to your work as soon as you've finished your break- 
 fast." 
 
 " I've finished now," said Dicky. 
 
 " But you've eaten nothing ! " 
 
 " I don't want anything."
 
 194 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 " Eat your breakfast ! " commanded Mr. Furlong 
 sternly. " You do everything you possibly can to 
 annoy me. Why don't you want to eat your break- 
 fast ? " 
 
 " Because whenever we have a row I don't feel inclined 
 to do anything certainly not eat." 
 
 " Oh is that the way you look at it. We have a 
 row. You suppose I have so little dignity as to have a 
 row with you. I think the sooner you learn your place, 
 my boy, the better. Try and cultivate manners to your 
 elders, and then you'll realise that it's impossible for me 
 to have a row as you call it with you." 
 
 He left the table then. He left the room. His own 
 oreakfast was but half finished on his plate. A sickness 
 in his heart made it impossible for him to eat more. 
 The food was dry in his throat. He went to his bed- 
 room and for a long time sat there, wondering why Fate 
 conspired against his affection for his son. 
 
 " If he would only understand," he said aloud ; " if 
 he would only understand that I wish the best, the very 
 
 best for him " It was not in the power of his 
 
 mentality to realise that he was only excusing the want 
 of understanding in himself. 
 
 To Dicky's surprise, in the Easter holidays, Mr. 
 Hollom wrote saying that he had accepted Mr. Fur- 
 long's invitation to stay at the mill. After their dis- 
 agreement which had arisen out of the schoolmaster's 
 letter, he had imagined that Mr. Hollom would not be 
 invited a retribution for his insubordinate conduct.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 195 
 
 But in such a case as this Mr. Furlong bore no malice. 
 The idea certainly had entered his head to punish 
 Dicky in this manner, but he had conquered his inclina- 
 tions. Mr. Hollom, no doubt, was a good influence for 
 Dicky ; he might help him to be more steady in his 
 work. Also, when Dicky had gone to bed, they would 
 probably play chess together. Undoubtedly it would 
 be a false policy to punish Dicky in that way, depriving 
 him of a benefit in order to chastise him for a fault. 
 He sat down and wrote to Mr. Hollom that evening. 
 
 He was the same tall, cadaverous-looking man when 
 Dicky met him at the station in Pershore. His cheeks 
 were thinner ; his eyes set in deeper hollows than 
 before. For some moments he stood looking at Dicky 
 with a questioning, scrutinising gaze. 
 
 " What's happened to you, young man ? " said he. 
 
 At once Dicky knew what he meant. He felt in 
 himself he had changed. 
 
 " What do you mean happened ? " he asked. 
 
 "Well you've changed. You're ten years older. 1 " 
 He checked himself as he was about to add " You're 
 older than your father." 
 
 In the drive back to Eckington, Dicky had told him 
 of all the conflict which for the most part waged 
 silently between his father and himself. 
 
 " More and more every day," said he, " I hate the mill. 
 It goes on just like the wheel round and round and 
 round." 
 
 " You re keeping your sketches ? " asked Mr. Hollom. 
 o 2
 
 196 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 Dicky nodded. 
 
 " Well you'll show them to me to-morrow." 
 
 " Rather ! " exclaimed Dicky. 
 
 It awakened poignant memories in Mr. HollonTs 
 mind as he sat that evening in the sitting-room playing 
 chess with Mr. Furlong. In a dim distant corner of 
 his heart, he heard the faint chords of the Moonlight 
 Sonata echoes, withered, like the pale petals of a 
 flower that long have been pressed between the pages 
 of a book. Again he lost his game as he listened to 
 them. 
 
 " You begin so well,* said Mr. Furlong, as he swept 
 the remaining pieces from the board, " I always think 
 you're going to beat me." 
 
 "I don't concentrate enough," replied Mr. Hollom, 
 "that's my one curse. If I could have concentrated 
 half as much as Dicky can, for example, I might have 
 done well." 
 
 Mr. Furlong smiled. 
 
 " Well," said he, " I see a good deal of Dicky, and I 
 should never have said that of him." 
 
 To substantiate his statement, Mr. Hollom knew he 
 would be compelled to refer to Dicky's painting. He 
 saw the pitfall before him and, with careful tact, avoided 
 it 
 
 " I may be mistaken, of course," said he. " I know 
 he showed little of it at school. But I see it in his eyes. 
 He can concentrate if he likes." 
 
 "Ah if he likes," said Mr. Furlong. "Ye* I
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 197 
 
 quite agree with you. His mother was just the same. 
 She could concentrate over her music, but it was only 
 with the greatest difficulty in the world that I could get 
 her to keep the household accounts in regular order." 
 
 Mr. Hollom's mind went out in vain endeavour to see 
 a virtue in Christina keeping household accounts. In 
 that respect as a wife perhaps she had failed. He fell 
 to wondering then if any man found the woman in his 
 wife ; or did he consciously shut his eyes to such 
 understanding. 
 
 " Mind you,"" continued Mr. Furlong, rousing him 
 from his meditation, " I don't think Dicky takes after 
 his mother in many respects. Anne is more like her. 
 There is something of the set and undeviating purpose 
 about Anne which often reminds me of my poor wife. 
 You'll see Anne to-morrow, and then you can tell me 
 if you don't recognise what I mean. But Dicky's a 
 Furlong all over. I don't want to pride myself at all, 
 but I fancy he's got my imagination. He surprises me 
 sometimes with the things he says. He likes Carlyle, 
 too reads him greedily. I had a great admiration for 
 Carlyle once." 
 
 " Once ? " queried Mr. Hollom. 
 
 " Yes, I can't say it's so great now ; not since it 
 has come out how he treated his wife. It takes away 
 most terribly to me from the truth of all he's written." 
 
 " ' There is force in the rotting of a leaf,' " quoted 
 Mr. Hollom ; " ' how else could it rot,' or words to that 
 effect. Has the truth gone out of that to you ? "
 
 198 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 " I suppose it's true enough," agreed Mr. Furlong ; 
 k ' but I don't like to think a man like that could have 
 written it. His was not the way to treat a wife." 
 
 Mr. Hollom held his breath and drove his hands 
 into his pockets. When the moment had passed, he 
 spoke of being tired and asked if he might go up to 
 his room. Mr. Furlong complained at once of his own 
 thoughtlessness, and lit him up the stairs. 
 
 As the door of his bedroom closed and he heard the 
 sound of Mr. Furlong's footsteps dying away, Mr 
 Hollom smote the palm of one hand with the back of 
 the other. He said nothing. The gesture alone con- 
 veyed the words for all he felt. Something had to be 
 done for Dicky. He undressed, got into bed and, blow- 
 ing out the light, lay there thinking in the darkness.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE next day being the first of Mr. HollonVs visit, 
 Dicky was allowed a complete holiday. On that day 
 Anne was returning from a visit, paid to some friends 
 in Tewkesbury. They had the morning to themselves. 
 With a satchel containing some of his sketches, kept 
 under lock and key in his bedroom, Dicky set out with 
 Mr. Hollom to the oak tree. There, in the cupboard, 
 also under lock and key, the remainder of his work had 
 been stored. He talked of it eagerly as they walked. 
 His eyes were brilliant with earnestness in everything he 
 said. With his excitement he was reduced to gestures 
 in his endeavour to express himself. Mr. Hollom's 
 interest was keen in everything he said and did. 
 
 They came at last to the oak tree, the scene of still 
 another important issue in Dicky's life. At last he was 
 laying out the sketches, one by one, occasionally intro- 
 ducing them with brief remarks as he placed them in 
 the schoolmaster's hands. 
 
 He showed no craving for approval ; never asked how 
 he liked this or that, seeking for praise. One after 
 another, with occasional explanatory preludes, he pro- 
 duced them from the almost inexhaustible store which 
 
 he had collected. 
 
 199
 
 200 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 When Mr. Hollom had been through them all he 
 began to pick them out separately. 
 
 " What's this ? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh that's only a sky the landscape doesn't matter 
 I just put it in anyhow. It had been wet all day, 
 and about four o'clock it began to clear in the west. It 
 was like pulling a huge grey cloth off a slab of silver. 
 The clouds rolled back, just as if a hand was dragging 
 them. I sort of felt that I'd never mind a grey day 
 again, because you'd only got to think there was that 
 dazzling light behind it." 
 
 " But how did you get that primrose part of the sky 
 so full of light ? You haven't made the grey so very 
 dark. There isn't such a lot of contrast. How did you 
 get it ? I should have had to paint those rain clouds 
 nearly black." 
 
 Dicky tried to think how he had got it ; but it brought 
 no meaning to his mind. 
 
 " I dont know, " he said at last. " I didn't feel they 
 were so very heavy. I think the way you feel things is 
 the way you do them, and you can't tell how or why you 
 feel. Look at this one a bit of the river. They 
 always say that the sky reflected in water is never so 
 light as the sky itself. Well, I don't suppose it is when 
 you go and sit down and say to yourself, now which is 
 the lightest ? But I couldn't paint to save my life if I 
 went and said things to myself." 
 
 Mr. Hollom looked up at him. 
 
 '* What do you do then, Dicky ? *
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 201 
 
 "Well I suppose I just feel. I felt the river was 
 lighter than anything else that day. It it meant 
 light to me, much more than the sky did. I couldn't 
 think of the sky when I looked at the water I could 
 only think of the water when I looked at the sky. 
 You wanted to bathe in it. I did bathe, too, when 
 I'd finished. See that smudge. That's where I chucked 
 my trousers down." 
 
 Mr. Hollom smiled, remembering how careful he was 
 with his own miserable sketches over which he took such 
 time and such infinite pains. With deliberate intention 
 he made no comment on those drawings which he 
 looked at for the second time. It occurred to him to 
 wonder why Dicky was not eager, as many another boy 
 would have been, for praise. His only anxiety, it 
 seemed, was to justify with explanation the effects he 
 had endeavoured to produce. It was marvellous, when 
 he considered it, how much of the theory of it all 
 Dicky had learnt when the only master under whom he 
 had worked had been his own conscience. One thing 
 only he needed now the leaven of discipline. They 
 could never kill the originality of his genius now. It 
 had found its soil ; had thrown out its roots, and no 
 formality of teaching could ever kill it. Yet if he 
 persisted in the solitary study of his art, Mr. Hollom 
 felt sure that the ultimate flower of this priceless plant 
 would be abnormal, exotic, even distorted in its shape. 
 In some of the sketches he had before him there were 
 signs of it already. Freedom of brush they had, free-
 
 202 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 dora of ideas ; but such freedom as offered to defy the 
 common-law. He laid all the drawings down and lit a 
 cigarette. 
 
 " Dicky,"" he asked presently ; " how much do you 
 care for all this ? " 
 
 In the thrill of the moment Dicky said his mind. 
 
 " Oh better than anything else in the world," he 
 declared and, the moment he had said the words, a 
 vision of Dorothy pleaded with him to take them back. 
 Almost she succeeded. In the tone of Mr. Hollom's 
 voice he knew that yet more was to be said. If he told 
 him of his love for Dorothy, perhaps the suggestion he 
 had in his mind would never be made. She begged 
 him to take back his words. Again and again she 
 recalled to him the memory of what he had said in 
 answer to just such a question of hers. It came to the 
 edge of his lips then to say that one thing in life there 
 was he loved better than his work ; but he heard the 
 words and knew all their meaning before he uttered 
 them. With a bitter feeling of self-contempt, he 
 closed his eyes to the vision of Dorothy and kept his 
 silence. 
 
 "You're prepared to risk everything for it?" 
 continued Mr. Hollom. 
 
 " Everything ! " said Dicky stoutly. 
 
 " Supposing it came to running away from the mill 
 would you go ? " 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " To London."
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 203 
 
 Dicky's eyes found another light. 
 
 Yes like a shot." 
 
 " You might starve." 
 
 No I wouldn't." 
 
 "What'ud you do?" 
 
 " Get work somewhere any sort. There are classes 
 at the schools in the evenings. I found that out. They 
 don't cost much." 
 
 "It 'ud be a rough life after the mill, you know," 
 said Mr. Hollom. 
 
 "Rough! What 'ud that matter? I should be 
 working." 
 
 " Yes, and supposing you went under. I should be 
 all to blame. It 'ud be my fault. Think what your 
 mother would say to me if she'd been alive." 
 
 " Don't see that it 'ud be your fault," exclaimed 
 Dicky. "I'm going anyway, whatever happens. I 
 began saving up last year. As soon as I've got enough, 
 I shall go." 
 
 " How much have you got ? " 
 
 " Nearly a pound eighteen and ninepence. In three 
 weeks more it'll be a pound." 
 
 " My dear boy a pound's no good to you. You'll 
 have to keep yourself in rooms till you get work." 
 
 " How much would that cost ? " asked Dicky. 
 
 "Depends how long you were in finding work. It 
 might be some weeks. Now listen to what I've got to 
 say. I know, if you're going to be any good, you must 
 get away from the mill. Your mother once told me
 
 204 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 she wanted you to be an artist, and if I can help, I'm 
 going to. I'm going to give you ten pounds." 
 
 Dicky's breath jerked in his throat. 
 
 " You can start in London with that. If you should 
 want more, I'll send you more. It'll be no good you 
 ever telling your father that I've helped you to it. 
 Possibly after you're gone, he'll never want to see you 
 again. Are you prepared for that ? " 
 
 Dicky nodded his head. 
 
 " You'll probably cut yourself adrift from your own 
 home, and have none left but of your own making. 
 Are you prepared for that ? Don't just nod your head. 
 Let me hear you say yes." 
 
 " Yes," said Dicky firmly. 
 
 " I'll give you some introductions to people in Lon- 
 don. They're not much good. None of them are 
 artists, but they may help you to get some work. And 
 now, when do you think you'd better go ? Would you 
 like to go while I'm here ? Perhaps I could explain a 
 bit to your father after you've gone, and make things 
 a little easier." 
 
 " I'll go in June," said Dicky. 
 
 His eyes had opened again. Against his will he was 
 seeing once more the vision of Dorothy ; her arms were 
 round his neck as she had drawn them that night on 
 Eckington bridge ; her lips were warm and clinging to his. 
 
 " I'll go in June," he said again. 
 
 " Right," said Mr. Hollom. " I shall send you the 
 money just before you go. Let's get back."
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 205 
 
 They returned to the mill, walking slowly. For five 
 minutes they said nothing. Their minds were full of 
 thoughts, speeding hot foot upon them. At last Mr. 
 Hollom turned his head and looked at Dicky. 
 
 " Why June ? " he asked. 
 
 The blood rushed burning into Dicky's cheeks. 
 
 " I can't till June," said he, and said no more. 
 
 When they reached the white wicket gate between 
 the laurels Mr. Hollom stood still. He saw a woman's 
 figure bent over a bed in the garden. Her arms were 
 full of daffodils that leant against her cheeks. 
 
 " Hallo, old girl ! " shouted Dicky, a higher note 
 than usual in his voice. " Here's Mr. Hollom ! " 
 
 Anne looked up. 
 
 That evening the schoolmaster lost at chess again. 
 It was not only memories he listened to. Anne played 
 to them in the other room.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 IT was now that Dicky felt the bonds of his enchant- 
 ment. A fear came to him that night when he thought 
 of how he must tell Dorothy of his departure. In the 
 meeting of their lips on the bridge at Eckington, the 
 cry of the earth had clarioned in his ears. And it was 
 hard to make sacrifice of the earth now, even when the 
 call of highest purpose was bidding him set forth on 
 man's adventure. 
 
 He knew quite well that he would go, just as a man 
 may know the Fate that is awaiting him ; but how he 
 was to leave her when every moment's beating of his 
 heart rushed hot with the memory of that kiss and 
 cried for more, was far beyond his saying. Just as a 
 man who, hearing he is condemned, knows his power- 
 lessness against the law, yet wonders at his power of 
 inevitable submission, so Dicky marvelled in his heart 
 to think that day in June would really come when he 
 would bid good-bye to Dorothy. It would have been 
 best, he knew, to have gone then and at once, before 
 the taste of other kisses sharpened the pain of parting. 
 But he played with the fire, heating that crucible in 
 the hollow of which every man's soul must meet its 
 
 test. The strength and virtue of the hundred men had 
 
 206
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 207 
 
 gone from him. In that moment on Eckington Bridge, 
 the Romance of life had changed in Dicky's mind. 
 The first essential in Romance is a boundless freedom, 
 the untrammeled liberty over life and death. 
 
 But in his love for Dorothy, Dicky no longer held 
 that power. He was a slave, and the Romance had 
 gone. Now he loved as a man is meant to love, as 
 every woman means that he shall love, as Nature stirs 
 in her to bring that love to pass. All the freedom he 
 could see, lay out in the world beyond that paradise in 
 Eckington holding the woman for whom he cared. All 
 the longing of his mind leaned out to reach that free- 
 dom to his grasp, for there was his Romance. And so 
 within him, even then, began that conflict which makes 
 the everlasting antagonism between men and women. 
 So nearly are the forces weighed, so nearly matched the 
 one against the other, that who can say which banner 
 is the right. Dicky fought, just as the other men have 
 fought before him. 
 
 And it is seldom the easy victim whom a woman 
 seeks. The spirit of noble combat lies in her soul as 
 well as his. The greater the heart in her, the greater 
 the heart she seeks in battle. And sometimes the 
 greatest heart may beat in the breast of the gentlest 
 woman in the world. Despite all her gentleness there 
 was a greatness of heart in Dorothy Leggatt. 
 
 When the next evening they met and she heard 
 that Dicky was going away, Dorothy's heart stood 
 still within her. This was the challenge to which she
 
 208 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 knew she must answer. In that sudden moment, she 
 felt herself called into the bewildering struggle for life. 
 Until then she had been but a spectator. All things 
 had passed by before her eyes. Even the tragedy of 
 her mother's folly had not caught her in its tide. She 
 had seen it go by, but had never been drawn into the 
 eddies as it thundered past. Now, with just those few 
 words from Dicky, she was swept into the stream. 
 In one brief moment the knowledge that she must 
 strive had reached her. At first it was bewildering, 
 overwhelming. She could not believe that Fate could 
 be so cruel. She, too, then, in the back of her mind, 
 was conscious that he would g ; that with his going 
 their love was to be put to all the hazard of chance, 
 wherein the whole world of women was her common 
 enemy. The thought of this was almost unendurable. 
 The hatred of her sex, which at times comes to all 
 women, pressed swiftly on her then. In that one 
 second of time she knew them to be incapable of 
 trust. And one by one these realisations crowded in 
 upon her. She could not speak. 
 
 They were sitting by the side of the river, far down 
 from the weir where it winds below the hill. For the 
 first half hour since they had met, Dicky had been 
 struggling with the words he had to say. Hesitating 
 and slow in taking his opportunities, they had one and 
 all slipped from him. At last, in a pause, he had said 
 it, blindly, as a man strikes in his ovn defence when 
 the odds are crowding on him.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 209 
 
 She had been holding his hand and, in the silence 
 that followed, let it fall. He waited, saying no more. 
 The thin branch of a willow leaning down into the 
 water swayed and quivered as the river hurried by. 
 He found himself counting the possibilities it offered 
 of catching the things that floated past. A last 
 year's leaf came swirling down. The willow branch 
 had caught it. In its struggles to get free, he felt 
 an echo of the struggle in himself. He was the leaf. 
 She was the branch of willow. The moment she had 
 dropped his hand, he knew their conflict had begun. 
 When at last he glanced at her face, he found her lip 
 was quivering. 
 
 " Oh, Dorothy ! " he exclaimed, and locked his arms 
 about her. 
 
 " Don't go, Dicky," she whispered brokenly. " Don't 
 go. I couldn't bear it here alone." 
 
 " My dear darling, I shan't be gone for always," he 
 whispered back. 
 
 " Oh, but it'll never be the same if you go," she 
 replied. " It'll never be the same as it is now. You'll 
 be different when you come back. You'll never be 
 Dicky again if you go now. I want you always to 
 be the Dicky you are here. Think how fearfully happy 
 we shall be." 
 
 All strength in Dicky turned to water as he listened 
 to the note of weeping in her voice. 
 
 " But I can't stay on in the mill," he replied gently. 
 "How could I?"
 
 210 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 Why not ? " she answered quickly. " One of these 
 days you'll have it all to yourself and then we can be 
 married. Oh, Dicky ! Nobody in the world 'ud ever 
 be so happy as we should be." 
 
 " I know," said he. " I know. But we shall be 
 married all the same. When IVe done some real 
 good painting, p'raps the pater '11 be proud of me, 
 then. P'raps he'll let me have some money, and we 
 can be married just the same." 
 
 " Oh, but when would that be ? " she complained. 
 " Not for years and years and years. Oh, Dicky, 
 don't go ! You won't mind the mill so much if we're 
 married. You can go on painting your pictures just 
 the same. Til always come out and sit with you, and 
 we'll have them framed and you can hang them up in 
 the rooms." 
 
 Then, dimly, Dicky knew, vaguely it reached his 
 understanding. But it seemed to him as if it were 
 not love she felt at all. What her feelings were it 
 was completely beyond him to comprehend ; but it 
 could not be love. She did not care that he should 
 be a great painter. How could she possibly say then 
 that she loved ? He might go on painting pictures ! 
 They, would have them framed, would hang them up in 
 their rooms ! It needed ah 1 the strength he possessed to 
 control his voice to quietness. 
 
 " You don't understand a bit," he said presently, and 
 the bitterness he felt was in every note of his voice. 
 " I don't want to paint pictures to hang up in the mill.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 211 
 
 What \id be the good of that ? Nobody would ever 
 see them. 1 " 
 
 She turned and looked at him. Her lip was quivering 
 again. But now she faced him with the truth. It was 
 the only weapon that remained. 
 
 " Dicky," she said bravely, " you don't care for me 
 more than anything else in the world. You care for 
 your painting best don't you ? " 
 
 It is a heavy but a mighty weapon is the truth. 
 Only in her extremest hour will a woman use it in her 
 own defence. Dicky shuddered as the blow fell on him. 
 He tumed away and could not meet her eyes. The 
 river lapped and gurgled through the reeds as it hurried 
 by. A bat wheeled over their heads, tumbling away 
 into the darkness. She caught his arm. 
 
 " Dicky, 11 she repeated, and there was terror in her 
 voice. " You care for that best, don't you ? " 
 
 She had only spoken the truth before. She knew it 
 now. Yet again and again she tried to make him say 
 the lie, clinging to him with both her hands, her tearful 
 eyes pleading to his averted face. The lie would have 
 satisfied her. She would have known indeed how much 
 a lie it was ; but if only he would say it, pride alone 
 would have forced him to live up to it. 
 
 It is the man a woman wants and once she loves, she will 
 bind him to her with a lie if the truth should fail to hold. 
 
 But Dicky could not answer. It was when his silence 
 had broken down her courage that at last she turned 
 
 away. 
 
 p 2
 
 212 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 " Dorothy ! " said he, " where are you going ? " 
 
 She did not answer. Her feet were moving. She let 
 them move. 
 
 " Dorothy ! " he called again ; but she did not turn 
 round. One step he took to follow her, then held 
 himself in check. A sudden instinct warned him then 
 that if he followed, the victory would be hers. With 
 clenched hands and fast set teeth he looked the other 
 way. So on into the greyness of the evening Dorothy 
 walked with ears alert to catch his hastening footsteps 
 in pursuit. 
 
 At a stile that led from the meadows on to the road 
 she waited, knowing that he would come that way. But 
 Dicky never came. Weighed down with the bitterness 
 of all he had lost, Dicky had gone away across the hill 
 into the darkness. Long into that night he lay on a 
 bed of bracken beneath the scattered oak trees on the 
 hill and the tears were hot upon his cheeks. 
 
 After an hour had passed, Dorothy turned her face 
 towards home. Her shoulders shook convulsively as she 
 walked. In one short day she had learnt how terrible 
 life can be.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 AT supper that evening Dicky's chair was empty. 
 Mr. Furlong looked his annoyance. 
 
 "If there is one thing I do abominate more than 
 another," he said, with irritation, " it is unpunctuality. 
 I don't find it impossible to be in time for meals, but 
 Dicky's continually and systematically late. Five 
 minutes before a meal, he suddenly finds something he 
 wants to do. There's no sense of order in his mind at 
 all. I can't think where he gets it from. It's no 
 characteristic of mine." 
 
 He walked impatiently to the window, pulled aside 
 the blind, and peered out into the gathering darkness. 
 
 " Oh, we'll begin without him," he exclaimed at last 
 with annoyance and, coming back to the table, he as- 
 sumed a different tone of voice in which he said grace. 
 Mr. Hollom and Anne glanced across the table at each 
 other, saying the " Amen " at its conclusion with a 
 solemnity of expression by no means indicative of what 
 they had in mind. 
 
 During the meal they talked of many things, but in 
 every pause, Mr. Furlong looked at the empty chair and 
 
 suid, " I wonder where that boy Dicky is ? " His sense 
 
 213
 
 214 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 of order was so disturbed that he could not properly 
 enjoy his food. 
 
 " He may have gone to supper at the Leggatts'," 
 suggested Anne at last. 
 
 " Then why hasn't he let us know ? I believe he 
 thinks he can use this house as an hotel, coming in and 
 going out just when he pleases." 
 
 Mr. Hollom kept silence. He could not quite trust 
 himself to say anything. This attitude of Mr. Furlong's 
 mind was more than he could understand. He only 
 realised how utterly impossible it was for Dicky to stay 
 on beneath such an influence if ever he were to do any- 
 thing in the service of Art. Above all, he needed 
 liberty liberty of spirit, liberty of mind. Even so 
 trivial an incident as this convinced him that there was 
 but little liberty for Dicky at the mill. 
 
 But it was not only on this account that he was glad 
 when the meal was over. All that day he had been 
 waiting for an opportunity to be alone with Anne. 
 None had offered. His only chance lay now in that 
 half hour when Mr. Furlong rested after his meal before 
 they played chess. He liked to be talked to for that 
 half hour certainly, but it might easily be avoided. 
 
 When grace was said at the meal's conclusion, he 
 announced that he had letters to write and would go to 
 his room. 
 
 " Are you going to play the piano ? " he asked of 
 Anne as he departed. This would take her into the other 
 room alone, when he could come down and speak to her.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 215 
 
 In a few moments he was preparing to leave his bedroom 
 when Anne's playing ceased. He stopped at the head 
 of the stairs and listened. 
 
 " I thought I'd come over and smoke a pipe," said a 
 man's voice in the hall below. 
 
 There followed then the sound of Mr. Furlong's 
 greetings. 
 
 " Dicky's been having supper with you, I suppose," 
 he added, as he helped his guest off with his coat. 
 
 Mr. Hollom assumed that this was Mr. Leggatt. 
 He waited, listening for the answer. 
 
 " Dicky ? " said Mr. Leggatt after a pause, and in 
 that pause the old Cromwellian clock ticked out into 
 the silence. " No, he's not had supper with us why 
 hasn't he been here ? " 
 
 "'No, 1 ' said Mr. Furlong. There was a note other 
 than annoyance in his voice a note of querulousness, 
 of uncertainty. Again the Cromwellian clock filled the 
 silence. " It's nearly nine o'clock," said Mr. Furlong 
 again in a moment, "I wonder what's become of him ?" 
 
 " Oh he'll turn up in a few minutes," replied Mr. 
 Leggatt unconvincingly and he followed Mr. Furlong 
 into the sitting-room. The door closed. The school- 
 master heard no further but the dim murmur of their 
 voices. There was no more playing of the piano, how- 
 ever. He knew then that his chance had gone and at 
 last he came downstairs. 
 
 " Can you imagine what's become of Dicky ? " Mr. 
 Furlong asked, the moment he entered the room.
 
 216 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 "Probably rambling somewhere or other," replied 
 Mr. Hollom. " I don't think there's any need for you 
 to be alarmed." 
 
 Catching a worried glance in Anne's eyes, he suggested 
 cheerfully that they should play a game of bezique. 
 She agreed at once, and the cards were got out. They 
 played in silence while the two men sat in their arm- 
 chairs, smoked, and made desultory conversation. At 
 every sound outside the house, whenever a dog barked, 
 they became silent; Anne laid down her cards and 
 listened. After a few moments had gone by, the con- 
 versation began again, and Anne continued with the 
 game. 
 
 Once Mr. Furlong got up from his chair, leaving the 
 room. They heard him opening the door in the hall 
 outside. Again they listened. When he returned, 
 Anne's eyes searched his face. 
 
 " There's no moon," he said. " It's a terribly dark 
 night" 
 
 Mr. Hollom leant across the table and whispered 
 beneath his breath, " I can't bear to see you looking 
 worried like that. Dicky's all right. He's probably 
 gone for a long walk. He's got a lot to think about." 
 
 Anne smiled at him gratefully. For a time her spirits 
 seemed to rise. 
 
 " How's Dorothy, Mr. Leggatt ? " she asked presently. 
 
 " Dorothy ? First rate, I think, Anne. Wasn't she 
 with you this afternoon ? She came in just as we were 
 sitting down to supper."
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 217 
 
 "'No I haven't seen her to-day," she replied, and 
 the apprehension came back again into her eyes. Mr. 
 Hollom watched every expression of her face. 
 
 The desultory conversation then began again, con- 
 tinuing fitfully until, in a moment of silence, the 
 Cromwellian clock struck the hour of ten. Stroke by 
 stroke the chime fell on their ears. When it stopped, 
 and while they could still hear the dim vibration of 
 sound, Mr. Furlong rose to his feet once more. 
 
 " I can't stand this any longer," he said nervously. 
 '* That boy must be somewhere. He's got nothing to 
 keep him out till this time of night if he isn't at your 
 place, Leggatt. Will you come out with me, Hollom, 
 and see if we can find him ? " 
 
 " Of course," said Mr. Hollom readily. 
 
 " I'll come too, Furlong," said Mr. Leggatt. " If 
 we separate and set up a call, he's bound to hear us. 
 There's no wind it's only dark.* 1 
 
 " I'm going to come, too," Anne whispered to 
 Mr. Hollom and, as they walked down the path 
 to the wicket gate, he found her beside him in the 
 darkness. 
 
 " Hadn't one of us better go down to the river ? " 
 suggested Mr. Furlong while they stood for a moment 
 in conversation outside the gate. 
 
 " I'll come with you, Furlong," said Mr. Leggatt. 
 " They'd better go straight along the road to the hill." 
 
 So they agreed to it. As they moved off into the 
 darkness, they heard Mr. Furlong say in an uncertain
 
 218 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 voice, " Do you know, I've regretted all my life that I 
 never took to the water when I was a boy." 
 
 " Can't you swim ? " asked Mr. Leggatt. 
 
 " No, but I know how to do the stroke. I know how 
 to use my arms and legs." 
 
 Their voices then died away into the darkness and 
 Mr. Hollom set out with Anne along the road. 
 
 " I'm quite sure," he said presently, " that your 
 father's really very fond of Dicky." 
 
 " Yes, I know," she replied. " It's only that he 
 doesn't understand. He didn't understand mother a 
 bit" 
 
 The face of Christina rose into Mr. Hollom's memory. 
 For one instant he saw her distinctly ; then her features 
 became confused with the features of Anne. He leant 
 down a little in the darkness and looked at her. 
 
 " Anne, 1 ' he said suddenly, using her Christian name 
 for the first time, " you're not to worry about Dicky." 
 
 He listened intently to the silence that followed his 
 use of her name. An acute sense of instinct with which 
 Nature supplies a man in these moments, told him that 
 she had noticed and was not opposed to it. It was a 
 stone on which to step. The next was to draw her 
 attention to what he had done. 
 
 " Do you mind my calling you by your Christian 
 name ?" he aske.J. " I used to call you Anne do you 
 remember whoii I stayed here before?" 
 
 " Yes I remember," she replied. 
 
 " Of course it makes a difference now ; you're very
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 219 
 
 much grown up. But I don't expect you feel very 
 different, do you ? " 
 
 " Well it's not quite the same, is it ? " said she. 
 "Every girl feels a little different when she puts her 
 hair up." 
 
 " You'd rather I didn't call you Anne, then ? " he 
 asked quickly. 
 
 " No I I think I like you to." 
 
 He knew then. He knew he had won. All that lay 
 before him now were those glorious hours whilst he 
 would lead her into the presence of love, that same 
 love which he had spoken of to Christina, which one 
 day soon he would be telling to Anne herself. For the 
 moment he asked do more. You learn quickly that 
 these hours and days are the most precious of all. 
 
 With Christina it had been different. There had 
 been but one moment, a moment filled as much with 
 pleasure as with pain. He had taken it then, rather 
 than lose it altogether. But this with Anne was 
 
 o 
 
 different now. He knew all the days he had before 
 him and, with the delight almost of an epicure, was 
 content to pause and dally with the feast before his 
 eyes. 
 
 A sudden sound of voices calling, came to them 
 through the darkness from the river side. They 
 stopped at once, leaning their heads towards it. 
 
 " Dicky ! Dicky ! " 
 
 They dimly heard his name and waited for the 
 answering cry, but there was none.
 
 220 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 "I don't know what I should do if anything has 
 happened to him," said Anne tearfully. 
 
 " I don't think you have the slightest need to worry," 
 replied Mr. Hollom. " I must tell you what happened 
 yesterday. It'll probably explain a good deal." 
 
 He related then all that had taken place between 
 himself and Dicky in the oak tree. 
 
 " When I asked him," he concluded, " if he'd like to 
 go away at once, while I was here, he said, ' No, not 
 now. Til go in June. 1 Do you know why he waits till 
 June ? " 
 
 Had it not been for the darkness, he might have seen 
 her smile. 
 
 "Didn't he tell you anything about himself?" she 
 asked presently. 
 
 " No nothing except about his painting." 
 
 " Nothing about Dorothy Leggatt ? " 
 
 "Oh I see," said he. "I might have understood 
 that one's generally so quick to realise other people's 
 love affairs so slow to realise one's own. What's she 
 like?" 
 
 " She's got brown hair and grey eyes," began Anne. 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 "No I don't mean that," said he. "I don't sup- 
 pose you could really tell me what I want to know. 
 Well, you can see now, can't you, why Dicky's out so 
 late." 
 
 " But Dorothy's not with him. Mr. Leggatt said he 
 left her at home."
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 221 
 
 " Yes so he did. Well, then, I wonder what he is 
 doing. You may be sure, at any rate, that it has 
 something to do with his going away. Dicky 's a queer 
 chap, you know. There are a lot of things he likes to 
 do all by himself. Even at the school, he used to have 
 his own little schemes and keep them secret." 
 
 Dicky ! Dicky ! " 
 
 They heard the cry again, still further, still fainter 
 than before. There was no reply. 
 
 " Hadn't you better call too ? " asked Anne. A 
 sudden fear seemed to contract her throat. Her voice 
 was husky. 
 
 Mr. Hollom raised his hands to his mouth, made a 
 hollow shell of them, and called 
 
 "Dick! Dicky!" 
 
 They stood quite still and listened. Out of the 
 branches of an elm tree, an owl swept out with a 
 rushing wing. One instant they saw it black in the 
 darkness. 
 
 " Do you think he could hear that in the oak tree ? " 
 asked Mr. Hollom. " Because that's where he is I'm 
 sure of it." 
 
 "He ought to be able to," said Anne. "But why 
 doesn't he answer? He must know how worried we 
 should be." 
 
 " He's not thinking of other people just now," Mr. 
 Hollom assured her. " Dicky's up against himself, and 
 that's who he's thinking about. Come on let's go on 
 towards the hill that's where we shall find him.*'
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 He tried his best to say it cheerfully, but hope was 
 somewhat misgiving in him now. The thought that 
 something might have happened to Dicky was no 
 longer an impossibility, but a fear. Yet even as a fear 
 he could not credit it. Destiny had Dicky in his hands, 
 and Destiny would not so easily let him go. 
 
 "Dicky's very strange sometimes, you know," said 
 Anne as they hurried on. " When mother died, I used 
 to think sometimes that he was going mad. He used 
 to creep away so much alone. It was a long, long time 
 before I could get him back to be himself again." 
 
 " I wish I'd had a sister like you, Anne." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 He hesitated and then, without answering, put up 
 his hands to his mouth once more and cried out Dicky's 
 name. They stopped to listen then again went on in 
 silence. 
 
 As they reached the foot of the hill they stood still. 
 A noise had come at the same moment to their ears. 
 In the darkness, Mr. Hollom held her hand ; they bent 
 forward, straining to catch the faintest sound. 
 
 " Did you hear, too ?" whispered Anne. 
 
 " Yes it was a twig cracking or something 
 listen."" 
 
 " Fraps it's only a sheep."" 
 
 " No listen I can hear steps Dicky ? " 
 
 "What is it?" came Dicky's voice through the 
 blackness which surrounded them. " Whatever 's the 
 matter ? "
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 " We've been hunting the whole country side for you, 
 you young villain that's what's the matter. Where've 
 you been ? What have you been doing ? " 
 
 " I've been up there in the wood. Is the pater out 
 looking for me, too ? " 
 
 " Dicky, 1 ' said Anne, as she took his arm closely in 
 her hands. " You've give us all a terrible fright." 
 
 " You'd better go and find your father, young man, 
 and let him know you're all right. He's hunting for 
 you down by the river." 
 
 Dicky freed himself from the tightening of Anne's 
 fingers and, with his hands deep in his pockets, slouched 
 off once more out of sight. 
 
 " He's been hit, and hit badly," said Mr. Hollom 
 when he had gone. " I suppose it's all good for him. 
 It's the way women make men. One woman brings a 
 child into the world and another sets to work to make 
 a man of him. It's an interesting business. I wonder 
 whom the world needs most, the woman who makes or 
 the man who's made. I suppose it's the proverbial six 
 of one to the old half-dozen of the other."
 
 CHAPTER XH 
 
 IN the days that followed their parting by the river, 
 Dicky was almost like one who has lost his reason. It 
 did not eseape the schoolmaster's notice ; but he said 
 nothing. Anne had told him what she knew of 
 Dorothy; told it with those exhortations to secrecy 
 which are the first delicious moments as love dawns in 
 a flush upon a grey horizon. 
 
 All that likeness to Christina which Mr. Furlong had 
 spoken of, Mr. Hollom saw in Anne and more beside. 
 Love had already got the bandage about his eyes. 
 He realised none of those characteristics, the lack of 
 imagination, the absence of impulse which, inheriting 
 from her father, she so differed from Christina. He 
 saw her mother's eyes, her mother's forehead, her 
 mother's hair. He heard Christina playing whenever 
 Anne sat down to the piano. Though there was no 
 comparison in their abilities, his imagination supplied 
 all that Anne lacked. Not once did he realise it, but 
 it was Christina whom he loved, Christina who domi- 
 nated him all through his life. 
 
 " They've quarrelled," Anne told him one day. 
 " I've seen Dorothy and she never said a word about 
 him." 
 
 224
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 225 
 
 " Shall I speak to Dicky ? " Mr. Hollom suggested. 
 
 "No no don't! He'll know I've told you then. 
 They'll make it up. I could see Dorothy had been 
 crying." 
 
 But theirs was more than a quarrel. It needed more 
 than mere making up. Dicky had but to give his 
 promise that he would not go to London and Dorothy 
 had been again in his arms, whispering those gentle 
 consolations with which a woman ever bathes the 
 wound she has inflicted. Yet distraught as Dicky was 
 with the pressing need of her, some quality in him was 
 sterner than to let that promise be made. Something 
 he knew must be done, some alternative be raised to 
 mend the rift which had come between them. The 
 thought of making that promise came many times to 
 his mind, but with every fresh consideration of it, he 
 knew its impossibility the more. It was not that love 
 was not worth it. Love was worth more to him then 
 than he had ever imagined. A voice of conscience it 
 was forbidding him. That vague and intangible ideal 
 which men know as truth, and of which they so seldom 
 approach understanding, this was the real voice that 
 called him. If he lived on in Eckington, he would be 
 living a lie. He put the thought away from him, taking 
 an oath beneath his breath that he would forget her. 
 
 " I'll go before June," he muttered to himself. " I'll 
 go while old Hollom's here." 
 
 That evening after supper he contrived to get Mr. 
 
 Hollom alone. 
 Q
 
 226 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 " I'm not going to wait till June," said he. " I'm 
 going to-morrow." 
 
 Mr. Hollom took his arm. 
 
 " What's the matter, old chap ? " he asked. 
 
 " Nothing," said Dicky. 
 
 " Yes but why have you changed your mind ? " 
 
 " Because because I suppose it would be better while 
 you're here. You can say something to the pater after 
 I've gone."" 
 
 " You won't tell me, then ? " said Mr. Hollom. 
 
 " Nothing to tell," said Dick stiffly. 
 
 " Well I'm afraid you can't go to-morrow." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " I've got to get that money for you first. I don't 
 walk about with ten pounds in my pocket. I must 
 write those letters of introduction, too." 
 
 " They wouldn't take long," said Dicky. 
 
 " No they wouldn't. Still, there's the money." 
 
 " Could I go the day after to-morrow ? " 
 
 Mr. Hollom smiled. 
 
 " No. I couldn't get it as soon as that. Why don't 
 you tell me why you've changed your mind ? Praps I 
 can help." 
 
 " You couldn't help," muttered Dicky, and the tears 
 were perilously near his eyes. " Nobody can help. I'm 
 miserable that's all, and I want to get away." 
 
 Mr. Hollom laid his hand on his shoulder. 
 
 " I'll have the money for you in a few days," said he. 
 ** And remember, you'll have a hard time of it. Don't
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 227 
 
 imagine you're going away to a land flowing with milk 
 and honey. You're going to a eity of fogs and misery, 
 and you won't be able to live as a lot of them do to 
 forget the misery that's all round them. You'll be in 
 the thick of it. Often and often you'll be one of those 
 miserable ones yourself. What do you think it'll be 
 like to go without a meal now and then ? " 
 
 " I shan't care," said Dicky. 
 
 "My dear boy, you'll care just as much as anybody 
 else does. You'll hate the people who crowd into the 
 restaurants as you go by with an empty stomach. Life'll 
 show you its disappointments then. You think it's 
 shown you enough now. But you wait till your pictures 
 come back and come back till you're sick of the sight of 
 them. You wait till you give your first little show in 
 your first little studio. Count the people who come to 
 see your pictures, and compare them with the number 
 you hoped would come. And when they've all gone, 
 never buying a single thing, remember what I've been 
 saying now. Disappointment, my dear boy ! You 
 don't know the first letter of it." 
 
 All these were words to Dicky. They had no mean- 
 ing to deter him. He listened quietly to all that Mr. 
 Hollom said, and with such attention as that the 
 schoolmaster began at last to believe he had dissuaded 
 him from going. 
 
 " Well," he concluded at length. " Do you still want 
 to go ? " 
 
 And Dicky, who all the time had been thinking how 
 Q 2
 
 228 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 there must still be more days when he could see Dorothy 
 if he chose, replied that he did. 
 
 " But I won't see her," he added in silence to him- 
 self. " I must go and go alone, and go without saying 
 good-bye." 
 
 "Have you listened to what I have been saying?" 
 asked Mr. Hollom shrewdly. 
 
 "Yes," said Dicky, and told his lie calmly with a 
 steady eye on Mr. Hollom's face.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE next day was Sunday, three days before Dicky 
 was to leave the mill. 
 
 It was one of those moments in the year when 
 summer steals a march on spring, and looks upon 
 the country side she is so soon to wed. There are such 
 magic days in the earth's mythology. It is as when a 
 god looks forth from out Olympus to see some unsus- 
 pecting maiden stepping down into the water as she 
 goes to bathe. 
 
 In every thorn bush and in every tree, the birds were 
 fast a-building. As the sun rose in the morning sky 
 their choruses began, the chirp of sparrows in the 
 eaves, the twittering of finches in the hedgerows. From 
 the dense brambles bursting into leaf, the blackbirds 
 scattered at each disturbing sound. A speeding glimpse 
 of the yellow beak, the deep-throat gurgle of the fright- 
 ened note, and they had vanished in the thicket. Upon 
 their nests, already built, the thrushes sat with watching 
 eyes, so still they might have been a carving out of 
 wood. From twig to twig the wrens hopped, piping in 
 their shrillest voice. Close to their nests in the hedges 
 
 the warblers lingered harbouring in the willows near at 
 
 229
 
 230 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 hand, lest the passer-by on the river side should guess 
 the secret in their hearts. 
 
 The whole world was mating, and all the earth in 
 bud. Beneath that beating sun of the precocious 
 summer the buds upon the may trees broke their bonds, 
 the apple-blossom spread to fainter pink. In the still 
 heat as the day drew on, the cowslips dropped their heavy 
 heads. Only the kingcups by the water's edge stood 
 up erect and turned their glittering faces to the sun. 
 
 Like a maiden setting out to meet her lover, the 
 meadows scented themselves with flowers ; from the 
 hedges the warm honeyed perfume of the gorse, from 
 the edge of every stream the scent of mint that made 
 one breathe again. 
 
 Yet to Dicky when he rose, the whole world seemed 
 a sorry place. Like a bird with a broken wing for 
 whom there is no mating, he rose in the morning to 
 face another day another day within call of Dorothy, 
 another day when he might yet bring her to his side. 
 But his determination was firmly set. A few more 
 hours of it he surely had the strength to bear. To his 
 father he complained of a headache, and said he could 
 not go to church. 
 
 "Unless it's very bad," said Mr. Furlong, "I don't 
 think you ought to let it interfere with your duty. 
 You wouldn't be the first person who'd suffered pain 
 rather than miss their day of worship. It's not much 
 to ask of any one, one day in every week. Don't you 
 think you'd like to go ?"
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 231 
 
 " Well it is very bad," Dicky replied. " I couldn't 
 pay proper attention. I don't think I'll go," and he 
 half closed his eyes in proof of the pain that he was 
 suffering. 
 
 Mr. Furlong said no more ; therefore Dicky watched 
 them depart with their gloves and their prayer-books, 
 taking a deep breath of relief as he heard the click of 
 the wicket gate and knew that he was alone. 
 
 " I never believe," said Mr. Furlong as they walked 
 along the road towards Eckington ; " I never believe in 
 forcing a boy to go to church when he doesn't feel like 
 it. That's not the way to cultivate the religious spirit." 
 " I think you're quite right," agreed Mr. Hollom. 
 "Force would never make anything out of Dicky." 
 
 These words penetrated into Mr. Furlong's mind. 
 For some time as he walked, he was silent. The sus- 
 picion that sometimes he may have forced Dicky was 
 there, lurking in his mind. For a moment he wondered 
 if he really knew himself, then put the disquieting 
 thought aside. 
 
 " I've brought my children up, 11 he said to himself, 
 " with love and gentleness. No one can ever say I have 
 not loved Dicky." The proof of it came warmly to his 
 mind when he remembered how he had prayed that 
 morning when the shepherd had brought Dicky back 
 upon his shoulders. " If I have urged him to take 
 interest in the mill, 11 he continued, in argument with 
 himself, " it is because I know that one day he will 
 thank me for it. 11
 
 232 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 His thoughts at last were distracted from the un- 
 pleasant subject as they passed Dorothy Leggatt upon 
 the road. 
 
 " What not going to church, Dorothy ? " he asked. 
 
 She shook her head shyly and she smiled at Anne. 
 Anne glanced at Mr. Hollom. 
 
 " Dicky's playing truant, too," Mr. Furlong called over 
 his shoulder with a laugh. " He's got a headache." Then 
 in a serious voice to Mr. Hollom, he continued as they 
 walked along. " I don't suppose he is playing truant 
 for a moment. I could see he was in pain from the way 
 his eyes were all puckered up. My eyes go just like 
 that when I have a headache." 
 
 A moment later, Anne looked back along the road. 
 Dorothy was still pursuing her way towards the mill. 
 
 " Does she know Dicky's going so soon ? " she whis- 
 pered to Mr. Hollom when a moment offered. 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " Not that I know of," he whispered back. 
 
 " She's guessed then." 
 
 " How could she ? " he replied. 
 
 But this was a question which women do not answer. 
 Anne shook her head. 
 
 How far she was right it were impossible to say. A 
 dim apprehension indeed was stirring in Dorothy's 
 mind. She had waited an hour by the stile that even- 
 ing ; she had waited every day of all the days that had 
 passed since then. Any one of those nights, had she 
 looked out of her bedroom window, she might have seen a
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 233 
 
 figure that she knew, passing and re-passing, again and 
 again ; gazing and always gazing at the room where, all 
 unconscious, she lay awake with the tears hot and 
 heavy in her eyes. Had she but known of this, there 
 might have been less need for apprehension then ; but, 
 knowing nothing, every thought within her was beset 
 with doubt. 
 
 Of the knowledge of men, Nature supplies a woman 
 with a ready equipment. Before she has touched the 
 fringe of life, instinctively she knows when to beware, 
 when to trust, and when to fear. 
 
 There was much of the truth in what Anne had said ; 
 there was still more of the truth in her silence to Mr. 
 Hollom's question. Dorothy had guessed, even if she had 
 not guessed the truth. In Dicky's prolonged silence, she 
 knew that some decision must have formed within his 
 mind. It was not that she knew that he was going away 
 at once but, in the countless possibilities which passed 
 across her thoughts, this had indeed been one. 
 
 With no considered plan or choice of action, she 
 obeyed a dim consciousness of motive that morning. 
 The desire was strong in her to see Dicky again, to 
 speak with him once more, to tell him, if it must be, 
 that he might go without the pain of her complaining. 
 How she would find him, she had not thought. Only 
 by instinct did her feet lead her in the direction of the 
 mill. When she heard that he had not gone to church, 
 her heart grew more expectant in its beating. But with 
 no quality of the organisation of ideas, with no power
 
 234 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 to scheme or plan their meeting, she yet had determined 
 that that morning should bring him to her once again. 
 
 Now, it was distantly visible in her mind that of a 
 certainty he would go ; indeed, that she must let him 
 go. Yet this was not really an admission of defeat. 
 She loved him so much, it seemed that even Fate could 
 not separate them. There was, moreover, a deeper 
 sense than this, a sense of bargain in her heart. If she 
 had courage to bid him go, might she not then win him 
 a thousand times nearer to her than before ; and if so 
 near, could he ever forget or leave her then ? 
 
 Here was the most subtle Nature moving in her 
 heart, leading her to that completion of purpose which 
 Nature has designed for a woman's making or undoing. 
 She was prepared to yield up everything; without a 
 sound of murmur or whisper of complaint, she was ready 
 to let him go and leave her there in Eckington alone. 
 And who can say how well she knew that this would 
 bring him to her heart in direst need of her ? 
 
 It is the woman who gives up everything who wins 
 in a fair fight. It is the woman who gives up 
 everything who is the most potent enemy a man may 
 have. To her submission he yields his freedom ; 
 but fought with his own weapons the man of any 
 courage rebels. 
 
 To this note of victory then, sounding in her heart, 
 the victory of submission, Dorothy was walking that 
 Sunday morning when all the birds were mating and 
 all the may trees were in bud.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 FROM that very window where once Christina had 
 watched him set forth, Dicky now saw Dorothy pass by 
 along the road to Bredon. At the first unexpected 
 sight of her, he stepped back quickly into the room, 
 feeling that sickness which the sudden beating of the 
 heart will bring. As when some distance from a dizzy 
 height, you still may feel its power to draw you to the 
 edge, so Dicky felt the magnetic call of love, crying to 
 him to follow her, to overtake her and at once. 
 
 Therefore he stepped back into the room, not merely 
 that he might not be seen by her, but as a man starts 
 back upon the very edge of some abyss. He knew 
 already the struggle that was before him, but there and 
 then made firm his determination that Dorothy should 
 go alone. 
 
 " Ifs the whole of my life," he told himself with a 
 strange precociousness of foresight. " I can't stay here 
 in the mill." 
 
 Then he turned and left the room, wandering from 
 one bedroom to another till he came to that occupied 
 by Anne, from which also he could see along the road 
 to Bredon. Dorothy was still in sight. If he stood, 
 
 half-concealed by the curtain, she could not see him 
 
 235
 
 236 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 from where she was. He took the point of vantage 
 and watched her. 
 
 Why was she not at church ? How had she es- 
 caped it ? Mr. Leggatt was as strict as his father. 
 And why had she come out here ? The thought that 
 it was in search of him set his heart bounding again. 
 His fingers clutched tightly on the curtain that he 
 held. 
 
 But now he showed his first weakness ; he began to 
 argue with himself that his determination not to follow 
 her was right. It must be right. He knew too well 
 his need of her. As well as he knew the shame and self- 
 contempt that he would feel if he gave up the life that 
 lay before him. Why had she wished him to give it 
 up ? In a few years' time, no matter what Mr. Hollom 
 may have said, he would be selling his pictures ; even 
 if his father did refuse to support him, he would be 
 making enough for them to be married. How could 
 women ask these things ? What should they want of a 
 man but the best work that he could do ? Was there 
 any meaning in the life of a man beside that ? 
 
 An uncomfortable thought that he was forcing himself 
 to ask these questions suddenly confronted him. Love 
 was a meaning he could not deny. He loved Dorothy 
 no less because of what she had asked of him. To see 
 her then, as she walked slowly by the hedges, drew 
 forth every instinct within him to follow after her. 
 
 Would it matter so much if he did ? After all, he 
 was going. He was going in a few days. He had
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 287 
 
 made up his mind to that. Why should it be im- 
 possible for him to say good-bye ? Something in the 
 mere thought of that brought the sense of Romance 
 that lies in renunciation to his mind. Their parting 
 would be full of pain ; but was it not more a pain that 
 he welcomed than feared ? Perhaps she might cry 
 when she heard that he was going so soon. 
 
 He went straightway downstairs into the hall and 
 took his cap from the rack. But he had sworn that he 
 would not follow her. Again and again he twisted his 
 cap round in his fingers. Until that moment he had 
 believed that he had great strength of purpose. Now 
 he was coming to realise that he had none. Possibly 
 by now she was out of sight. The greater temptation 
 to follow her then would be gone. 
 
 He ran upstairs again ; straight to the window where 
 he had seen her first. The road was empty. He threw 
 open the window and listened. The choir of all the 
 voices of spring was trembling in the air. Everything 
 vibrated with it. Suddenly he knew that the day was 
 beautiful ; he felt all the scent of summer carried in 
 every breeze. The warm air blew on his face. His 
 eyes were glittering with excitement. It was not clear 
 to him what he had expected to hear through that open 
 window, but it was only the sounds of spring that came 
 to his ears. And Dorothy was gone. Had she re- 
 turned to Eckington ? Had she gone on towards the 
 hill ? So far from deterring him from following her, 
 the fact that she was out of sight only increased his
 
 238 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 eagerness to pursue. In his desire to discover whether 
 she had returned to Eckington, he forgot all his deter- 
 mination, forgot that for the moment he had hoped to 
 find her gone that he might not follow her. 
 
 Without shutting the window, he turned again and 
 ran downstairs. He was breathing quickly now. It 
 was expedient by this to every desire within him that 
 he should find out whether she had returned to Ecking- 
 ington or gone on towards the hill. It was not his 
 intention to meet her. That still could easily be avoided. 
 If he came within view of her, he could keep at a safe 
 distance. He could conceal himself behind some tree, 
 some hedge. She need never know that he had followed 
 her that day. 
 
 The hall door slammed noisily after him as he hurried 
 out. The birds in the laurels scattered as he swung 
 after him the wicket gate. The heat of a passion he 
 had never known so strong was on him as he set off 
 running down the road. With every step the desire to 
 find her grew more urgent, more importunate in his 
 mind. With every step the thoughts of the future 
 yielded one by one to the pressing demands of the 
 present. He determined he would find her then, if he 
 must search till it was dark. 
 
 As he reached the first turning in the road, he stayed 
 his running, walking closely by the hedge side as he 
 came round the corner into view of the next stretch of 
 road. No one was to be seen. The sun was beating 
 down. There were deep shadows under the grass edges.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 239 
 
 A load of straw had not long passed that way, the 
 branches of a may tree had stretched out and caught 
 stray threads of it, still holding them like gold em- 
 broidery upon their cloth of green. Signs of life were 
 everywhere. A thrush was singing on the black branches 
 of a withered tree ; but Dorothy was not there. 
 
 He started running again, a chilling fear creeping 
 through his blood that she had turned long ago and 
 gone back to Eckington. His eagerness redoubled 
 then. 
 
 " She couldn't have gone back in the time," he 
 muttered breathlessly to himself as he ran. " She 
 couldn't." 
 
 But it did not occur to him that she might have 
 turned off from the road into the fields behind the 
 hedges. He had seen her keeping to the road. He 
 kept to the road himself. When, therefore, in the 
 distance, Dorothy heard the sound of hurrying feet, 
 she stood still in the long grass of a hay field and, 
 through the dense network of the brambles, watched 
 him running by. 
 
 During all the time whilst those hurrying feet were 
 approaching, she could not see who it was. Doubtless 
 the hope was with her that it might be he. In those 
 first moments of trembling expectation, her heart was 
 beating but very faintly, her lips were hot and dry. 
 But when at last he came abreast of where she stood 
 concealed and, through the thick lattice of the branches, 
 she saw Dicky's face, a laugh of joy sprang into her
 
 2 tO THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 eyes. So suddenly her heart leapt in realisation that 
 she pressed her hand to her breast. 
 
 His cap was off. He held it in his hand. His hair 
 was blowing back from his forehead ; his cheeks were 
 red and she could see the glitter in his eye. Nature 
 then may indeed have triumphed in her soul, but in her 
 heart she only felt a cry of thankfulness to know he 
 loved her still. 
 
 Near by where she stood, a sheep hurdle had been 
 driven into the bank to guard the broken line of hedge. 
 To that she ran, looking over into the road and calling 
 his name before he turned the next corner out of sight. 
 At the sound of her voice, Dicky stopped on the 
 moment. He looked back. When he saw her leaning 
 over the sheep hurdle, he began slowly to return. 
 
 Circumstances, he felt, were against him now. He 
 had never really meant that they should meet. Yet it 
 was impossible to deny to himself that he was glad of 
 it. The sudden exhaltation of spirit which he felt, 
 allowed him no ignorance of his delight. It had 
 seemed that for all these days gone by, he had been 
 like a vessel battling against God's anger in the sea. 
 It had all been as it was that night when he had crossed 
 the water to attend his mother's burial. Now at the 
 near sight of Dorothy, all the buffeting of circumstance 
 was at an end. For the brief moment, he cared nothing 
 but that she was there, her hand stretched out to take 
 his as they met, 
 
 " Dorothy ! " he whispered.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 241 
 
 " Dicky ! " she replied. 
 
 He held her hand very tightly in his own. 
 
 " I've been so miserable," said he. It was what he 
 had sworn to himself that he would never tell her. 
 The moment it was said, he remembered, then let the 
 memory go. 
 
 " So have I," she whispered back ; " frightfully 
 miserable. I thought we were never going to see each 
 other again." 
 
 " All these nights," said Dicky, " I've hardly slept at 
 all." 
 
 " Neither have I," said she. 
 
 They were both so eager to let each other know their 
 suffering that neither of them told the truth. Half an 
 hour may have passed each night after Dicky had laid 
 his head on the pillow a wretched half hour in which 
 he had magnified all the misery of life but after that 
 his eyes had closed, and he had fallen into healthy 
 sleep. It had been much as this with Dorothy. But, 
 indeed, in their hours of consciousness they had suffered 
 bitterly and both were eager to tell it all in proof of 
 the greatness of their love. 
 
 " Why did you walk away that day by the river ? " 
 asked Dicky. 
 
 " Why didn't you come after me ? I waited for a 
 whole hour by the stile." 
 
 " I never knew you were waiting," said he. " I went 
 up to that wood on the hill and stayed there nearly all 
 night. There was a fearful row. They were out looking
 
 242 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 for me. I didn't care. I didn't care what happened 
 then." 
 
 She looked at him in wonder, even in admiration, to 
 think he had suffered so much and all because of her. 
 
 " Oh Dicky, supposing you'd caught your death of 
 cold," she whispered. 
 
 " I shouldn't have been sorry then if I had," said he. 
 For what is the death of the body to the lover when 
 his love is dead ? That night, indeed, he would have 
 welcomed death. 
 
 "But if you'd died, Dicky," she went on with that 
 greater logic which a woman always has in matters such 
 as these which are her kingdom. " If you'd died, Dicky, 
 what would have become of your painting ? You'd 
 never have gone to London then ; you'd never have 
 learnt ; you'd never have painted the great picture which 
 every one'll want to buy." 
 
 He dropped her hands and put his own upon her 
 shoulders, looking deeply, intently, questioningly into 
 her eyes. 
 
 "Do you want me to paint a great picture?" he 
 asked. 
 
 She nodded her head, raising her eyes again to his. 
 
 " But you begged me not to go away you said I 
 could just as well stay on here at the mill and paint, 
 and that when we were married we could hang them up 
 on the walls." 
 
 She nodded her head again. 
 
 " I know I know. I did say that. I thought it
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 243 
 
 then. But I don't think it now. I'm sure you ought 
 to go to London. Nothing you could ever say would 
 make me stand in your way now. I know you love 
 your painting first " 
 
 " I love you," said he quickly. " I've found out in 
 the last few days how terribly much I do." 
 
 She pressed a gently detaining hand against his 
 shoulder. The sense of mastery was coming to her 
 now. Even in the first moments of her renunciation, 
 she could see the power it gave into her hand. In his 
 eyes already were the thousand protestations she so 
 longed to hear. Surely surely he could never forget 
 or cease to love her now. But until she had said all, 
 she would not let one of those protestations pass his lips. 
 
 u You love your painting best," she repeated. " You 
 told me that when you didn't answer my question that 
 night by the river. I do believe you care for me, 
 too, but in a secondary way. It's the way men care. I 
 shall never hope that you will love me best." 
 
 In silence Dicky listened, in silence and amazement, 
 unable to follow this sudden changing of her mind. It 
 was not that he tried to understand it. The fullness of 
 his mind was given in admiration of the nobility of her 
 unselfishness. He found her more wonderful then than 
 when that night on the bridge at Eckington he had 
 looked for long into her eyes before she had questioned 
 why he did not kiss her. With the one great exception 
 in his slender experience he knew of a surety that all 
 
 women were pure. He had not known till now how 
 R 2
 
 244 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 greatly they were possessed of understanding. She 
 asked nothing and was ready to give all. In the sudden 
 sense of freedom which it brought, he felt eager to bind 
 himself anew with the chains which he had severed. 
 
 " I couldn't love you more than I do," he replied 
 fervently. " I want to go away to London, I know. 
 I must go away. I shall never learn anything if I 
 don't, and I'm just eighteen now. Fancy, in less than 
 two years I shall be twenty more than half my life 
 gone but, oh, you dear thing, I don't want to go. 
 I care for you so fearfully now. You do understand, 
 and I thought you didn't. If we could only be married 
 before I went. If we could only go away together." 
 
 It came in a moment to both of them then the 
 thought of their journey to London, of their life 
 together from that day onwards. The mere contem- 
 plation of themselves as man and wife, knit so closely, 
 the one to the other, presented at the same moment to 
 their minds so near an embrace as that no man could 
 put them asunder. 
 
 Dicky's eyes dwelt strangely on her face and then, 
 with a little cry to his heart, she was in his arms. 
 
 " My dearest," he whispered, " couldn't we ? Couldn't 
 we ? It 'ud all be so simple then. Think of it all 
 day every day together." 
 
 He thought of the nights when he would no longer 
 be alone those nights when it seemed that a wretched- 
 ness of mind had kept him awake until morning. But 
 he could not trust himself to speak of them. His lips
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 245 
 
 were so close to hers. There was, moreover, no need 
 that he should. Such thoughts were whirling through 
 her mind as well. She felt as though she had fallen 
 into the depths of a rapid river. The water washed 
 about her face. It seemed as if in another moment she 
 would be submerged ; as if, when he pressed his lips to 
 hers, she would know nothing more. 
 
 " Dicky," she whispered. 
 
 He leant still closer to her, but did not kiss her then. 
 There came the sound of a tapping stick and heavy 
 footsteps along the road. She disengaged herself 
 quickly from his arms to stand a pace away. 
 
 It was the shepherd, Mr. Angel, coming back from 
 his sheep on the hill. Lassie, the sheep dog, trotted 
 by his side. 
 
 "Marnin', Master Dicky marnin', Miss Dorothy," 
 said he as his steps grew slower till he stopped. " It be 
 a fine marnin' outside of a church, though Mrs. Angel, 
 she goes these days as well as wet 'uns." 
 
 " Do you never go, Mr. Angel ? " asked Dicky, 
 and thought how dull he was not to see that they 
 would sooner be alone. 
 
 " Oh I goes wet days, look you it be sommat 
 to do on a wet Sunday, hearing parson read out his 
 sermons. I understand ""em fair well enough sometimes, 
 and what I doesn't understand, Mrs. Angel's got a 
 great gift wi 1 explaining. I said one day to 'ur, ' Mrs. 
 Angel," 1 I says, ''twould not be out of the ways if you 
 got up wi' a surplus yerself and preached a surmon.
 
 246 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 You'd do it well-nigh as good as parson himself. 1 I 
 says that, and she's never forgotten it, look you. 
 
 Well well " he tapped his stick three times on 
 
 the road as he thought of more that he could say. 
 When nothing rose to his mind, he called to Lassie and 
 walked on. 
 
 But the spell of it was broken now. The magic 
 of such moments as those is as brittle as the finest glass. 
 Mr. Angel had broken it into a thousand pieces. 
 Dorothy spoke of going home. An unreasonable fear 
 had come into her mind. Life seemed too strong, 
 the current too swift. 
 
 " Well come home, Dicky," she begged. 
 
 " Oh why ? " he asked in bitter disappointment 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " I I don't feel very well,"" she replied. 
 
 1 1 all concern he took her homewards.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 MR. HOLLOM and Anne walked back from the church 
 alone. Mr. Furlong's strongest principle was never to 
 do business on Sunday, but he had stayed behind in 
 Eckington to chat affably with a farmer about indiffer- 
 ent matters. It made an agreeable relation between 
 them in view of the fact that the farmer was going 
 to do business with him the next day. 
 
 " I shan't be long after you," said he. " This man, 
 Lipscombe," he added in a quieter tone to Hollom, 
 " he was sitting three pews in front of you generally 
 goes to Little Cumberton I don't know why he came 
 here to-day, except that he's always been saying that 
 he would do business with me. I expect that's what 
 he's here for. Of course, I conduct no business on 
 Sundays, never have and never shall. But I should 
 just like to stop a minute and ask him what he thought 
 of our sermon. You walk on with Anne." 
 
 Mr. Hollom, only too glad of the opportunity, 
 had willingly led her away from those little groups 
 of people who congregate outside the church when 
 the service in the country is over. 
 
 " Do you see that woman over there," whispered 
 247
 
 24S THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 Anne as they moved off, " the one in black with the 
 boy about Dicky's age ? " 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " That's Mrs. Leggatt" 
 
 " Dorothy's mother ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Why of course she's the woman who " he 
 
 stopped suddenly and a colour crept into Anne's cheeks. 
 He remembered now the story which Mr. Furlong had 
 told him when last he had stayed at the mill. This 
 was the woman whose folly had been found out, whose 
 folly had been forgiven. Until that moment he had 
 never connected her in his mind with the Dorothy with 
 whom Dicky was in love. As they passed her, Mr. 
 Hollom closely watched her face. There was the same 
 simplicity of expression there as he had seen with 
 Dorothy. In Mrs. Leggatt's face it was tired ; it had 
 saddened. There was no joyousness left in it. He 
 could imagine how, under the bitter rod of forgiveness, 
 she had bowed her head and suffered. But this was not 
 the only resemblance which Dorothy bore to her mother. 
 There was the same attractive fullness of the lips, sug- 
 gesting no coarseness of temperament, but an instability 
 of emotion, a capacity for being carried away, as she no 
 doubt had been overwhelmed by the passion of a sudden 
 moment. 
 
 " Good morning, Anne,"" she said as they passed. 
 
 It was the same gentle note of voice, too, holding 
 that soft quality of subrnissiveness as he had heard 
 in Dorothy's only two hours before.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 249 
 
 " Good morning," replied Anne brightly. " We saw 
 Dorothy on our way to church." 
 
 " Yes she asked if she could go out for a walk 
 this morning instead. I don't really blame her. But 
 the poor child said she had a headache. I expect 
 you'll meet her coming back. We have dinner at 
 one." 
 
 They passed through their gate into the school-house 
 garden and, for some moments, Anne and Mr. Hollom 
 walked on without speaking. His question regarding 
 Mrs. Leggatt had set moving a train of thought in 
 both their minds : a train of thought which, allowing 
 for the experience of life in one and the complete 
 innocence of life in the other, were not so very dis- 
 similar. How far, thought Mr. Hollom, is this girl 
 Dorothy like her mother ? Anne was wondering if 
 Dicky possessed those same instincts which once 
 Christina had explained in men to her. 
 
 " Be true to yourself, Anne," Christina had said ; 
 "then men will be true to you." 
 
 It was practically all she had said, but it had 
 conveyed a thousand things to Anne's mind, as indeed 
 she had meant it should. 
 
 "Anne," said Mr. Hollom at last, "do you think 
 Dicky will ever go to London ? " 
 
 The question was so abrupt, it seemed to be so 
 closely related to the very thoughts which even then 
 were passing through her mind that, for the moment, 
 she was confused. She could not answer. He glanced 
 down at her face. There was that little set, determined
 
 250 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 look about her lips, which he never, in the blindness 
 of his affection, connected with her father. 
 
 " Do you ? " he asked again presently when she had 
 not answered. 
 
 She looked straight in front of her. 
 
 " Why shouldn't he ? " she inquired. " Do you 
 mean if father came to know, he'd stop him ? " 
 
 "No I don't mean that. Perhaps I should have 
 said, do you think Dicky will ever want to go to 
 London?" 
 
 A frown puckered her forehead. No woman likes 
 to be forced to admit her knowledge of life. It is 
 her preference to be told what she knows already. 
 
 " Why shouldn't he ? " she asked. 
 
 " Perhaps because Dorothy won't let him, "he replied, 
 "if you were in love with some one, would you let 
 him go out into the world, risk his growing tired of 
 you, risk his meeting other women, risk his becoming 
 some different sort of creature altogether because life, 
 you know, has an unhappy knack of knocking one into 
 funny shapes would you risk all that just in order 
 that the man you loved might make a name for him- 
 self, when by staying at home he could have been 
 comfortable and happy for the rest of his days with 
 you ? " 
 
 " It is only in moments," Mr. Hollom had once said 
 to Dicky, and with more truth than he probably 
 realised, " it is only in moments that things are ever- 
 lasting." It is only in moments that great realisations
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 251 
 
 in life are attained. In that moment that Sunday 
 morning, on the road from Eckington to Bredon, Anne 
 became conscious for the first time that life was not 
 a mere matter of obedience or disobedience, but a 
 complex puzzle, a tangled skein, needing such un- 
 ravelling as only patience and suffering from some one 
 or another could possibly accomplish. 
 
 Until Mr. Hollom had put that question to her, 
 she had believed existence to be a very simple matter, 
 entailing obedience to the voice of command. The 
 voice might be love, it might be duty. It had never 
 seemed possible to her that both might command at 
 once. 
 
 Mr. Hollom watched her face with a gentle amuse- 
 ment and interest. 
 
 "The irresistible force," said he smiling, "and the 
 immovable object. What would you do ? " 
 
 " I should have no right to stand in anybody's way," 
 she said at last. 
 
 " No," he agreed, " you wouldn't ; though on the 
 other hand you'd have every right to protect and 
 secure the interests of your own affections. Love means 
 a great deal to a woman. It means a home, it means 
 happiness, it means her children ; it means what eighty- 
 five per cent, of women are agreed to call their lives 
 love is all that to a woman. The first law of life is 
 self-preservation. Can you talk of standing in any- 
 body's way when the preservation of your own life is at 
 stake ? Do you think Dorothy will ever let him go ? "
 
 252 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 "How can she stop him?" asked Anne. "I can't 
 imagine anybody being able to stop Dicky if he's once 
 made up his mind. I don't think he's cruel at heart ; 
 but I've often known him to be cruel, when he wanted 
 to get his own way. If he's made up his mind to go, 
 he'll go." 
 
 " I hope you Ye right," said Mr. Hollom slowly. 
 " Dicky's not ordinary. I believe there's a future for 
 him as great as any painter that has ever lived in this 
 country. I don't care who it is. I believe he's got 
 something in him as great as a man can be. But he's 
 got his nature to deal with first and, great as his 
 chances are, they all lie in the palm of a girl's hand. 
 She doesn't even know the scales she's balancing. It 
 may sound silly to talk in this exaggerated way. Dicky 
 may go to London, he may paint mediocre pictures all 
 his life. Fm no prophet. I only believe." 
 
 For some way the tapping of Anne's heels on the 
 hard road kept time in the silence with his. Her mind 
 was in confusion. She had never thought of Dicky 
 as with a great future in front of him before. She 
 scarcely believed it possible even now. Dicky, who 
 had been fond of painting little pictures which had 
 never really pleased her because they were never really 
 like the places they represented ? How could he ever 
 make money by them ? Who would buy them ? 
 Greatness itself, as a quality alone, did not reach her 
 mind at all. Yet at the same time, if it were possible 
 for him to make a livelihood by his painting, there
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 253 
 
 seemed something finer in that than working on at the 
 mill. So in a sense she appreciated Dorothy's point of 
 view. But why, after all, should he go away ? A 
 home was better than anything else in the world. She 
 tried to see it in the spirit of romance, but the effort 
 failed. 
 
 Romance is the poAver to see in colour, in brilliant 
 colour, too. When Anne regarded Dicky's adventure 
 to London, every prospect was grey. At Trafford Mill, 
 happy with Dorothy, where she, too, would always see 
 him, the colour she saw was rose. 
 
 " I think,' 1 she said at last, " I think I can quite under- 
 stand why Dorothy wants to keep him. I don't think 
 I should myself." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because it doesn't seem right to stand in any one's 
 way. Dicky may be able to sell pictures one day " 
 
 " My dear Anne," he interrupted, " it isn't a question 
 of selling pictures. Dicky doesn't really care whether 
 he sells pictures or not " 
 
 " Then what's the sense," she broke in, " in letting 
 him go ? He must make his living." 
 
 " Oh, yes he may be able to do that all right. A 
 meagre living hand to mouth, his hand most likely more 
 often in an empty pocket ; his mouth empty, too. But 
 I've no doubt he'll be able to scrape along. No one could 
 deny that he's got ability above the average, enough to 
 make him keep the wolf from the door. No the point 
 is, will he be a great artist ? If he will be, he'll make
 
 254 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 money more than he ever could at the mill whether 
 he likes to or not. Put the money out of your head 
 altogether. Assume, at least, that he can live. Is he 
 going to be great, or is this girl going to throw her 
 arms across the way to his greatness ? I only know 
 this, that if he doesn't go I shall be miserably dis- 
 appointed. Obviously, at any rate, they've fallen out. 
 One can see that from his manner." 
 
 " Well, then, they've made it up now," said Anne ; 
 "Dorothy didn't go along this way for nothing."" 
 
 " Yes but that doesn't mean they've made it up." 
 
 Anne looked up quickly into his face. 
 
 " I believe you hope," said she, " that they won't." 
 
 " I believe I do," he replied.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 DOROTHY walked back to Eckington by an upper 
 road. She wished, she said, to go alone. 
 
 " But, Dorrie," he pleaded, " if you don't feel 
 well ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't feel really bad and and I want to 
 think." 
 
 " But this afternoon we can meet this afternoon ? " 
 
 " Won't to-morrow do instead ? " 
 
 " Oh, I couldn't wait till to-morrow." 
 
 " It's only a few hours, Dicky." 
 
 " Yes, but I couldn't. Do come this afternoon. Be 
 at the oak tree at half-past two." 
 
 " Three. 11 
 
 " Well a quarter to." 
 
 " I'll try," she whispered. 
 
 He watched her going until the last sway of her skirt 
 swung out of sight. How could he go away ? Yet in 
 two days he knew in the heart of him he would be 
 gone. What would she say when she knew ? 
 
 If there had been hope of his marrying Dorothy 
 after the waiting of a year or so, he knew that it would 
 be very different then and, as he sat on the arms of the 
 
 lock gates, wildly the thought came to him that it 
 
 255
 
 256 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 might be so. His father had married when he was a 
 very young man. In less than two years he himself 
 would be twenty. The more he considered it the 
 greater grew the probability of it in his mind. Some 
 different aspect of their relationship had come to him 
 in those moments before Mr. Angel had appeared upon 
 the scene. A step had been taken then in their 
 development which could not be retraced. He was not 
 fully aware of the direction in which that step had led 
 him. But now the need of their marriage consumed 
 his whole point of view. If he could marry her, he 
 would stay. He would not go to London. He would 
 give up everything. So, as he sat there on the lock 
 gates, he reviewed their chances, one moment buoyed up 
 with hope, the next cast down in deep despair. 
 
 Slowly and incessantly the water trickled through the 
 closed lock gates. The sound of it purred in his ears, a 
 gentle accompaniment to the roaring of the water over 
 the weir. That sense of the Sabbath was over everything. 
 The mill wheel was still ; the sparrows perched on its 
 arms were pecking at the drying slime they had 
 collected. The rich scent of almonds came from the 
 may trees. The creeping wall plants filling the niches 
 of the empty lock were burst in bloom. It was still 
 the day of summer dropped in the lap of spring. 
 
 But to Dicky, as he struggled between the needs of 
 soul and body, these things were meaningless and had 
 no voice to tempt him from his thoughts. When Mr. 
 Hollom and Anne returned, they found him still seated
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 257 
 
 on the arm of the lock gates, his legs curled up on the 
 great black beam, his head in his hands staring down 
 into the water. 
 
 They had looked for him first in the house ; then 
 saw him across the other side of the weir as they came 
 out again into the garden. 
 
 " They haven't made it up," Mr. Hollom declared on 
 the first moment as he saw him. Anne felt a twinge of 
 pain in her heart as she heard the note of relief in his 
 voice. She knew then that she wanted them to make 
 it up ; that she did not want Dicky to go away at 
 all. 
 
 " Where's the pater ? " was Dicky's first question. 
 
 " He stayed behind," said Mr. Hollom, " to speak to 
 a farmer Mr. Lipscombe why ? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing," replied Dicky ; " I only wondered 
 where he was." 
 
 At the mid-day meal his attention to his father was 
 conspicuous, but conspicuous only to Anne. Mr. 
 Hollom was a stranger ; he would not have noticed it. 
 Mr. Furlong always, and quite rightly, expected atten- 
 tion from his children. He had often said that it was 
 due from youth to age. When, therefore, he received 
 it, it did not particularly arrest his attention. He 
 said " thank you," and smiled at him when Dicky went 
 out of his way to pass him the salt and pepper. He 
 made a jest about the thickness of the bread which 
 Dicky had cut for him ; but beyond this and the slight 
 rising of his spirits, he did not show that he was aware
 
 258 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 of any difference in Dicky's manner. Mr. Furlong's 
 spirits were high, in any case. Lipscombe the farmer 
 had chatted to him in a most affable frame of mind. 
 He had even mentioned business, but Mr. Furlong had 
 held up his hand. 
 
 " Let's leave it till to-morrow," he had said. " I put 
 business as far from me as possible on Sundays. It 
 won't hurt waiting." 
 
 As this had somewhat conveyed to Mr. Lipscombe 
 that he was not so terribly anxious to do business, it 
 had served a double purpose. In his own mind Mr. 
 Furlong felt it had been a just reward for the observ- 
 ance of his principles. When, therefore, after dinner 
 Dicky asked him if they could have a talk together, he 
 looked his surprise, no doubt, but turning it to a 
 smile, he took Dicky's arm and led him out into the 
 garden. 
 
 It was with no little curiosity that he waited to hear 
 what Dicky had to say, for this was the first time in all 
 his experience of his son that he had ever taken him 
 into his confidence. Despite all his maintaining that 
 there should be mutual confidence between children 
 and parents, he felt an unexpected thrill of pride at the 
 thought that he was about to hear his secret thoughts 
 from Dicky's own lips. He tightened his hand on 
 Dicky's arm ; he looked back over his shoulder to see if 
 Anne had noticed. 
 
 But Dicky did not find it so easy as he had sup- 
 posed. They passed through the open wicket gate ;
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 259 
 
 they walked down the hill beneath the flowering apple 
 trees, across the weir to the towing path on the other 
 side of the river, and still he said nothing. 
 
 " Well, old chap," said his father at last, " what is it 
 you've got to say ? " 
 
 With increasing nervousness, Dicky drew his arm 
 away. The certainty of justice in the request he was 
 going to make had grievously diminished in his mind. 
 While still in the heat of his passion that morning, he 
 had known it to be the only true solution to the almost 
 insurmountable difficulty which Nature had thrown so 
 suddenly in his way. But now, in the cold and dis- 
 passionate presence of his father, it seemed to have lost 
 the greater weight of its importance. Yet he knew 
 that if it were to be said at all, if it were to be said, 
 moreover, in complete justice to himself, it must be said 
 at once, directly, firmly, with no beating about the bush. 
 He drew a breath and fixed his eyes steadily before 
 him. 
 
 " Would it be possible,' 1 he began uncertainly, " I 
 mean, is there any reason why I shouldn't be married in 
 a year or two ? " 
 
 He had never intended to suggest that it should be 
 so long as two years, but so cold was the blood running 
 in him now, that it seemed a year would sound ridiculous 
 to his father's ears. Anyhow, it was said, the words 
 were irrevocably spoken. In the silence that followed 
 them, Dicky heard the reverberating echoes as though a 
 thousand voices were crying them back with ironical
 
 2CO THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 insistence. He dared not look at his father. Even 
 with his eyes set directly in front of him, he could see 
 nothing. The black line of the towing path, losing 
 itself in the long grass at either side, the belt of trees 
 upon the other bank hanging upon the river's edge, the 
 far line of Bredon Hill rising and falling in the brilliant 
 sky, all these things were confused in a shapeless mist 
 before his eyes. 
 
 " Married ? " said Mr. Furlong at last. He said it 
 in all kindness, meaning most earnestly that now, when 
 his son had come to him of his own accord, he would 
 give every consideration, make every allowance for a 
 nature which possibly he did not too thoroughly under- 
 stand. The note, therefore, which Dicky had heard in 
 his voice was not that of defiance ; but it was the note 
 of despondency, of disappointment. For at the outset 
 Mr. Furlong knew that this was beyond his compre- 
 hension. He was not conscious of that knowledge. 
 What came most prominently to his mind was the 
 feeling that Dicky could not be serious, or if he were, 
 then that he did not really know what he was talking 
 about. Still, he held his judgment back until he had 
 heard more. With a conscious effort, he forced the 
 note of kindness on the word ; yet to one as sensitive as 
 Dicky, he had not struck it true. 
 
 " Married ? " he repeated. " Well tell me, old 
 chap what do you mean ? " 
 
 Dicky faltered. He knew he had come to a door 
 that would never open to all his knocking. It was im-
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 261 
 
 possible to explain what he had felt while he was in 
 Dorothy's arms that morning. Indeed he scarcely knew 
 the full meaning of it himself. All women were pure. 
 He had said that over and over again. All women like 
 Dorothy were pure. He had heard of others when he 
 was at school. He had known of one in his own 
 experience. But all women like Dorothy were pure. 
 Therefore, he did not know what he meant, or what he 
 had felt, except that marriage would save him from 
 some terrible catastrophe. Yet to make it clear to his 
 father, this must be explained, and unless it were 
 understood of him without the necessity of words, he 
 knew that he could never explain it himself. 
 
 The modesty of a boy with such a training as Dicky 
 is a frail and fragile thing, as brittle as the brittlest 
 glass. Even to the gentle understanding of a woman, 
 he is stilted and ill-at-ease. Before one of his own sex 
 he is dumb. When, therefore, Mr. Furlong asked him 
 what he meant, he faltered with a word, only to resume 
 his silence. 
 
 " Well, who is it ? " his father inquired presently. 
 
 " Dorothy." 
 
 "Dorothy Leggatt?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Mr. Furlong smiled beneath his moustache. Of 
 course, it was a boy and girl love affair ; not serious in 
 any way, but very amusing, even interesting. He 
 smiled, partly because it called back to his memory an 
 incident in his own life when he was younger even than
 
 262 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 Dicky. He recalled her name. It was Elsie. She had 
 light hair and was two years older than he. He smiled 
 because he thought of what she would be like now. 
 The phrase, fair, fat, and forty crossed his mind. He 
 remembered kissing her at a party ; writing her letters 
 from school. But he had never wisjied to marry her. 
 The question of the possibility of marriage had never 
 entered their heads. There came a time when all was 
 over between them. He had shown the photograph 
 she had given him to a companion. Her dignity was 
 hurt to think that others should know how she had 
 bestowed her affection upon a boy two years younger 
 than herself. And all this was very amusing as it came 
 back in snatches like a long- forgotten tune. Dicky's 
 little love affair no doubt had the same amusing 
 incidents ; but he was taking it in all seriousness. Mr. 
 Furlong knew that he must take it seriously, too. But 
 marry within a year or two ! 
 
 "Well, I'm sure she's a very nice girl," he said 
 presently. " I'm very glad to hear that you're fond of 
 her. I've no doubt it'll steady you a good deal, and I 
 hope it'll last. How long have you known your own 
 mind about it ? " 
 
 " Since last autumn.* 1 
 
 Dicky had not seen his father's smile, but he could 
 read all that was in his mind from those first few 
 opening sentences. Before ever judgment had been 
 given, the spirit of combat had already begun to rise 
 in him. His mind was preparing for the inevitable
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 263 
 
 clash of their natures. He had a far clearer foresight 
 than his father for the danger which lay ahead. 
 
 " That's quite a long time, isn't it ? " said Mr. 
 Furlong. He was indeed surprised himself, having 
 imagined that he would hear it was but a few 
 weeks. 
 
 Dicky drew a long breath. His cheeks felt hot, 
 that had been as cold as ice. 
 
 " And what do you propose to marry on ? " Mr. 
 Furlong asked him then and, with the kindest 
 expression in his eyes, he looked into the face of his 
 son. 
 
 Dicky's cheeks grew hotter still. It was the gentle- 
 ness of voice, the kindness of expression accompanying 
 those particular words which rasped against his mind. 
 His father knew that on this point he was disarmed. 
 He had nothing to marry on, nothing but Mr. Furlong's 
 bounty, rewarding him, perhaps out of proportion for a 
 time, for his work in the mill. 
 
 " Well, you know I've nothing," said he at last. 
 " Unless you pay me as you pay Will'um for his 
 work in the mill. I work in the mill, too." 
 
 " And what do you think your work is worth ? " 
 
 There was not the faintest thought of cruelty in his 
 mind as he put these questions. In his own reckoning 
 it would have been cruel to deny Dicky a hearing from 
 the first moment he had spoken ; but by these measures 
 which he was adopting, he was showing gently to his 
 son the simple folly of his request. Yet to Dicky,
 
 264 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 knowing the ultimate issue, assured already in his mind 
 of what his father thought, this cross-examination was 
 the refinement of torture. For some moments he could 
 not trust himself to reply. 
 
 " What do you think it's worth ? " repeated Mr. 
 Furlong. 
 
 " I don't know," said Dicky slowly. 
 
 " Well, what do you think you'd require to live on if 
 you were married ? " 
 
 "We could live on a pound a week,"" said Dicky. 
 ** I don't mean that we could be married now at 
 once but in about a year's time or so I should be 
 just twenty we could live on a pound a week then." 
 
 " Where ? Where could you live on a pound a 
 week ? " 
 
 " Well if if we had those two rooms you're not 
 using upstairs in the house we could pay you ten 
 shillings or even more for our food, and and if you 
 gave me a small wedding present, I'm sure Mr. Leggatt 
 would give Dorothy a present, too, then we could 
 furnish the rooms and and " 
 
 That was all. He had never thought how it could 
 be done until that moment. In that moment invention 
 had come swiftly to his aid. It was all very simple. 
 What could possibly be said against it? Those two 
 rooms were never used. With ten pounds with less, 
 they could be furnished. They would be transcend- 
 ently happy in those two little rooms. In one of 
 them, which could be their sitting-room, they would
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 265 
 
 often entertain Anne. He would paint pictures, after 
 all, to hang upon their walls. It was suddenly now 
 becoming so real that he did not even feel the pang 
 of regret at the thought that he would never do 
 better with his painting than that. In the prospect 
 that his invention had raised, hope lifted again in 
 his heart. He really thought that on those lines the 
 thing were feasible enough. Then he looked up into 
 his father's face and all hope withered within him. 
 
 Neither of them saw the humour of it ; the pathetic 
 comedy of a son paying his father ten shillings a week 
 for two attic rooms in that father's house, of taking 
 there to his heart a girl bride and living with her there 
 like two mice beneath the rafters. 
 
 Yet it was a scheme, a scheme to save him from the 
 coarser measures and lessons of life, a scheme which 
 many a father might adopt rather than that his son 
 should seek the harsh teachings of the world in the 
 learning of his manhood. But neither humorously nor 
 seriously did the suggestion appeal to Mr. Furlong's 
 mind. It had just enough of rationality in it to 
 make him realise that his position of kindly disagree- 
 ment was not so unassailable as he had imagined. It 
 was this very discovery which had so often annoyed 
 him in his discussions with Dicky before. He felt 
 annoyance now. 
 
 " Do you realise," he said at length, " that you're 
 only a boy a boy of seventeen or eighteen which 
 is it?"
 
 266 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 " Just eighteen," said Dicky. 
 
 " Well, just eighteen. When I was that age I hadn't 
 dreamt of marriage."" 
 
 " No, you didn't perhaps, but I have." 
 
 " Yes, but, my dear boy, you're not old enough to 
 know your own mind. When you go out into the 
 world, it's quite possible that your mind '11 change. 
 l r ou think Dorothy Leggatt lovely and all that sort 
 of thing now, and I've no doubt she is a charming 
 girl, and I'm very glad, as I said, that you're fond of 
 her ; but when you get out into the world, it's quite 
 possible that all that may change." 
 
 " How can I get out into the world if I have to stay 
 on here in the mill ? " asked Dicky. " Supposing all 
 that's true what you say and that I should change 
 I've got to stay on here working at the mill. I 
 never shall get out into the world ; I never shall see 
 anybody else to make me change my mind." 
 
 " Well, when I say out into the world, I'm speaking 
 figuratively. I mean when you get experience." 
 
 " But I've said I don't ask that we should be married 
 at once. We'll wait a year. If I care for her still by 
 then, shan't I know my own mind ? " 
 
 "My dear boy," Mr. Furlong tried to smile, he 
 forced a kindly expression into his eyes ; " no man 
 really knows his own mind till he's nearly thirty." 
 
 " Do you mean I oughtn't to marry till then ? " 
 
 " Well, not quite so long as that, perhaps." 
 
 " But you married soon after you were twenty-one."
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 267 
 
 Who told you that ? " 
 
 " Well, you're forty-four now, aren't you ? " 
 
 " How do you know I'm forty-four ? " 
 
 " I know you are Anne's twenty nearly twenty- 
 one. You must be something like that." 
 
 The expression which Dicky knew so well then settled 
 on his father's lips. It meant that he had passed a 
 certain limit of endurance and would listen to reason 
 no more. 
 
 " I didn't come out here to discuss my age," said he. 
 
 " No, I know," replied Dicky ; " I haven't meant to 
 discuss it. But if I'm not to be married till I'm nearly 
 thirty, what am I to do. I can't help what I feel. 1 " 
 
 The expression of obstinacy swept from Mr. Furlong's 
 eyes. In place of it there came a look, half of horror, 
 half disgust. 
 
 " What you feel ? What do you mean ? " he de- 
 manded. 
 
 " I mean I feel that if I stay on here with with her 
 we we ought to be married." 
 
 " I've never heard of anything so abominable in all 
 my life ! " exclaimed Mr. Furlong. " Have you so 
 little control over yourself as all that ? Is that all you 
 desire to marry for ? Go back to the house and never 
 let me hear you talk of anything like this again. I 
 never thought a son of mine Would harbour such 
 abominable thoughts in his mind. Go back to the 
 house I don't want to talk to you about this any 
 more."
 
 268 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 Dicky turned on his heel, and Mr. Furlong sat down 
 on a stile that led into the meadows. He never looked 
 in Dicky's direction again ; but as his mind wandered 
 back into the past, he remembered the sight of Christina 
 as she sometimes sat at dinner in the great dining-room 
 at Wittingham. He remembered the sight of her grace- 
 ful shoulders and the thoughts which had passed across 
 his mind then. He recalled the struggle through which 
 he had suffered when he had known that to marry her 
 would mean the sacrifice of his father's support in his 
 old age. He remembered how he had given in ; how 
 the flesh had overcome the spirit. 
 
 These memories irritated him. He rose with annoy- 
 ance to his feet. 
 
 " But my goodness ! " he exclaimed aloud, " I was 
 what ? I was twenty then ! This boy's only eighteen ! "
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 As Dicky walked through the fields to keep his 
 meeting with Dorothy in the oak tree, a wild flood of 
 incoherent ideas was racing through his mind. Bitterly 
 he accused his father of all those vices which the want 
 of understanding seems to prove. He was brutal ; he 
 was cruel. There was a trait of hypocrisy in him 
 which Dicky had never seen before. How dare he 
 speak of such things as abominable when he himself 
 had married ! What right had he to decree that any 
 boy should wait until he was thirty before he took a 
 wife ? 
 
 These things he said aloud as he walked. In the 
 heat of the injustice which he felt he was suffering, he 
 could see no other aspect of the case than his own. 
 The misunderstanding which Mr. Furlong had shown 
 seemed only intentional to him. There was only one 
 way in which he could meet it. That way, without 
 hesitation, he determined then to take. Mr. Hollom 
 had told him that on Monday he would have the ten 
 pounds ready for him. On Tuesday morning, there- 
 fore, he would go ; on Tuesday morning when the day 
 was early and no one was astir in the mill. 
 
 " I won't stay ! I won't stay ! " he kept muttering to
 
 270 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 himself, and, in his haste to reach Dorothy, he stumbled 
 over a tree trunk, swearing loudly as he recovered 
 himself from falling. 
 
 " I'm changing," he said aloud, " I'm becoming a 
 different person. I don't care what I become I'll get 
 away." 
 
 Dorothy was there already. His talk with his father 
 had made him late. He flung himself into the explana- 
 tion of everything at once. The difficulty of telling 
 Dorothy that he was going away so soon had become 
 quite easy now. The words tumbled over each other as 
 he informed her of all that had happened in the last 
 few hours. 
 
 " So I shall go," he concluded ; " I shall go on 
 Tuesday from Pershore. I shall go early in the morn- 
 ing before anybody's up. He'll never see me in that 
 house again. I hate it now. I've hated it really ever 
 since the mater died. It's never been the same without 
 her." 
 
 Dorothy's lips were trembling as she heard him. 
 The tears were filling in her eyes. She knew how, even if 
 she had wished it, she had no power to hold him then. 
 He was going right away from her, and he was going 
 in two days. She hid her face on his shoulder. The 
 tears tumbled down upon his coat. 
 
 " You said not till June, Dicky," she faltered. * 4 1 
 marked it up on the calendar in my bedroom. It 
 looked terribly short even then just five weeks and 
 now it's only two days."
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 271 
 
 He patted her shoulder gently. He knew he was a 
 man now, now that he was taking alone the responsi- 
 bility of life. 
 
 " The sooner I go," he whispered, " the sooner I shall 
 be making enough for us both. If I have to wait till 
 I'm thirty, what is the good of staying on at the mill ? 
 Fd never have gone at all, if he'd have let me marry in 
 a year or two. I'd have chucked it all up for you. 
 But you do believe, don't you, that I'm going to suc- 
 ceed ? I know the things I do now are not a bit of 
 good. But I've got it in me. Mr. Hollom thinks I 
 have. He believes that I am going to succeed. He'd 
 never have given me that frightful lot of money if he 
 didn't think so. You do believe, don't you little child 
 little child?" 
 
 He stood there with Dorothy crying on his shoulder, 
 and he felt so much a man. 
 
 She looked up at him with wet cheeks. 
 
 " I do believe," she whispered. And then he pressed 
 her wildly to him. No words a woman can say to a 
 man sound really more wonderful than these. Love he 
 expects love he means to win ; but when she says that 
 she believes in him, it is such tribute as no cries of 
 praise from all the world can equal. 
 
 As he heard her say it, his heart swelled once more 
 with the strength and virtue of those hundred men. 
 He felt that the whole world was for his conquering. 
 Within himself, he made a fervent oath she should not 
 believe in vain.
 
 272 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 " But why did he say it was abominable ? " asked 
 Dorothy presently as she dried her eyes. 
 
 " Because of what I said." 
 
 " But what did you say ? " 
 
 He hesitated. The heat of his anger was passing 
 from him now. A few moments before he could have 
 told her without faltering. 
 
 " I said " he began. " Well you know this 
 
 morning just before old Angel came up " he put 
 
 his arms about her and hid her face again upon his 
 shoulder. " Oh, my darling ! " he whispered, " I do 
 care for you so much. I said oh, you know what I 
 mean I said that if I stayed on here, still seeing you, 
 we ought to be married because oh, I know you'll 
 understand because of what I I felt." He pressed 
 her face still closer upon his shoulder. " Dorrie, you 
 know I love you, don't you ? " 
 
 And then he waited waited to know if he had 
 deserved rebuke. She kept her head close against his 
 shoulder, but said nothing. She was thinking of her 
 mother ; of her mother and Mr. Allen. In that 
 sudden moment she knew, too, why she had never 
 loved her father. 
 
 u You don't think it's abominable, do you ? " Dicky 
 whispered across her thoughts. 
 
 For an instant she raised her eyes and he looked into 
 them. 
 
 " My little wife," he said hoarsely, and pressed his 
 lips to hers.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 273 
 
 All that afternoon they sat there in the oak tree. 
 On the threshold of that house of love there are a 
 thousand things to say. They talked until the sun 
 began to slant down to the West. 
 
 " And where can we meet to-morrow ? " he begged of 
 her when she made ready to go. 
 
 " Nowhere to-morrow," she replied disconsolately. 
 "I've got to drive into Pershore with mother. We 
 shall be there all day." 
 
 " But I must see you again," he exclaimed. " I must 
 see you to-morrow, because I shall be going early on 
 Tuesday morning. Dorrie, I must see you. I we 
 couldn't say good-bye now. Come out to-morrow 
 evening." 
 
 " How could I ? They wouldn't let me. Father's 
 fearfully strict." 
 
 " But you could when they've gone to bed they 
 wouldn't know then. Dorrie ! We couldn't say good- 
 bye here." 
 
 "No but how could I when they've gone to 
 bed?" 
 
 " You could get out by the back door." 
 
 " When they're asleep ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 He said it so easily, so readily, that it seemed not so 
 impossible after all. There was no reason why they 
 should find out. And could she bear to let him go 
 now, not to see him again for perhaps a year, or 
 even more ? She knew that was impossible. She was
 
 274 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 clinging to him then as they stood on the hillside 
 beneath the oak tree. It would be beyond her en- 
 durance if, when they reached the mill, they were 
 just to shake hands and say good-bye upon the road. 
 
 " Very well," she said at last, " I'll come I'll try. 
 They go to bed at half-past ten. I expect in an hour 
 from that they'll be asleep. My bedroom's over the 
 kitchen, they won't hear me getting up. I'll try, 
 Dicky. Be on the bridge at half-past eleven. I'll try 
 and be there then."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 FOR the rest of that evening and all the next day no 
 word passed between Dicky and his father. No doubt 
 it was this smarting under the sense of injustice which 
 made his going the easier. Had he realised the bitter 
 wound which would be inflicted on his father's heart by 
 his departure, Dicky might have hesitated ; with the 
 need of Dorothy he might almost have stayed even 
 then. But in his ignorance of the blow about to fall 
 on him, Mr. Furlong seriously imagined that his silence 
 expressed in him the spirit of authority. 
 
 " I shall not speak to him again," he told himself, 
 " until he first approaches me in a contrite manner." 
 
 So the Monday came and went. Dicky worked in 
 the mill as though nothing were about to happen. At 
 meals, Anne and Mr. Hollom watched the set line of 
 his lips, observed every little expression by which they 
 might see if there were the signs of any deviation from 
 his purpose. There was yet hope in Anne that his 
 courage might fail him at the last ; for the same reason 
 there was yet fear in Mr. Hollom. But they saw none. 
 Doggedly and in silence he went through that day. 
 Early in the evening he rose from his chair in the 
 
 sitting-room, declaring that he was going to bed. 
 T 2 275
 
 276 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 Bending over Anne, he kissed her lingeringly, 
 lovingly. 
 
 " Dicky," said his father, " is there any necessity to 
 kiss your sister like that ? " 
 
 " Like what ? " said Dicky sharply. 
 
 Anne's cheeks were scarlet. 
 
 " I see no reason for you to hang over her like that. 
 I don't think it's nice." 
 
 They looked 'at each other, and for that moment 
 there was battle in their eyes. Dicky knew quite well 
 why his father had drawn attention to it. In the light 
 of what he had told him the day before, it was a cruel 
 thing to have said. He could not see how the unhappy 
 man, against overwhelming odds, was struggling for the 
 power of his authority. The possession of authority 
 over his children meant to him the possession of their 
 respect ; if he secured their obedience, he believed he 
 secured their love. Now that he knew there was 
 antagonism between himself and Dicky, he sought for 
 any excuse to command in order that he might see 
 himself obeyed. 
 
 So he met Dicky's eyes with a stern and unrelenting 
 gaze, little realising that this was the last look which 
 would pass between them for many and many a day. 
 
 From that gaze Dicky turned with contempt in his 
 heart to Mr. Hollom. They shook hands. As he was 
 about to leave the room Mr. Furlong called him back. 
 
 " You haven't said good-night to me," he said. 
 
 Dicky held out his hand.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 277 
 
 " Good-night," he replied. 
 
 " Good-night," said Mr. Furlong and, in his voice, 
 he tried to convey the sense of power. The note of it 
 to Dicky was but that of anger. For the last time he 
 endeavoured to quell the spirit in his son with the 
 expression in his eyes ; but Dicky would not look at 
 him. When his hand was free, he turned and left the 
 room. 
 
 In half an hour, Anne was knocking timidly at his 
 door. A distant voice bid her come in. When she 
 entered, she found Dicky leaning out of the window, his 
 face in his hands. Over the willows beyond the weir, a 
 pale yellow moon was rising out into the wide space of 
 heaven. Gently she closed the door and crossed the 
 room to his side. 
 
 " Dicky," she whispered, " are you really going ? " 
 
 " Yes," he replied. 
 
 She sat down by the window at his side. 
 
 " You'll write, won't you ? " 
 
 " If you don't let the pater know where I am." 
 
 "I promise I won't. And you'll let me know if 
 there's ever anything you want? You won't starve, 
 will you ? If you can't make any money, you'll come 
 back?" 
 
 " People don't starve," said Dicky, and proved his 
 ignorance of the world. 
 
 " And Dicky " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "I want you to take this." She held out a little
 
 278 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 packet that jingled as it passed from her hands to 
 his. 
 
 " Anne ! " he exclaimed in wonder. 
 
 " There's only two pounds," she whispered. " I'd 
 give you much, much more if I had it." 
 
 " Anne ! " He threw his arms round her neck. A 
 thousand things were drawn into his memory by that 
 generous gift the times she had emptied the contents 
 of her money-box to buy him a sketch-book in Pershore, 
 the numberless times her generosity had saved him from 
 difficulty. " I can't take it," he said, and it lay in the 
 palm of his hand and he looked at it. 
 
 " Do ! " she begged. " You're sure to want it. Ten 
 pounds will never be enough." 
 
 " But it's all your savings for ever so long." 
 
 "That doesn't matter I don't want it. It's no 
 good to me." 
 
 " But you could buy things with it," he protested. 
 He could not persuade himself that money could be 
 useless to any one even to a girl. And all the time it 
 lay there temptingly in the palm of his hand. 
 
 "I'm as good as buying things now," said she, " when 
 I give it to you. Please please take it ! " 
 
 She made him accept it at last ; for when a woman 
 offers, she means in her heart to give ; no excuse in the 
 world will ever make her relent. She persisted with her 
 persuasions, finally closing his fingers over it as it still 
 lay in his palm, then once his fingers had shut it out of 
 sight, he gave way. It is the temperament of every
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 279 
 
 artist in the world. He will take money from a woman 
 as a child takes the milk from its mother's breast. 
 
 Once she knew there was no fear of its being returned, 
 Anne set to work to pack up the clothes he would 
 need. 
 
 " I don't want much," said he. " Put them in a 
 brown paper parcel. I couldn't sweat to carry a trunk 
 all that way into Pershore." 
 
 So the brown paper parcel was made. When all was 
 ready, Anne put her arms round his neck. The tears 
 were rolling down her cheeks. 
 
 " Good-bye, Dicky," she said brokenly. " Don't 
 forget me." 
 
 He was crying, too. He knew now how much she 
 had been to him since his mother died. They pressed 
 their wet cheeks together and no word was said of what 
 had happened in the sitting-room downstairs. 
 
 "God bless you, old girl," he muttered. Without 
 turning back, she left the room. 
 
 Aimlessly he returned to the window, almost wishing 
 now that he had never said he would go. What would 
 the world be like without Dorothy, without Anne ? In 
 this frame of mind he might ultimately have yielded, 
 but there was yet his pride. When the thought came 
 definitely that he would stay after all, the remembrance 
 of what his father had said, the thousand hopes he 
 cherished of showing them all the things he could do, 
 thrust the suggestion back. He must go ! He would 
 go ! It was the first wrench, but once that was over
 
 280 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 and he had begun, he knew in his heart he would be 
 glad of it then. 
 
 Soon there came another knock upon his door. 
 Without moving or looking round, he said, "Come 
 in."" He knew who it was. 
 
 Mr. Hollom closed the door after him. 
 
 " Aren't you going to bed at all ? " he asked as he 
 came to Dicky's side. 
 
 " No,"" said Dicky. " The train goes at five to six, 
 and it'll take me a good while to walk into Pershore. 
 I mightn't wake in time, and if I don't go to-night 
 Til never go." 
 
 " Beginning to regret it ? " 
 
 " No, just beginning to find it's difficult, that's all 
 difficult to leave Anne." 
 
 " You needn't worry about Anne," said Mr. Hollom. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " I'm going to look after Anne, if she'll let me." 
 
 Dicky stood up from the window-sill. 
 
 " Oh I'm jolly glad ! " he said. " I am jolly glad ! " 
 and they shook hands. " Fancy, old Anne by Jove 
 I'm glad!" 
 
 " Yes and it's not Anne you're worrying about, 
 young man. But we'll both look after her. When 
 you come back here next year with the money for your 
 first little picture in your pocket, you'll find her all 
 right. I've heard old Leggatt has got a vacancy for 
 a second master. I'm going to apply for it. I'm 
 afraid it won't be any more than I've been getting
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 281 
 
 up in the North, but it'll be enough. I can live 
 cheaper here." 
 
 " That'll be ripping," said Dicky, " if you do. Has 
 the pater gone to bed yet ? " 
 
 "He was just going when I came up. I'd better 
 not let him find me in your room. Good-night, old 
 chap. Take that letter I gave you to Marlowe. He'll 
 be able to help you get a start somewhere. And hoard 
 that money as long as you can. It's all the capital 
 you've got. I'm not going to say anything else 
 except work like the devil. It'll make you forget 
 you're hungry sometimes." 
 
 Dicky took a breath and gripped his hand. 
 
 "Thanks frightfully," he said. It was simple 
 enough. It conveyed all he meant. 
 
 Once more, when the door closed then, he turned 
 to the window. Leaning out again, he could hear the 
 signs of his father's approaching departure to bed. A 
 great while seemed to pass before he heard the key 
 turn in the lock of the hall door, before he saw the 
 light through the landing window as his father carried 
 his candle up to bed. 
 
 When the light had passed, he stood up in the room 
 and listened. To reach his bedroom, Mr. Furlong 
 must pass his son's door. Dicky heard the soft noise 
 of the footsteps approaching. He could see the faint 
 glimmer of the nearing light through the space at the 
 bottom of the door. The footsteps stopped and he 
 held his breath.
 
 282 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 There fell then a gentle knock on the panel. He 
 heard his father speak his name, tentatively, as though 
 to discover if he were asleep. He made no reply. 
 Had he answered, what might not have altered in the 
 life of Dicky Furlong then ? For had he answered, 
 Mr. Furlong was weighing it in his mind to say that he 
 had not meant to be unsympathetic in his judgment 
 of Dicky's nature. 
 
 As soon as Mr. Hollom had left him downstairs, he 
 had laid aside his book and, dropping on his knees by 
 the armchair, he had prayed to be given that under- 
 standing of his son which he had already gathered 
 from the memories of his own experience. It was 
 always the habit of his mind to pray for those things 
 which he had already received. When he had come 
 fully to realise that such passions, though certainly 
 premature in Dicky, were natural and human enough, 
 he then prayed that God would give him such realisa- 
 tion. So he kept burning, as many another does, the 
 light of his faith in the efficacy of prayer. 
 
 He determined then that, if he were awake, he would 
 speak to Dicky that very night. He could not allow 
 in his mind that Dicky should be married in a year 
 or two. That would make too much a man of him 
 too soon. But he wished that his son should know 
 how broad was his mind in impartial understanding. 
 
 Therefore he knocked; therefore he said Dicky's 
 name. But there was no reply. Dicky stood there 
 in the room, silent, scarcely breathing. At last Mr.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 283 
 
 Furlong moved on down the passage. The yellow 
 glimmer died away from the space under the door and 
 Dicky sat down to his little table. 
 
 "DEAR FATHER," he wrote, "I'm going away to 
 London to work at my painting. I could never live 
 and work in the mill. It's no good trying to find 
 me, because I shall never come back. I want the 
 experience you say I ought to get. Good-bye. DICKY." 
 
 Folding it and placing it in an envelope, he addressed 
 it to his father. Then he took up the bundle of his 
 clothes, softly opened the door, listened, then silently 
 crept downstairs. 
 
 As he laid his head on his pillow, Mr. Furlong 
 thought he heard a catch snapping on a door. He 
 sat up and listened. Everything was silent. 
 
 " If I were a nervous man," he thought, " I shouldn't 
 be contented until I'd found out whether there were 
 burglars in the house." 
 
 Then, glad that he was not a nervous man, he laid 
 his head back on his pillow and fell asleep.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE moon was riding fast in a fair heaven, as Dicky 
 reached Eckington Bridge. She was lighting the fleet 
 of clouds, burnishing their sails with silver as they 
 passed her by. Up there a fresh wind must have been 
 blowing, but closer to earth it was almost still. The 
 young leaves of the willows were just rustling, the 
 rustle of silk as when a woman passes through a quiet 
 corridor. Beneath the arches the river murmured, 
 swirling around the old stone pillars, hurrying on to 
 sing its song amongst the reeds. Just these sounds, 
 and but for them the night was silent and still. 
 
 Dicky laid his bundle on the ground and stood in the 
 niche where first he had kissed Dorothy. It was not 
 yet the hour of their meeting. Anxiety for her coming 
 had not begun to stir in him. He felt content to lean 
 over the well-worn parapet, to stare into the water 
 below. Whenever the moon rode out into the full 
 open of a cloudless space, he could see deep down below 
 the surface where the trailing weeds swung from side to 
 side, lashed by the passing current. He looked up into 
 the heavens, forcing himself to believe that that same 
 moon was riding over the countless roofs of London. 
 To the right, above him, were the seven stars, which for 
 
 284
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 285 
 
 so many years he had counted from his bedroom window. 
 He fixed these as landmarks which he would know again. 
 The contemplation of all the work he was going to do, 
 the fame he was going to win, were secondary matters 
 just then. The thought that he was leaving the known 
 for the unknown almost completely occupied his mind. 
 
 Only when Anne had been making up his parcel had 
 he considered it of primary importance ; then he had dis- 
 carded garments in order to make place for his sketches 
 and box of water-colours. With this equipment, with 
 a few pounds in his pocket, Dicky began the great career 
 which lay before him. Many a man has had less. 
 
 But his thoughts were little of his career in those 
 moments as he stood alone upon the bridge at Ecking- 
 ton. In a short while he would be leaving Dorothy. He 
 wondered what would happen if his father came after all 
 to his room, found the note which he had left there and 
 followed him to Pershore to prevent his going. Would 
 he be so sorry if he were brought back ; so sorry if, with 
 the knowledge of how real his feelings were, his father 
 gave him permission to marry Dorothy in a year or so ? 
 
 He was in just that unbalanced state of mind as when 
 a man has fixed his resolve and must wait with growing 
 impatience to carry out his determination. That half 
 hour while he waited for Dorothy upon the bridge was 
 the severest test through which he passed. There came 
 the most trying moment of all when, as the silence 
 deepened for the want of those footsteps he so desired 
 to hear, Dicky began at last to believe she was not
 
 286 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 coming. His heart grew sick. Again the strength of 
 the hundred men dwindled and fell away. He had then 
 but the strength of a boy standing upon the edge of 
 that whirling struggle for life, telling himself, feebly 
 yet persistently against the counsel of his heart, that 
 still he must take the plunge, must loose himself from 
 all those things he held the dearest in order that he 
 might be saved. 
 
 This, the first, is the greatest struggle that a man 
 can endure. And the nearer he comes to failure, the 
 greater the victory he wins. When he had listened and 
 listened for the tapping of those footsteps in vain, 
 slowly Dicky leant down and took his parcel in his 
 hand. She was not coming, and he could not bear to 
 go without seeing her again. However clearly he saw 
 that what he had said to Mr. Hollom was true, however 
 much he realised that if he did not go that night he 
 would never go, yet he was prepared to return. Without 
 seeing her again it was impossible to go. 
 
 He knew now that a life in the mill was his portion. 
 His lips trembled at the thought of it. The conscious- 
 ness of all he was losing in life came strongly to him 
 then. But even at that moment there was something 
 in him more exacting than his liberty. Nature was 
 torturing him in her hands as God had tortured him 
 on the hillside with the fear of death. 
 
 Slowly his feet began to move towards Eckington 
 again. He was no good. He knew he was no good. 
 The world was not for his conquering after all.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 287 
 
 And then he stopped. A sound in the distance on 
 the road had just come to his ears. Tap tap tap 
 tap it came. He swallowed the rising in his throat. 
 Tap tap tap tap he made certain of it now. 
 Almost with stealthiness, ashamed of those few steps he 
 had taken, he crept back again to the bridge and laid 
 his bundle down once more upon the ground. Another 
 moment and the moon shot out behind a cloud. The 
 road was light as day and far off he could see the figure 
 of Dorothy. It was not until that instant did he realise 
 how much they were alone.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 DICKY walked down the road to meet her. Now he 
 left his bundle on the ground. Nervously she put out 
 her hand to greet him. He took it, drawing her close 
 to him and kissing her lips that were quite cold. Nature 
 was sure of her then. She had called and Dorothy had 
 answered. In those first few moments of their meeting, 
 Nature was content to stand aside, to let her be shy and 
 be timid. It was enough for the present that she had 
 come. Dorothy herself but a few days before would 
 never have believed that she could ever have done such 
 a thing as this. Even having done it and escaped all 
 chance of discovery, she still was frightened when she 
 found the darkness all round them and they so much 
 alone. 
 
 She may have wished to turn back. The sense of 
 apprehension was vivid in her mind. She did not think 
 that things would happen ; but there was that nameless 
 expectation in her thoughts that they might. She did 
 not name those things to herself. They had no name to 
 her. But the mysterious possibility of them was there. 
 
 So her lips were cold and her hands were trembling. 
 She had cried that night when first she went up to her 
 
 room ; but no tears were near her eyes now. 
 
 288
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 289 
 
 "I can only stay a very little while, Dicky," she 
 began. 
 
 " Is there any fear they 1 !! find out ? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh, no. I couldn't have come if there were. But 
 I mustn't stay long. Besides, it's cold isn't it ? " 
 
 "Cold?" he put his arm round her shoulder. "I 
 don't feel a bit cold, and I've been out here nearly an 
 hour." 
 
 " Well, I'm shaking, " she said ; " perhaps it isn't the 
 cold." 
 
 He drew her into the niche on the bridge and put 
 both his arms about her. 
 
 " Do you remember that night when we stood here ? " 
 he whispered, " last autumn when the moon was rising 
 when I first kissed you ? " 
 
 She looked up into his face and her eyes answered. 
 
 " You wanted me to kiss you, didn't you ? " 
 
 The falling of her eyes answered him that. 
 
 " Do you want me to kiss you again ? " 
 
 The nameless apprehension filled her mind once more. 
 She trembled. 
 
 " Do you ? " 
 
 Her lips were still cold, but warmer when his had 
 left them. Just then her foot touched his bundle on 
 the ground. She looked down. 
 
 " What's that on the ground ? " she asked. 
 
 " My things." 
 
 " What things ? Your clothes ? Aren't you going 
 back to the mill again to-night ? "
 
 290 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " I've left the mill for good now, " said he ; "I shan't 
 go back there any more." 
 
 The nameless apprehension fled from her. The 
 glaring truth of the present took its place. This was 
 the last time she would see him. He had begun his 
 journey already ; soon he would be out of sight. The 
 tears came back into her eyes. She wound her arm 
 through his and held him tightly. 
 
 " Oh, Dicky, " she whispered, " now I know how true 
 it is. IVe hardly really believed it till now. I don't 
 know what I shall do." 
 
 He tried his best to comfort her. 
 
 " But are you sure you won't forget me ? " she went 
 on pitifully. " You'll find other people to care for 
 other people'll care for you, but never, never, never so 
 much as I do." 
 
 Why should he not forget her ? What would there 
 be to bind him to her when once he was gone ? Oh, if 
 she could only stop him now ! What had she gained 
 by giving way that morning when they had been recon- 
 ciled ? How had it helped her that she had said she 
 would let him go ? In a few hours her arms could no 
 longer hold him. She might call a thousand times his 
 name and he would not be there to reply. 
 
 In a fit of passionate despair, she threw her arms 
 around his neck and covered his face with kisses. He 
 should remember her by these. The thought of them 
 should steal across his mind whenever some other woman
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 291 
 
 sought to make him kiss her. She knew well that they 
 would do their best. Her bitter hatred of them entered 
 into the fierceness of her kisses. He was breathless 
 beneath that flood of passion and thought it only was 
 the pang of saying good-bye. 
 
 " You'll never forget me, will you ? " she muttered as 
 she ceased and looked into his eyes. 
 
 " How could I, Dorrie ? " he whispered, but she felt 
 as he said it how many a man had said that, too. 
 
 No, there was nothing with which to hold him ! 
 Even those kisses would grow cold on his lips. Her 
 cheeks burnt hot in a bitter anger that life could be so 
 cruel. 
 
 Then as they stood there, with her hands still bound 
 about his neck, they became aware of the rumbling of a 
 waggon's wheels coming out of Eckington. 
 
 " Listen ! " she whispered. 
 
 Their lips were parted as they held their breath. 
 Their eyes strained out into the semi-darkness. 
 
 " I don't think " he began. 
 
 " Oh, listen ! " she exclaimed nervously. 
 
 The sounds grew plainer, more distinct. To her 
 intense hearing, the rumbling came through the silence- 
 like thunder drawing overhead. 
 
 " It's coming this way,"" she said at last. " Dicky,, 
 what shall I do ? If they see me, they'll tell father ! 
 Dicky, what shall I do ? " 
 
 " Why, we can hide behind those willows until it's, 
 gone. They wouldn't see us." 
 
 U 2
 
 292 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 " They might," she objected with apprehension. " Oh, 
 I knew somebody would come by ! I knew I should be 
 found out ! " 
 
 " Well, then, come along to the old tithe barn," 
 he suggested. " Come on in the field over here. 
 There's a board out on the other side I know where 
 we can get through. Come on over this stile it's 
 only across this field. Dome, not a soul'll see us 
 then." 
 
 He picked up his bundle and took her arm. In 
 another moment they were hurrying across the damp 
 grass of the meadow by the river's edge. The cattle 
 stared at them as they passed, turning their heads in 
 heavy curiosity to watch them out of sight. 
 
 The old tithe barn stood alone in the meadow. 
 Some parts of it were crumbling in decay. At one end, 
 where it had withstood the passing of the years, a few 
 cows were tethered in a stall. They turned their sleepy 
 eyes on the intruders, as Dicky and then Dorothy crept 
 through the open space. 
 
 Her heart was beating in wildest nervousness now 
 and when an owl with a clatter of wings left its perch 
 on the rafters, flying through one of the crevices into 
 the night, a cry of fear escaped from her lips. She 
 clung fiercely to Dicky's arm. 
 
 " Only an owl," said he reassuringly, " I knew she 
 built here. You're not afraid, are you ? Dome, 
 there's nothing to be afraid about." 
 
 " But it's so dark," she said.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 293 
 
 " It is at first, but you'll get used to it. At any rate 
 no one "ud ever know we were here." 
 
 " Listen ! " she whispered. Her fingers tightened 
 convulsively again. They stood motionless. It was a 
 cow in the far end of the lofty barn, grinding the cud, 
 that dull, measured, satisfying sound which, in the 
 daylight, is so pleasant to the ear, yet at night, in one^s 
 ignorance of its making, can chill the blood with terror 
 in the veins. 
 
 Many a time had she passed the tithe barn when she 
 was going through the meadows ; but never had been 
 inside it until now. She looked fearfully above her. 
 The old oak beams and rafters, arched and curved, 
 were like the vaulted roof of a cathedral. The scent of 
 hay, cooled by the night, rose almost pungently to their 
 nostrils. It was an awesome place in the darkness, but 
 the thought that they were out of sight of any passers- 
 by on the road brought her a sense of security. She 
 clung closely to Dicky still, but she was glad they were 
 there. 
 
 He led her across the barn to where the hay was 
 stacked loosely in one corner. Whenever a mouse 
 scampered away before them, Dicky coughed to drown 
 the sound of it in her ears. 
 
 "Let's sit down on this hay," said he, "and talk. 
 I've got so many things to say." And when they had 
 sat down, he took her hand and gazed at it in silence. 
 
 In time, the sound of that cow chewing her cud lulled 
 the fears in her. She began once more to think of his
 
 294 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 going, of what the world would be to her with him 
 gone. 
 
 " Have you ever read Browning, Dicky ? " she asked 
 presently. 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " Mother gave me a book of his poems. She told 
 me I ought to read them, but I can't understand them 
 very well." 
 
 " Why did you ask me ? "" he inquired. 
 
 " 'Cos there's one ' Night and Morning ' that 
 reminded me of now this old barn your going every- 
 thing. The last two lines are wonderful, Dicky." 
 
 " What are they ? Do you remember them ? " 
 
 " I can't remember them properly," she replied. 
 But this was not the truth. Word for word they 
 were ringing in her head 
 
 " And straight was a path of gold for him 
 And the need of a world of men for me." 
 
 She said them over to herself, repeating the last line, 
 lingering over the words that brought her pain and 
 pleasure too. 
 
 " And the need of a world of men for me." 
 
 They seemed to mean all the long nights that were 
 to come ; all the desolation and hunger in her heart. 
 It was so cruel that he must go. For the time being 
 this prospect monopolised her thoughts. She forgot 
 her fear of being discovered, forgot the need of going 
 back.
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 295 
 
 And Dicky, as he looked about him in the darkness, 
 which to their accustomed eyes was dark no longer, 
 wondered how many men could so be trusted with the 
 woman whom they loved. He knew she was safe from 
 him. Warm though the blood was rushing through 
 him, the thought that she was pure laid the naked 
 sword between them. He remembered the custom he 
 had read of the Viking lord who, with the maid of 
 his choice, slept with but a naked sword to part them, 
 guarding her virtue. So they were together then, the 
 sword protecting them. 
 
 He leant back upon the loosened hay. The scent of 
 it was strong in his nostrils. It seemed in his mind 
 that he wished to prove the greatness of his virtue, 
 the strength and beauty of the love he had for her. 
 
 "Dorrie," he said gently. She bent down to his side. 
 Slowly he drew his arm around her, slowly lest she 
 should have forbidden him. They lay close together now. 
 Her cheeks were touching his. The scent of her hair was 
 like the hay. He drew in his breath as it touched his 
 face. No man surely, had ever been so much alone 
 with a woman before. The thought of their loneliness 
 suddenly unnerved him. He began to tremble. 
 
 " Dicky, you're cold," she whispered. 
 
 " No, I'm not," he replied. " Only so soon and I 
 shall be gone. If we were married, we should be like 
 this always. Always together, every day " his voice 
 sank to a lower whisper " every night." 
 
 She lay quite still. So still she lay, she seemed like
 
 296 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 one who had been drugged, and far off in the corner of 
 the great barn the old cow monotonously chewed her cud. 
 Dicky felt the stillness of her body close to him and his 
 own trembled the more. How absolutely they were 
 alone. 
 
 " Do you feel sleepy, Dorrie ? " he asked presently, 
 when she had not moved. 
 
 " No," she replied, and in her voice he heard suffer- 
 ing, but dared not ask what suffering it was. 
 
 After a long silence, she asked him in a whisper when 
 he must go. 
 
 " As soon as the sun rises," he replied. " It's up at 
 about a quarter-past five. That'll give me just time to 
 catch the train at Pershore." 
 
 " When the sun rises," she repeated brokenly after 
 him and, quivering, she drew closer into his arms. 
 There they lay then in silence on their soft bed of hay 
 in the corner of the tithe barn. Sometimes, as the 
 moon rode clear, a white light that was almost day 
 flooded in through the countless chinks and spaces. At 
 such moments, Dicky looked in Dorothy's face. Her 
 eyes were closed, her lips parted, her breath came quick 
 and broken on his cheeks. He tried to understand what 
 it all meant. Was this, in his life, such a moment as 
 he knew must come to every man ? He felt that 
 he was groping in the dark. Amazement was coming 
 over him. Was he too horrible, too loathesome to 
 live? Would she hate and detest him if she knew 
 his mind ?
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 297 
 
 In trembling bewilderment, he took her face in his 
 hands. 
 
 " Dorrie," he said hoarsely, " Dorrie, say you love 
 me, say it, say it. I feel such a brute such an awful 
 brute. Say you do love me." 
 
 In her breath he heard her say it. The words never 
 reached her lips. 
 
 The church clock of Eckington then began to strike 
 the hour. He kissed her wildly lest she should hear and 
 choose to go. But through all his kisses she heard the 
 chime. It came to her thoughts that she must go ; but 
 she could not move. Life might end there. It had 
 grown so dark. She loved him so much and in a few 
 hours he would be gone, leaving the need of a world of 
 men to her. 
 
 " I love you, Dicky, " she breathed again. 
 
 Then fell the silence once more, and in the far-off 
 corner of the barn rose that same monotonous note, 
 the old cow grinding the cud between her teeth. 
 
 All that night she sat beside him while he slept. 
 Even wonder, even remorse could not keep him awake. 
 His eyes had closed despite himself. In the struggle 
 between his conscience and the overwhelming knowledge 
 of his love, sleep had crept stealthily to his eyes ; his
 
 298 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 head, then resting on her shoulder, had slipped into the 
 hollow of her arm. She knew by his breathing that he 
 would say no more to her until the sunrise, and she 
 smiled. 
 
 She sat there then beside him, holding him gently in 
 her arms through all the hours of the night. It was 
 such a moment as when a man sleeps and a woman, with 
 wide eyes, sits thinking till the dawn. Slowly one 
 after another the thoughts passed through Dorothy's 
 mind. 
 
 A new courage had come to her. She felt no regret. 
 She looked down at Dicky, and it seemed he was only a 
 child in her arms. He could never forget her now ; 
 not with all the countless women in the world could he 
 ever forget her now. There was no bitterness in her 
 heart that he was going to leave her, only the uplifting 
 hope that he would soon return. And he would return, 
 and he would return triumphant ! 
 
 Now the sense of antagonism had vanished. The 
 victory was to them both. He was going out into the 
 world, and she had won such hold upon his life as he 
 could never put aside. And all these things she 
 vaguely knew ; for all these things there was a dim re- 
 joicing in her heart. It rose sufficiently to her con- 
 sciousness as to drive away all fear of the present, to 
 obscure all fear of what the future might bring to pass. 
 
 As the time went by, she thought, too, of her mother, 
 knowing and understanding now all that had seemed 
 inexplicable before. Even she realised the likeness be-
 
 THE ANTAGONISTS 299 
 
 tween them, and in a prayer, half spoken aloud, thanked 
 God she was to wed a man she loved. And because 
 they loved, who could say a word against them now ? 
 She realised no possibility of suffering or sorrow for 
 herself then. However many the miles which might 
 divide them, inevitably and eternally they belonged. 
 Nothing could separate them now. 
 
 So in the darkness, now in the unbroken silence too, 
 Dorothy sat thinking of their lives until, through the 
 open space through which they had come, she saw the 
 first grey light of dawn. Only then did her lips begin 
 to tremble. 
 
 With tears gathering in her eyes she sat motionless, 
 watching the kindling of that mighty furnace of the 
 dawn. Slowly the dark grey smoke of it rose out of 
 the east. It rent the darkness of the night and in 
 broad bands crept slowly up the heavens. At the first 
 sign of the gathering fire below the horizon, when the 
 deep grey turned to purple and a strip of palest yellow 
 lay across the line of the hills, she knew that it was 
 nearing the end. Swiftly from that moment then it 
 changed before her eyes. 
 
 It was a furnace no tears of hers could quench. 
 Steadily it kindled below that line of hills, as though a 
 city were bursting into flames the other side. Steadily 
 the grey smoke drifted to the west turning to rosy 
 purple as it caught the reflection of the fire. Steadily 
 the east lit up with the rising flames, burning with red 
 and then with orange, then with gold. And so at last,
 
 800 THE ANTAGONISTS 
 
 with leaping tongues of light, it burst above the hills. 
 The furnace of the day was lit, the flames were curling 
 into heaven. The sun was up. 
 
 She brushed away the tears that were falling from her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Dicky, " she whispered, " the sun has risen," and 
 leaning down she kissed his lips. 
 
 Then Dicky awoke, and in the hedge that ran 
 beside the barn he heard a blackbird juggling with its 
 notes. 
 
 The world had wakened for his conquering. 
 
 THE END 
 
 Richard Clay <t Soni, Limited, London and Bunyay.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 MOV 9 1971 
 
 Form L9-Series 444
 
 UAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A 000 561 213 o