THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 NELL. 
 
 A TALE OF THE THAMES. 
 
 DY 
 
 HEATHER BIGG. 
 
 " How stranf;e it is," said Kendm, still bending o-ver the parapet, " that throughout all my 
 desultory -wanderings I have ever been attracted to-wards the sight and the sound of running 
 ivaters, even those of the humblest rill! Vftvhat thoughts, of -what dreams, of -what memories, 
 colouring the history of my past, the "waves of the humblest rill could speak, -were the -waves 
 themselves not such supreme philosophers — roused indeed on their surface, vexed by a check to 
 their own course, but so indijferent to all that makes gloom, or death to the mortals who think 
 and dream and feel beside their banks. . . . 
 
 " -Ah — perhaps ii-e must — at ivhatever cost to ourselves — we must go through the romance of 
 life before -we clearly detect luhat is grand in its realities. I can no longer lament that I stand 
 estrangedfrom the objects and pursuits of my race. I have learned hoiu much I have -with them 
 in common. I have knoxun. love ; I have kno-wn sorrotf." 
 
 'Kenelm Chillingly,' by Bllwer Lyitov. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER, AND CO., LTD. 
 PATERNOSTER HOUSE, CHARING CROSS ROAD. 
 
 1 90 1.
 
 PR 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PART I, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 How Roberl shirts with Alfred from Folly Bridge to canoe 
 doivn the Thames in quest of some out-ofthe way village 
 in ivhich lie can quietly spend a summer holiday . 3 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 The Hillary of R )bert and Alfred, and how they had grnon 
 
 into friendship . . . . . .12 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 How Robert and Alfred fare on the first day of their quest . 22 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 H)W R >bert at last chances to find the village he wishes, and 
 
 how Alfred goes back to town . . . -3^ 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Wha' kind of a vi'lage it is that Robert finds lodgings in, 
 
 and ivhat first impression it makes on him . .46 
 
 B 

 
 IV 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Hoiv Rulnrt first meels Xell in the village churcJtyai-d^ dittl 
 
 t/uir conversation . . . . .56 
 
 CHAPTER Vll. 
 
 Wlial impression Nell creates on Robert . . .68 
 
 CHATTER \ HI. 
 
 How Robert whiles away the rest of his first day in the 
 
 village 
 
 75 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 How Robert 'wishes, and thinks to create an acquaiutanu 
 
 with Nell, and hole he fiiils . . . • ^'^ 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 How Alfred conus unexpectedly back from London and has 
 made an appointment ivith some girl he has met in the 
 train , . . . . . '93 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Ha7V Alfred with Robert keeps the appointment, and ho'W 
 Carrie {the girl 'whom Alfred has met in the train) 
 chances to bring as lur companion Nell (the girl 'whom 
 Robert has met in the churchyard), and how this quartet 
 arrange to meet daily . . . . .103
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 PA OF. 
 
 How Robert and XelJ are thrown constantly toget/ier, and 
 come, after some natural nerroi/s'u'ss^ to understand each 
 oilier . . . . . . . I r4 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 //o7i' Net/ te//s Robert her history^ and hoic' her mother, not- 
 tvithstandifJi:; the evident kindness of her uncle, had been 
 7-ed need from comparative affluence into great straits . i 20 
 
 CHAP'lER XIV. 
 
 Ho7V Robert boils ov-:r at the iniquitous looseness 0/ the /aivs 
 
 on rold'ery — n matter that is only a digression . • ' 37 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Jlo7v Carrie has to go back to London, and so bi-eaks up the 
 quartet : and liow Nell tells Robert that their 07Vfi 
 meetings fnust now terfninate : together with Alfred's 
 conwienti on this decision . , . -145 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Ho7v Robert, finding that Xell will no longer meet him, 
 determines to go back to London, and packs up his things ; 
 and Jiow on his last eve7iing; he chances to meet N'ell in 
 the churchyard, and what is the result . . .156
 
 VI 
 
 PART II. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 P.\GE 
 
 Hmv the months pass tJirnugh ivinlei into sprin^^, till With 
 the advent of May the river is again ahve ivith pleasure- 
 seekers . . . • • • . 1 09 
 
 Cll AIM ER XVIII. 
 
 Ho'iV Nell has watched for the coming of Spring, and how 
 Robert determines to live his tveeh-ends in the country ; 
 and how after Alfred's connncnt on this decision he takes 
 his rooms of last year and goes doivn to them . .188 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 How Robert meets Nell the morning after his arrival in the 
 churchyard, and lunv she says that she has detir?nined 
 that their acquaintanceship must end, and how in the 
 evening she changes her mind . . . • '97 
 
 riTAI'l'ER XX. 
 
 Ifo7V Robert returns to town for tlie mid-week and tells Alfred 
 Imv l-eautiful the country is : together with Alfred's 
 comments . . . • • .207
 
 Vll 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Hoiv Nell, whilst Robert is in toivn, flans to get freedoyn by 
 maki7ig a cotnpatiion of Florence {Cai-rie's sister), and 
 how Nell's jn. ther, ?ioting her daughter's greater bright - 
 ness, encourages this ; atid further how Nell thereby 
 manages to pass long eve7ungs with Robert . .212 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 //oz(i Nell ma'iages also to pass the mornings with Robert, 
 and Jiow he /> introduced to the father of Florence, who 
 is a farmer close by, and how Robert is so frequently at 
 the far 7n that he is taken in the village for an old friend 
 of the farmer's . . . . .216 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 How May passes into June, and haytinie comes ; and how 
 Robert helps in the h.ayniaking, and on its first day 
 thinks Nell would make him a siveet wife, and how the 
 tivo stay to supper at the farm, after which he rows her 
 back home by the river — together with their cenversation 223 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 fhno the week of haymaking comes to an out, and how Robert 
 having determined to marry Nell, writes to Alfred to fell 
 him so , , . . . . -235
 
 \111 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 PAC.F 
 
 Ifniv Alfred^ 7vhiht Carrie is v/'/Z/V/!,' /V/ //is roomi, /-(VVvV't.c 
 Robert's Iclfer, iv/iii/i he retu/s, n/ul llieii liaiuh tn her : 
 (Uid hi>n> . \ljred ami Carrie, for separa/e reas'o/is', deter- 
 mine to f>reveiit Ro/iert's ;j/(trrvi//x Nell , and to ^i;t) dmvn 
 to the village for thii purf^o<;e . . . .345 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Ilo'tV 'auth the advent oj July, Alfred goes do7vn with Carrie 
 to the village, and how he fails to alter Robert's determi- 
 nation to marry Xell . . . . • -57 
 
 CHAPTER X.WII. 
 
 //o7(> Alfred tells Carrie on his return to town that they have 
 utterly failed to change Robert's mind ; and how Carrie 
 laughs at this, and says she has managed it, and explains 
 why . . . . , . '2 75 
 
 CHAPTER X.W HI. 
 
 //o7(i Robert and Nell are relieikul when Alfred and Carrie 
 have gone ; but how the poison tliew latter left behind 
 begins to work . . . . . .284 
 
 CHAl^TER XXIX. 
 
 //o7t> lint August runs through, ami Robert ami Nell meet 
 
 openly to the scandal of the village . . . 295
 
 IX 
 
 CHAP'lER XXX. 
 
 Hoiv Robert during a Ihunderstorm on the last day of August 
 reviews everything, and determines absolutely to tell Nell 
 that evening that he ivill marry her : and how they meet, 
 and hoiv Nell comes to shame . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ;oi 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 J/ow Nell and Robert go back to the village, and their thoughts 3 1 4 
 
 CHAPTER XXXn. 
 
 How Nell fares on the following day, andhoiv she meets Robert 
 
 in the same place, and all things are the same again 31S 
 
 CHAPTER XXXni. 
 
 How September passes, and how whilst all things go on the 
 same, Nell comes to think less of her mother and more of 
 Robert . . . . . . 326 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 How October passes through, aiui how Nell, feeling that all 
 the village guesses at her shame, determines to get aivay 
 to town and ivrites to her Uncle to arrange this, and 
 further tells Robert of this intention . . . 330
 
 CilAl'lER XXW. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Ho-iV Xt'll's Uncle comes down and arrani^es that Nell should 
 take a />lacc in town, and how Robe ft leaves the vilUv^e 
 /or London, on the understandini;: that Nell is to folloiv 
 in a fortnight ...... 340 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 //uw iVell's last ez'ening in the village conns, and how it is 
 passed with her Mother : and how the next morning she 
 leaves and is met l>y Robert at Paddington : and how 
 the Mother returns in grief to her vacant home . -347
 
 \ 
 
 PART I
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 How Robert starts with Alfred from Folly Bridge to canoe 
 down the Thames in quest of some out-of-the-way village 
 in which he could quietly spend a summer holiday. 
 
 WHERE Oxford's royal city tops the Thames, 
 Late on a sunny August afternoon, 
 There stood upon the landing stage beneath 
 That bridge whose name is Folly, two young men. 
 Lithe and athletic were they both, and bore 
 The well-knit grace of constant exercise, 
 With faces brown beneath the summer's sun 
 And arms and hands all brown, and boating shoes 
 Brown too, but being coatless, all else white. 
 And near them, on the water, lightly lay 
 Their bass canoe, which by Ontario's shore 
 The colonist had deftly fashioned out 
 On the design that long years since he reft 
 From the defenceless savage. He it was 
 First stripped the ready birch of its loose bark. 
 And with rude art and simplest implements 
 Ventured a craft so aptly perfected 
 And of such truth that all the measured thought 
 Of modern Science, with its regular use 
 Of rule and line and level, could not scheme
 
 No odds what thinking, that which can surpass 
 
 This handiwork of a barbarian. 
 
 Safe in this fragile shell he raced adown 
 
 Rivers to which the Thames is pigmy, rode 
 
 On whirling rapids where the riding seemed 
 
 A very sport with death, pursued with ease 
 
 The water's denizens as prey for food, 
 
 Flashed in the sunlight of the day, or slid 
 
 Stealthily through the shadows of the night, 
 
 Or when the summer of the year had robed 
 
 The trees in richest leaf, would lie therein 
 
 Beneath the shadowy branch through idle hours 
 
 In love's soft reverie to dream upon 
 
 The Indian maid he wooed. It was with her 
 
 He hoped to journey down the stream of life ; 
 
 From her he hoped to get and breed and rear 
 
 Another generation, trained as he 
 
 To man's ambitions and possessed as she 
 
 Of woman's gentleness, who in their turn 
 
 Would wed and multiply ; till as a stone 
 
 Breaching still water sends its wavelets out 
 
 To such enlargement that at last the eye 
 
 Can follow them no longer, so their brood 
 
 Their children's children's children should extend 
 
 To where the shadowed future dims in end. 
 
 Alas, vain mocking and delusive dream 
 Mused in the sureness of an unfound land 
 Ere the white foot had trod its virgin wilds, 
 And ere the vast Atlantic had been ploughed 
 By ribbed and oaken timbers. Now no more 
 Through the majestic width of half a world
 
 Rises the voice of children of the soil, 
 
 No more upon the rivers are they borne 
 
 Like infants on a tender mother's breast. 
 
 The tide of progress with its grim advance 
 
 Across the hemispheres has swamped and killed 
 
 The life-spring of a people : the fell lead 
 
 And bowie of the Christian ; that damned curse 
 
 Of all men, drink ; the scourging of disease 
 
 Which crept across the ocean from the West 
 
 And glutted deep on a pure-blooded race ; 
 
 All these have reft in one conspiracy 
 
 A rich dominion of its heritage, 
 
 And wiped eternally from off the face 
 
 Of a whole continent, its rightful race. 
 
 Nations are born, and live and die. Ideas 
 
 Are born and live, and still go on when those 
 
 Whose brains have birthed them out of secrecy 
 
 Are turned to parent dust — and thus bequeathed 
 
 These memorable legacies untied 
 
 By codicilled restrictions, burden free 
 
 Become the prizes of posterity. 
 
 So now, as beggared Lazarus at the gate 
 
 Of Dives, floated on the cultured Thames 
 
 At richest Erudition's very door, 
 
 This relic of the poor barbarian. 
 
 And that which once served the necessity 
 
 Of the rude savage in an ancient age, 
 
 Was now become merely the sport and play 
 
 Of modern youth in leisured holiday. 
 
 But lo, the two to whom this craft belonged,
 
 The sum for nightly storage duly paid, 
 
 With practised care took each his proper seat, 
 
 Thrust back his sleeves, and caught his paddle up, 
 
 And, as the sternmost gave the starting word, 
 
 Grasped at the water with such ready sway 
 
 That the good craft sped light and swift away. 
 
 The boatman watched the even rise and fall 
 
 Of those strong arms, half critical and half 
 
 Careless, glanced at the coins within his palm, 
 
 And, these consigned within his pocket's hold, 
 
 Turned on his heel to think of other things. 
 
 Then graceful as a smoothly gliding swan. 
 
 As beautiful in movement and in form. 
 
 Swept surely downward by strong measured strokes 
 
 And aided by the agreement of the stream. 
 
 The little bark moved as a phantom on. 
 
 No noisy splashing of the rhythmic oar. 
 
 No rowlocks rattling regular to time, 
 
 No ceaseless ripple from a swirling prow. 
 
 But almost silent, almost feather-like 
 
 It held its way along the serried line 
 
 Of college barges rich with gilded arms, 
 
 And gay with many colours, where these lie 
 
 Drawn like a line of ancient triremes up 
 
 Abreast the Christ Church river-meeting meads. 
 
 And past where Cherwell's consummated stream 
 
 Mingles its volume with the gathering Thames. 
 
 But scarcely had they sped this little way, 
 
 When he who plied the guiding blade astern 
 
 Cried, " Hold an instant, Alfred ! Let us take 
 
 One farewell look at Oxford, ere we slip 
 
 Between these meadows fairly out of sight,"
 
 At which the other with a merry lau^h, 
 Called, " Tired already, Robert, as your wont, 
 There never was a man so little fit 
 To trip with on the river as yourself. 
 You hardly go a hundred yards or so 
 But make excuse to stop and look about, 
 And then, to veil what is mere laziness, 
 You get some handy beauty to admire. 
 Some mouldering heap of stone and mortar, or 
 Some clouds rose-tinted in the evening sky, 
 Or else some light reflected on the stream. 
 Or any such-like rubbish — things I hold 
 Proper enough in their artistic place 
 But not to mope and muse on. Robert, if 
 You only give yourself a moment's thought. 
 People, not things, are worth the studying. 
 Now if, by chance, we met a pretty girl 
 With neat trim figure and with laughing eyes, 
 And a complexion rich with country blood 
 And ankles but half hid beneath the grass, 
 (And being so the more seductive for it) 
 I grant it then might be worth while to pause 
 To interchange a glance, or smile, or word. 
 And in this interchange to puzzle out 
 What mind she holds lurking beneath the mask 
 Of her sweet face and figure ; everything 
 She does or says or wears but forms a key 
 To solve the very riddle that she tries 
 As women do, her utmost to conceal. 
 Mankind is worth your study, women most 
 Food for your contemplation ; but with you. 
 Ignoring what is living and to hand,
 
 8 
 
 A sky, a tree, a ripple, or a moon 
 
 Rouses its fund of heart-sick sentiment 
 
 Which you think love of nature." Railing thus 
 
 He set the idle paddle on his knee, 
 
 And chcerly laughed with all the merriment 
 
 Of careless manhood sipping at the world, 
 
 Whilst the canoe caught one side in its way, 
 
 Seeing the stern was deepest in the stream. 
 
 Swung slowly round and floated hindmost down, 
 
 Their backs their way, their faces to the town. 
 
 Mankind, re-echoed Robert, See you where 
 
 Like ancient oaks amidst new undergrowth 
 
 The venerable piles of Oxford rise 
 
 From out a fringe of modern-fashioned brick ; 
 
 Those hewn memorials of centuries 
 
 Have looked with cold, grey and inanimate stone 
 
 Upon hot-blooded stirring swarms of youth 
 
 Gathered as bees into a flowered field 
 
 To suck up Learning's honey and to hive it 
 
 In the receptive purlieus of the brain ; 
 
 Have seen in ceaseless eddies round them play 
 
 All varied characters of men, strong-marked 
 
 The more from bearing nature's fresher stamp 
 
 Ere that life's usages have under-edged 
 
 The crude impress and dimmed the brightness of it. 
 
 Here young industrious workers mined the past 
 
 Sucking sweet Learning's milky sources dry, 
 
 And robbed the nights of half their restful hours 
 
 To bear by day drawn pallid faces full 
 
 Of care and thought and wisdom's inventory ; 
 
 Here have insane and reckless revellers
 
 Letting their mettle kick at due restraint 
 
 Fooled in irreverence at Learning's door 
 
 And made the place their wanton pleasure ground, 
 
 Breaking the hedged and proper boundaries 
 
 Of virtue to rush riot in the waste 
 
 Of all too neighbouring voluptuousness, 
 
 Until at last lost opportunities 
 
 And vices' sickening satiety 
 
 Have choked their feebling minds and stolen away 
 
 The better part of life's too precious day. 
 
 Here striplings stood in youth's bright path and some 
 
 Foreshadowed future greatness : others made 
 
 The brilliant openings of a life that turned 
 
 To gall and bitterness, on which the drop 
 
 Fell to a frosted tragedy, and damned. 
 
 Mankind you say ! Mankind ! Why here have been 
 
 Men of all kinds and every sort and stamp 
 
 As nature with her first investiture 
 
 Cast them their parts like actors in a play : 
 
 The generous sponged on by the parasite. 
 
 The reckless falling prey to cooler heads. 
 
 The upright and the villain, modesty 
 
 And brazenfacedness, the spendthrift and 
 
 The hard close-fisted stingy niggard, those 
 
 Whom overflow of wealth made liberal, 
 
 And others sadly economical 
 
 Eking a sorry pittance dearly drawn 
 
 From mother's pinched, and sisters' povertied : 
 
 The chattering scandalbox, the taciturn, 
 
 The sloven and the fop, the grave, the gay, 
 
 The manly and the coward ; or, diving down 
 
 To actions deeper hidden rootings, men
 
 lO 
 
 Who based their souls to hell by every sin 
 
 Or soared by purest virtues up to heaven. 
 
 In short there's not one single bodiment 
 
 That fashions forth from our inherent clay 
 
 Which has not found material character 
 
 In that old city. There, why there — why there — 
 
 But Alfred, catching at this little check 
 Cried, Talk for ever, Robert, I but play 
 The Sancho Panza to your knightly tongue 
 Which wags, and will wag on. I might as well 
 Attempt to stop an earthspring with my heel, 
 Or bid the stream to stay or call the breeze 
 To cease from blowing suddenly, as try 
 To bar your overflood of wordiness. 
 Talk as you list, so you but paddle on 
 Talk as you list, you speak but to my back 
 A proper audience of your eloquence. 
 The sum of all these wasted minutes gulfs 
 Our practicable time, assuredly 
 We never shall reach Abingdon to-night 
 Unless you work the more, and talk the less. 
 Action is better than a world of thoughts 
 Even when richly babbled on the scours 
 Of such a rippling wordiness as yours. 
 
 Well, well, said Robert, I have done : we leave 
 
 The classic learning of the world behind, 
 
 The teaching of the Schools, the epitome 
 
 Of ancient thought, the knowledge which we drew 
 
 With studied labour from the cerements 
 
 Of extinct language, discipline, restraint,
 
 II 
 
 The straight and artificial ways of towns 
 Where men by congregation formal grow, 
 And seek the country's sweet simplicity, 
 Change Athens for Arcadia, pass unknown 
 To simple hamlets and pure villages 
 Where folks are artless. Oh, what a relief 
 To quit prim cultivated gardens crammed 
 With rich exotic and art-nurtured flowers 
 Whose heavy odours lade the wall-cooped air, 
 Where the eye sicks of order and the brain 
 Is leadened only with narcotic scents, 
 And to fly free from towns to fields wherein 
 Blossoms grow wild and all untutored draw 
 Their nurture from the natural soil, exhale 
 Their essence on an unrestrained breeze, 
 Hold random places and embellish them. 
 And where in sweet unfettered liberty 
 Restraint is loosed from shackle and set free ! 
 
 Go on, I will not argue, Alfred said, 
 A fig for all your village simpleness. 
 The pettier circles have the pettier ways. 
 Paddle, and you will get the sooner down 
 To your fool's paradise. So Robert ceased : 
 Both caught their blades, turned the canoe about. 
 And put their energies to paddling out.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The History of Robert and Alfred, and Iiok' they had grown 
 
 ■into FriendsJiip. 
 
 FRIENDSHIP has forgery in most strange ways ; 
 Erom sameness now, and now from oppositcs. 
 vSometimcs it is community that mukcs 
 The hnk and Hne which bind two men together, 
 Identity of pleasures or of cares, 
 Of occupation, place, or residence ; 
 And yet as oft as not 'tis the reverse 
 And a disparity becomes the bond 
 That mocks antithesis. So was it here ; 
 For no two men in look or wa\s of thought, 
 Means, occupation, education, 
 Could be more wholly different than these. 
 Alfred, fair-haired, grey-e3'ed, and with a face 
 Cut to make women ponder. Robert, dark, 
 With deep-set thoughtful orbs that scarce redeemed 
 Rough features from a plain uncomeliness. 
 But Alfred first : — younger a year or so. 
 His father was an Actor, one who had 
 Drawn with such truth the mimic lives of others 
 That this had brought his own to opulence. 
 But after all what is paternity ?
 
 13 
 
 When what is round us breeds to ill or gfood 
 More than the force of an)- fatherhood. 
 
 This Actor, kindly, genial, generous, 
 
 Had in his holding of acquaintances 
 
 Poets, critics, artists, sculptors, authors, men 
 
 Who kept them out of old worn ruts to move 
 
 In free and self-made pathways, men who cut 
 
 Their names by the creation of their brains 
 
 And had Humanity's true ranking based 
 
 On Genius, not on Genealogies. 
 
 It was with these and with their families 
 
 That Alfred as he grew was thrown ; in fact. 
 
 They were his schooling, for his all of school 
 
 Was but a day-boy's measured smattering 
 
 From some close-by Academy. At first 
 
 Like nine days' blinded kittens he but heard 
 
 And could sec nothing. Women petted him. 
 
 Stroked his child's head, and heedless chattered on 
 
 Of the last scandal, speculated why 
 
 This wife and husband were at loggerheads. 
 
 What pleased them most in this new-rising man ; 
 
 Whilst men regardless of his presence thought 
 
 His little ears were sealed by innocence. 
 
 And unintelligence stood sentinel 
 
 Against words' meanings, so that language flowed 
 
 Like water through the weir above a mill 
 
 Divest of grossness. Hence they bared their mind 
 
 Holding his ears as deaf and eyes as blind. 
 
 But he unthought of sopped their driftings up. 
 
 And fed upon them whilst his knowledge grew 
 
 Driblet by driblet as the scales fell off,
 
 And that ri.c;ht picture of the world which men 
 
 Canvas just ere they quit it, he sketched out 
 
 Straight at the very onset, borrowinpj 
 
 From others their hard-earned experience, 
 
 Which comes so often at such tardy rate, 
 
 It mocks at those who learn its use too late. 
 
 Such was his training : as to learning, he 
 
 Gathered enough at his attended school 
 
 To leave as cultured, and at seventeen 
 
 Was found by some exerted influence 
 
 A Government appointment, held at which 
 
 Exempt from all responsibility 
 
 He worked a meagre day, all remnant lime 
 
 Being his own for use. Then as a bee 
 
 New ventured from its winter-bonded hive, 
 
 When that its thrall is solved by genial spring. 
 
 Rushes in vagrant quest from flower to flower 
 
 And sucks its full of honey, so he sought 
 
 And sipped at worldly pleasures, spurning still 
 
 All grosser vices since he haply knew 
 
 At second-hand their folly. Further he 
 
 Holding by nature that diplomacy 
 
 Was guide to action, speech was veil to thought, 
 
 A pleasant pliancy to others' views 
 
 Brought a perpetual welcome, held aback 
 
 All independence, harboured others' thoughts, 
 
 Did not obtrude his own except as lure 
 
 To gently draw his fellows, rather would 
 
 Insinuate than bluntly fight his way ; 
 
 And lived at full for pleasure, but as well 
 
 For pleasure's lessons : studied curiously. 
 
 Though with the fumbling of a just-out boy,
 
 The ways of men and women — women most, — 
 
 And since he mixed with literary men, 
 
 His father's guests and friends and noted they 
 
 Built all their power on knowledge and in main 
 
 Were scholars whom the wavering of intent 
 
 Had turned from grooves to which they had been bred, 
 
 He took to reading gravely to compare 
 
 His green experience with the records left 
 
 By ancient writers and looked out for friends 
 
 Whose erudition might subserve these ends. 
 
 So when he lit on Robert, who was read 
 
 In all the classic learning of the past 
 
 He gripped him with a double grappling hook 
 
 Holding him very suitable to be 
 
 His man for friendship — and utility. 
 
 With Robert all was different : at eight 
 
 He went to Boarding-School, and at thirteen 
 
 To Public School where with five hundred more 
 
 He rubbed and fought his fisted way, matured 
 
 His muscles in the football field, and trained 
 
 His eyes and hands with cricket ; ran and jumped 
 
 As though an Isthmian prize were everything, 
 
 And whilst his body rested, stuffed his brains 
 
 Full with the honoured classics of the past. 
 
 Wound through the grammared labyrinth of Greek, 
 
 Absorbed the Latin legacies of Rome, 
 
 And where close scholarship gave grace for thought. 
 
 Filled to the margin his unworldly mind 
 
 With extinct plots and dead philosophies 
 
 And ancient things. Then up to College went 
 
 To run in freer ways but similar.
 
 i6 
 
 And four years later was turned out to life 
 
 An athlete and a scholar : took with him 
 
 As the result of all his tutored youth 
 
 And weapons for the battle of the world 
 
 Much erudition, much simplicity. 
 
 Of people he knew nothing, but of books 
 
 Published in centuries ago he knew 
 
 All that an ordinary man could learn — 
 
 And this it is that sober common sense 
 
 Holds education, worth the best expense. 
 
 So he went back to London, and because 
 
 In part his father held that life at home 
 
 Might mar his studied reading for the Bar, 
 
 In part because himself was more inclined 
 
 To live as he had lived in college rooms, 
 
 Took chambers at an ancient legal Inn 
 
 In London's deepest heart around whose walls 
 
 The loud pulsation of perpetual trade 
 
 Throbbed in the vchicled streets, but in whose close 
 
 And solemn precincts sober quiet was 
 
 Native, a heritage of centuries. 
 
 Here within shelved and book-girt walls he lodged 
 
 And sat the mornings grappling legal lore 
 
 And in long pauses (for the man is nought 
 
 Who has not his profession in his heart) 
 
 Would dream of dinners eaten, and on this 
 
 Ambiguous examiners well pleased, 
 
 The formal calling by his ancient Inn, 
 
 The address of crowded courts, a name built up 
 
 By brilliant earned success, a silken gown. 
 
 Then rapid elevation to the Bench, 
 
 And in the tine his learned head adorned
 
 17 
 
 With the full token of supremacy 
 
 And gravely ruling from the treasured sack 
 
 Above long lordly lines of seated peers 
 
 Hereditary legislation. 
 
 And then — but dreams like lanes all have an end — 
 
 He would jerk back to present hours, and look 
 
 Athwart the mullioned windows of his rooms 
 
 On stately walks and gardens planted in 
 
 The golden days of their Elizabeth, 
 
 Where sparrows chirped as then, and the bold thrush 
 
 Secure and impudently tripped the turf ; 
 
 On which his thoughts would wander forth afield, 
 
 To glades and woods and purling brooks and dells 
 
 And modest cottages amidst the trees. 
 
 And he would ask — Since food is given me 
 
 With life's necessities, is after all 
 
 This fevered clutching at the rungs of fame 
 
 Not wasted effort and a thankless task ? 
 
 Were it not better in some village home, 
 
 Hearted in Nature's beauties, to pursue 
 
 A worldless, calm, and contemplative life 
 
 Without one single care ? Then in its turn 
 
 This dream as well of leisured idleness 
 
 Would burst, and he would plunge again to book 
 
 As if to catch fled time — with fingers mixed 
 
 Amidst his hair and elbows table-fixed. 
 
 But for his leisure, having deeply missed 
 
 His old companions, he had slowly formed 
 
 Acquaintanceships with newly ventured men. 
 
 And, feeling now his want of worldly wit, 
 
 Sought rather those who knew the ways of life 
 
 Than parchment scholars. So that when it chanced 
 
 2
 
 i8 
 
 He met with Alfred, whose brij^ht episodes, 
 Freely rung off with lively realism, 
 Sounded as travels in an unknown world, 
 He was enchanted by him and he fell 
 Under the holding of such novel spell. 
 Hence the two grew to be inseparable, 
 And that (as is set down) by opposites. 
 Like partners in a business where each 
 Has what his fellow lacks : for one enheld 
 All that experience had aptly caught, 
 The other everything that could be taught. 
 
 So when their work was done, together they 
 
 (For it was winter when they lirst came friends) 
 
 Sought playhouse, entertainment, music hall. 
 
 Or drove the frozen evenings through the night 
 
 With merry chatter by clear-burning tires 
 
 Into the smaller hours of the morn. 
 
 But when the frigid months were spent, and spring 
 
 Brought lengthening days, then they began to shirk 
 
 The din and dirt of town, and taking train 
 
 Went down to Kingston in the afternoons 
 
 To get huge exercise upon the Thames 
 
 At sculling or canoeing till the dark 
 
 Drove them to town again. Then summer came, 
 
 And when its amplitude had heralded 
 
 The long vacation, Alfred found that he 
 
 Must with his people to the Continent ; 
 
 And therefore said to Robert, Come with us, 
 
 The foreign life will dust and brush your brains 
 
 Of all the cornered webs of frowsy law. 
 
 And we shall be together. Nay not so,
 
 19 
 
 Had Robert answered, I have made my mind ; 
 
 I shall take books and papers, sketching things 
 
 With the canoe and scour the Upper Thames 
 
 And find some village absolutely free 
 
 From townish taint, shall there take rooms and live 
 
 Two months in flannels and bucolic peace, 
 
 With Virgil's ' Eclogues ' and Gray's ' Elegy ' 
 
 Small bound in either pocket of my coat. 
 
 Well if you fix things so (said Alfred), I, 
 
 Since we have full a week before we start, 
 
 Will come up with you for a day or two, 
 
 And help your choice of this Utopia. 
 
 Look let us send the good canoe by rail 
 
 To Oxford, put it on the river there. 
 
 And paddle slowly down until we find 
 
 This village and the rooms you wish, on which 
 
 When I have seen you once installed and left 
 
 Out as it were to nurse with simpleness, 
 
 I will get back to town and thence away 
 
 To spend my Continental holiday. 
 
 My life — to look at foreign girls and judge 
 
 Whether the bright vivacity of France, 
 
 Or the deep languid loves of Italy, 
 
 Or the full frankness of the German maids 
 
 Be best ; and yours — I know it all by heart, 
 
 A Spartan souse each morning in the Thames, 
 
 A giant breakfast — great heroic pulls 
 
 Devoutly dedicate to exercise, 
 
 Long lazy afternoons beneath the trees. 
 
 Spent part in thought but most in lethargy : 
 
 And to fill in the odds and ends of time 
 
 Big talks with ploughboys over crops and oats
 
 20 
 
 And sucli like rubbish, added to the which 
 A strict avoidance of all womanhood. 
 Ho, ho, like the three witches in Macbeth, 
 I greet you Thane of Arcady, beware 
 The milkmaid and the dairymaid, beware 
 The simple guileless modest village maiden, 
 In fact for you I sound this solemn note 
 Beware the dangers of the petticoat ! 
 
 Then three days later, the canoe sent on 
 
 By truck from Kingston, they themselves took train 
 
 From Paddington to Oxford late at night ; 
 
 Slept in the venerable town and spent 
 
 Next morning rambling through its quiet streets 
 
 Dull with the long vacation ; lunched and strolled 
 
 Down drowsy Aldgate in the afternoon 
 
 To Salter's landing-stage beneath the bridge 
 
 Whose name is Folly. Here they went afloat 
 
 Upon this quest which Alfred laughing said 
 
 Was high as that of those who sought the Grail 
 
 This simple searching after innocence. 
 
 Oh, you will find it or will think you do 
 
 I know these spots for rural peace and bliss, 
 
 Some quaint sequestered cot amidst the trees 
 
 That hem a little village, with its church 
 
 And sacred Yard, and parson welling over 
 
 With saintly care for such an ordered flock 
 
 Their goodness scarcely needs it, with a squire 
 
 A genial relic of the grand old times 
 
 Under whose ruddy nature and warm heart 
 
 Tenant and labourer lead halcyon lives. 
 
 And all the lads and lasses models are —
 
 21 
 
 Such as one reads of but has never met — 
 
 With gaffers prosing over bygone days 
 
 And gammers Hstening as in duty bound 
 
 And all that sort of thing. Well, yon will find it 
 
 And saving very dulness make you sick 
 
 Or breed a fevered longing after change, 
 
 Here you may moon two solemn months away 
 
 Aloof and in delusion — but if once 
 
 You mingle with your fellows and can come 
 
 To touch with village nature, you will find 
 
 It human as elsewhere, and finding break 
 
 The bubble you now blow delusively 
 
 Rainbowed with rustic ideality. 
 
 Thus had they started from the landing-stage 
 
 With Abingdon's eight miles in front, and all 
 
 The latter remnant of a golden day 
 
 To spend in making them, (but as is down) 
 
 They scarce had made their start ere Robert stopped 
 
 To do farewells to Oxford — till the jeer 
 
 Of Alfred's raillery and the wasting hours 
 
 Sent the canoe once more upon its course.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 How Robert and Alfred fare on the first day of their quest. 
 
 NOW sped they 'twixt low meads to Iffley Lock 
 Above the which in trees St. Mary's Church 
 Nestled, and side which stood the fairest mill 
 An artist eye can pick the Thames along : 
 And through the Lock and onwards still by meads 
 Low lying, where the sleek and fatting kinc 
 Munched restless in an insect-breeding sun ; 
 Where stood the golden harvest sheafed for store. 
 And where on nearer river nurtured lands 
 Was tossed with fainter scent the second hay 
 That woke again the memories of May. 
 
 Still on till knightly Sandford came to sight ; 
 Here in old days the frowning battlements 
 And sullen towers of the Templars stood 
 In the magnificence of stony power. 
 Here was the hollow drawbridge dinned by hoofs 
 Of rushing squadrons as they galloped through, 
 The shouted word of warrior command. 
 The clinking tramp of spur-environed heel 
 On stony courts and vantaged terraces,
 
 23 
 
 The clang of mail in oak and pillared halls 
 
 Rising reverberant through carven roofs, 
 
 Fair meadows listed out for tournament 
 
 Gay with bright vested dames and banners wrought 
 
 With curious coats of great nobility, 
 
 Grave ceremonious heralds richly clad 
 
 Bidding the blatant clarion sound for fray, 
 
 The crash of splintered lance, the thundering fall 
 
 Of mail-clad knight and horse, the stentor shout 
 
 Of raging throats, and with them oftentimes 
 
 Like their own fainter echo women's cries 
 
 From where in gilded galleries sat maids 
 
 Watching quick-pulsed this bloody revelry. 
 
 But all have with the age that bred them gone 
 
 Backward into the blank of gulfing time, 
 
 And where the river once was affluent 
 
 To girting moat and deep defence, it now 
 
 Loans out its powers to a peaceful mill 
 
 Sweeping in swift still onward strength to turn 
 
 The monstrous wheel, and whirling thence awa}'. 
 
 Its business done, in frothy holiday. 
 
 And next this mill on one side was the lock, 
 
 And on the other an inviting inn. 
 
 Which was no sooner seen than Alfred cried. 
 
 Temptation waits on opportunity 
 
 As lover on his mistress. I am parched. 
 
 Even these sun-cracked meadows get their drink 
 
 In due of time and are the better for it. 
 
 So shall we be if we but do as they. 
 
 Here let us rest — ten minutes more or less 
 
 Is nothing lost where play is business.
 
 24 
 
 S(i rested rind refreshed they loosed and passed 
 
 The lock and dropped to where the stream below 
 
 Ran sunken 'twixt high water-toppled banks 
 
 That shut them in from all the view around, 
 
 Save where in front the sombre wooded bluffs 
 
 Of Nuneham loomed from out the fading light. 
 
 Then as they wound their sinuous course along 
 
 The lessening clatter of the mill-wheel died, 
 
 And deeper evening shades began to fall 
 
 With the declining sun, the stillness grew 
 
 The greater as the day grew less, dim sounds — 
 
 The caw of distant rooks, the low of kinc. 
 
 The neigh of pastured horse, the bell of sheep — 
 
 Came faintly to them from above the bank 
 
 Almost as ghost sounds from some other world, 
 
 And the mere purling of a tiny rill 
 
 That fell to the main water seemed to strike 
 
 Of all sounds else most in intensity, 
 
 So quiet was it, Nature being hushed 
 
 As if in sadness that the day must go, 
 
 Whilst they themselves infected of this calm 
 
 Worked on in wordless thought, gliding a-through 
 
 Water inviolate by a breath of breeze. 
 
 And glassed to mirror so as to repay 
 
 Precise the loan of all along its way. 
 
 And thus they paddled on until they swept 
 
 To where dark Nuneham's woods shadowed them in, 
 
 Till, these half passed, they at a corner's turn 
 
 Came with the widening of the flood upon 
 
 An isle all boscaged, cut from mother land 
 
 By the perpetual wooing of the stream. 
 
 Which now with jealous and embracing arms
 
 25 
 
 Held it for aye— albeit a tiny bridge 
 
 Still bound it to its mother continent — 
 
 Where by the water's edge embowered in trees 
 
 One cottage stood so sole and isolate 
 
 It seemed but set for the retreat and use 
 
 Of holy hermit or devout recluse. 
 
 And saving this no other single sign 
 
 Of human life was visible, no voice 
 
 Of man marred the whole silence — over all 
 
 The calm of solitude and falling night 
 
 Had spread its solemn, whole and absolute hush. 
 
 And here, albeit it was growing late, 
 
 With mutual accord they came to bate. 
 
 Then Alfred, contrary to rule, spoke first : 
 
 Is this not perfect ? it must surely be, 
 
 (He said) the loveliest spot on all the Thames. 
 
 And what a place for rest ! For rest indeed 
 
 (Said Robert), aye, and more. Those fevered worms 
 
 Who grub for gold amidst the din of towns 
 
 In competition's keen, exhaustive strife, 
 
 Who throb in sleeplessness and overgo 
 
 Their daily work upon their laboured beds, 
 
 Fighting the choke of nightmared business 
 
 And breaking down the hinges of their minds, 
 
 Fly but in vain to pilled and phialed drugs 
 
 For cure or comfort. There are medicines 
 
 More potent than all i^sculapian stores 
 
 In solitary Nature, remedies 
 
 In lonesome woods and babbling rivulets 
 
 Which soothe more surely than all opiates. 
 
 This is a spot where worn and jaded men
 
 26 
 
 Could break them from the spider web of care, 
 
 Absent themselves in peace and purge their minds 
 
 From money-making's sad disquietude 
 
 And find their rest. But more than rest is here ; 
 
 This voiceless silence is as big with speech 
 
 As a great storm-cloud laden overhead 
 
 Is pregnant with the awful thunderbolt. 
 
 There is divinity in all around 
 
 These deep quiescent hills, these unstirred trees, 
 
 These glassy waters are God's voice that He 
 
 Sermons in under-whispers ceaselessly. 
 
 The ancients looked on Nature, and they saw 
 Jove in the thunder, Phoebus in the sun ; 
 Across the chequered depths of moonlit woods 
 Where waving branch and deep-cut shadows made 
 Mysterious shapings, the astounded boor 
 Stricken with frenzy supernatural 
 Saw chaste Diana and her 'tendant nymphs 
 Coursing the stag ; then heard the sound of horns 
 And deep-mouthed hounds unharbouring their prey, 
 And in the morrow's daylight told mazed men 
 Of sacred presences and holy spots. 
 Or in some southern Isle where solitude 
 Was ocean-guarded and where fertile groves 
 Grew rank in wild luxuriance, where the doves 
 Winged their white flight against an azure sky 
 In the rich rays of a perpetual sun. 
 Where plant and bird and beast did so increase 
 That increase seemed to be miraculous. 
 And where the unvested natives largely led 
 A wantless life of easy indolence.
 
 27 
 
 The shipwrecked wanderer found the home of love 
 
 And pictured Venus. Or on angry deeps 
 
 The sailor saw stout strident Neptune ramp 
 
 Athwart the crest of storm-lashed billows when 
 
 The shrieking tempest beat to curdy white 
 
 The salted ocean ; Or again by night, 
 
 (Dank chilly tremors shuddering down his back) 
 
 Saw silver-footed Thetis gently borne 
 
 Upon the swell of phosphorescent waves 
 
 And all the waters flash with such full light 
 
 The star-decked firmament was put to shame 
 
 For very brightness ; then would he breathe prayers 
 
 To her, the Guardian-goddess of the Seas, 
 
 And when fair winds had brought him safe to port 
 
 Would, weather-beaten, keep rapt auditors 
 
 Aghast in great and reverential awe 
 
 At powers to them unknown. So has it been 
 
 That men found many gods in ages past, 
 
 Whilst we in this our age feel but The One, 
 
 Yet do so by the selfsame evidence. 
 
 Albeit more certain in our sense and less 
 
 The groping creatures of imaginings. 
 
 All that is round us now is but " I Am " — 
 
 Perhaps, (said Alfred) and he said no more 
 
 Save, Let us hasten on. So they resumed 
 
 Their paddles, felt their cautious way along 
 
 Beneath the uncertain looming of the trees 
 
 Till on a sudden they swept from the woods 
 
 Into the open water, over which, 
 
 As man's assumption over nature, spanned 
 
 A black mechanic girdered railway bridge 
 
 Whose struts and standards stood in netted black
 
 28 
 
 Af2;ainst the sky of night, and brought them down 
 
 To human drifts again. This passed, they saw 
 
 The little yellow lights of Abingdon 
 
 Aglow away in front, whilst overhead 
 
 High Heaven had lit the greater of her lamps 
 
 And with the fading of a day that's done 
 
 Was hanging out the lesser one by one. 
 
 Then, their night's view in end and all their will 
 Bent to the purpose of completion, they 
 With renewed energy sped to the lock. 
 Dropped through, and spurted till their grating bark 
 Touched stage beneath the bridge of Abingdon. 
 Where by the lantern's light they tied her fast, 
 Bore up their bags, and made the friendly porch 
 Of that good Inn which holds its island place 
 Midway the bridge and in the river's race. 
 
 Ho, in a trice the waiting landlord bowed 
 
 To know their wishes, if they stayed the night, 
 
 Or if the morrow, turning in his mind 
 
 Prospective profits with politenesses ; 
 
 Whilst they, with hunger famished, only thought 
 
 Of dinner and its capable hastiness. 
 
 But river cooking caters wants halfway 
 
 And preparation meets emergencies. 
 
 So in a short half-hour they sat them down 
 
 Before a snowy table laden with 
 
 Simplicity's profusion, and fell to 
 
 So keenly that the jaded epicure 
 
 Had given anything for zest as theirs ;
 
 29 
 
 For what are viands rich or rare or right, 
 Lack they the sauce of wholesome appetite ? 
 
 Then dinner done, they filled their pipes and lit, 
 
 Stretched out their languid limbs in the amplest chairs, 
 
 And, with the sweet fatigue of labour done 
 
 And the soft pulse of hunger satisfied. 
 
 Sipped at their coffee peacefully content. 
 
 Now came the attentive landlord to enquire 
 
 Whether his fare had done them well, and he 
 
 Took without rudeness seat beside themselves. 
 
 For in the country, custom keeps him host. 
 
 On which the usual commonplaces done 
 
 Alfred in merriment abruptly broke 
 
 This village quest of Robert's. Landlord, say. 
 
 My friend here has a month or so to spare 
 
 And being very studious — (Here he paused 
 
 To let the button of the hit bite home) 
 
 He wants to find some village by the Thames 
 
 Out of the beaten track, some spot where he 
 
 Can undistracted commune with his books 
 
 And free him from the tripping rabble which 
 
 Each fuller year invades this Upper Thames 
 
 To curse a previously hallowed calm 
 
 With rowdy desecration : yet he wants 
 
 To be so near that he himself may reach 
 
 The river in three minutes. Can you tell 
 
 Lies there a village close might suit him well ? 
 
 The landlord looked and let his knowing face 
 
 (For he had caught the banter of the tone) 
 
 Out of suspicion widen into smiles 
 
 And his blue eyes light wdth intelligence.
 
 30 
 
 There is (he said) many a village down 
 
 'Twixt here and where the rail and river meet, 
 
 As Wittenham, Culham, Sutton, and beside 
 
 Others that I scarce know of. Those most dull 
 
 Lie just from off the river, for you see 
 
 You gentlemen that boat along the stream 
 
 Stop at the landings, and most often miss 
 
 Places that lie a little way a-land. 
 
 If I were you, as you are going down, 
 
 I should look through the trees or where the road 
 
 Leads from a ferry — bless you, there's no end 
 
 Of places all along to suit your friend. 
 
 And after this, which left them not one whit 
 
 The wiser, all the later talk took turn 
 
 To other things. Then final pipes were lit, 
 
 The whiskeyed night-cap duly quaffed, a turn 
 
 Taken upon the bridge ; and so to bed 
 
 Where labour's sequel lulled them on the way 
 
 That darkly links to-morrow to to-day.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 How Robert at last chances to find the village he wishes, and 
 how A Ifred goes back to town. 
 
 NEXT morn they rose. — Next morn ! in those two 
 words, 
 To-morrow's contact, what extremities ! 
 The sentenced criminal within his cell, 
 Gazing in mute and hopeless agony 
 Upon its blank impenetrable walls, 
 Counts out the quarters of his final day 
 By the dead telling of the prison clock, 
 And conjures with most fearsome certainty 
 The next morn's deed, the minute-measured wait 
 The dreadful tolling of St. Sepulchre's, 
 The grating key, the slowly widening door, 
 The pinioned arms, the fell procession led 
 By Christ's own minister, (whose monotone 
 Drones Death's consolatory preamble) that 
 Most hideous and most ghastly torture stage, 
 The one last look on light before the cap 
 And then — he lays him down to mocking sleep 
 That briefly intermits his agony ; 
 And if he prays to God before his lids 
 Shut out the vision of a waking world. 
 It is to pray with all the utter strength
 
 32 
 
 Of soul communion that eternal night 
 
 May choke the advent of the next morn's light. 
 
 The innocent maiden flutters in her teens 
 
 Until the warm and sunny impulses 
 
 Of young romance awake her dormant love 
 
 Which, as a tender shoot, strikes into growth 
 
 For one who woos the strongholds of her soul 
 
 And wins her with his own surrendering. 
 
 She, when the term of her engagement comes 
 
 Within one night of consummation, when 
 
 The orb has set on her last maiden day 
 
 And she disrobes to take her virgin bed 
 
 For the last time, wishes there were no night 
 
 And that to-morrow's sun could at a leap 
 
 Cut half its circled course and leave unlit 
 
 The opposite hemisphere, that the too slow earth 
 
 Could play the truant to its nightly roll, 
 
 And even were cities shattered at the jerk 
 
 Could with one instantaneous leap disclose 
 
 Those glorious rays beyond the east upborne 
 
 That come as happy heralds to next morn. 
 
 Next morn they rose : the flower-scented air 
 
 At the fresh opening of their windows blew 
 
 Invasive on the duller atmosphere 
 
 Of their close rooms, and fragrantly expunged 
 
 The heavy fumes of night. Light soft-edged clouds 
 
 Coursed disconnected through the blue of heaven 
 
 As they had taken holiday from work, 
 
 Giving fair promise of a rainless day. 
 
 From gentle breezes the responsive trees
 
 33 
 
 Borrowed activity, and shook their leaves 
 
 With chequered variance of light and shade 
 
 In the bright rays of that paternal sun 
 
 Whose gendering warmth had brought them into being. 
 
 Insect and bird in their appropriate air 
 
 Winged an incessant and a joyous flight, 
 
 And with their separate and particular notes 
 
 Made merry mockery at inventive man, 
 
 That he, the lord of God's created world, 
 
 Should humbly foot it on the earth, whilst they 
 
 Could soar towards the heavens. The universe 
 
 Seemed quite compact of joy ; men's voices rang 
 
 In cheery morning greetings as they passed. 
 
 And all things were so full of buoyancy 
 
 That even a misanthrope had needs been gay 
 
 Before such opening of a glorious day. 
 
 They dressed, descended, breakfasted, took stroll 
 
 Around the venerable town, and saw 
 
 What petty tithe of its antiquity 
 
 Was gathered in an hour — So most men see 
 
 The cities of their travels and yet pass 
 
 For very Mendez Pintos — Then returned 
 
 Just a bit wiser to the Inn, paid down ' 
 
 Their reckoning, loaded up the good canoe, 
 
 Cast loose, slipped through the bridge into the stream 
 
 And once again, with Alfred's hackneyed jest. 
 
 Renewed the suite of their Utopian Quest. 
 
 What can it boot to minute how they fared 
 
 On their way down this day ? How here and there 
 
 They stopped to explore adjacent villages, 
 
 3
 
 34 
 
 Against the which Robert would still find points 
 
 Of disadvantage : this was far too great ; 
 
 This was so cramped in circuit that a sheet 
 
 Would almost spread its cover ; this had air 
 
 Of villa-built suburbandom, and this 
 
 Was pauper hovelled. Not one seemed to come 
 
 Up to his expectations for that he 
 
 With habit fatal to contentment held 
 
 Sharp-mapped, defined and figured in his head 
 
 A fixed ideal for which he vainly sought 
 
 Material agreement. Some men so 
 
 Drift down the stream of life until old age 
 
 Draws as precursor to decease and still 
 
 Fail from the first to last to satisfy 
 
 Their preconceived intentions. So with them 
 
 They were exactly when the day had run 
 
 At the same point at which they had begun. 
 
 In brief: they sped at first to Culham lock, 
 
 Surveyed the sister-villages, and thence 
 
 Paddled to Clifton Hampden, overlooked 
 
 The hamlet and its precincts which they spurned 
 
 From fickleness alone and not desert. 
 
 But found for early lunch an Inn so old 
 
 Its low-pitched ceilings would not let a man 
 
 Pass without bow to their antiquity. 
 
 Thence on along a dreary pollard reach 
 
 To make Day's lock (where missing Wittenham 
 
 Which might have neared the hit of Robert's choice) 
 
 They walked across the fields to Dorchester. 
 
 And here it was that Alfred made a stand 
 
 To set persuasion against indecision.
 
 35 
 
 This is the place (he said) Imperial Rome 
 
 (Oh I shall catch your ways of thought and word) 
 
 Who broke the entire world by force of arms 
 
 And reared supreme dominion by the sword, 
 
 Has left in mounded ramp and sunken fosse 
 
 Immutable memorials ; here as well 
 
 The second Rome, supremer than the first, 
 
 Whose weapons are spiritual, whose strength 
 
 Is meekness, has in her mild ministry 
 
 Upreared these abbey walls as monuments. 
 
 To-day at Matins and at Evensong 
 
 Just as they did a thousand years ago 
 
 The voices of the children rise in choir 
 
 With the same sweet harmonious purity. 
 
 Yes ! this would be my place if I were you. 
 
 Here could you daily read as in a book 
 
 Lettered in long and lasting characters 
 
 The clear scribed history of centuries. 
 
 There is an occupation ; for the rest. 
 
 The spot seems blessed with holy quietude, 
 
 The river close, the country all around 
 
 Superb. Look now the hours wane fast away 
 
 And evening's sombre shadowings impend ; 
 
 Hang on the point, and stay at least the night. 
 
 But Robert would not even listen to it. 
 
 I know (he said) exactly what I need, 
 
 A simple village, nothing more nor less : 
 
 Historic records have their proper place 
 
 But I want homespun where you show me lace. 
 
 So once again to the canoe, and on 
 Till with the fruitless closing of the day
 
 36 
 
 They drifted throuj^li the hridge at Shilhn^'ford, 
 
 To find thereby upon the faded hght 
 
 An Inn that gave them sheUer for the night. 
 
 There is a pall in repetition 
 
 And yet things must repeat. Their second morn 
 
 Was like the first in fairness, and was like 
 
 The first in preparation, like it too 
 
 In indeterminate unsettlement. 
 
 Benson was passed, its village slighted, next 
 
 Wallingford waived, as being too much town, 
 
 North Stoke and Little Stoke both left behind 
 
 And that dread place (within w-hose awful walls 
 
 Unseated reason's victims wear away 
 
 The prisoned remnants of perverted sense 
 
 Till body parts from soul) was lost to view. 
 
 Yet still in sunny scorch they paddled on 
 
 With lazy and unenergetic blade. 
 
 Till Alfred, who was fretting into fume 
 
 And wearied with this arrant fruitlcssness, 
 
 Cried out at last — Robert, you are a fool. 
 
 This is my last day with you, I must catch 
 
 Somewhere close by an evening train to town. 
 
 Look, you have trudged your coverts through and 
 
 through 
 And yet not flushed one bird, have cast your flies 
 Over each holding pool along the stream 
 And yet not raised one fish. In truth's own name 
 I counsel you to take the nearest place 
 Chance now affords. Chance oftener than not 
 Hits where aimed judgment misses, lottery 
 Upsets profoundest calculations, luck
 
 57 
 
 Makes the fool great and sets at positive nought 
 
 The forecasts of grey-haired experience. 
 
 Be sure all things and places simply are 
 
 Precisely what men make them. Is't not true 
 
 The miser finds his world a grubbmg ground 
 
 And nothing else ; the jaundiced misanthrope 
 
 Sees all things through an umbered spectacle ; 
 
 The querulous still picks persistent holes 
 
 In Nature's fairest face and God's best work ; 
 
 Counter to which a buoyant disposition 
 
 Laughs at sheer poverty and cheerly mocks 
 
 At Fortune's sternest tricks ; Contentment finds 
 
 Food for rejoicing in the very plate 
 
 That turns the sickening gorge of discontent 
 
 To impotent retching. Take what comes to hand 
 
 Or, at the worst, let me make choice for you. 
 
 Agreed, (said Robert) what you say, rings truth, 
 
 I leave myself to you, pick as you will ; 
 
 A passive man accepts his destiny 
 
 And simply waits for chance, half those who seek 
 
 To model circumstance and give the lead 
 
 To pregnant time, who blindly think their own 
 
 Determined nature can compel events 
 
 And play the midwife to futurity 
 
 Diplomatise with shadows — nothing more — 
 
 And in their palpable presumption lose 
 
 Both profit and repute. Yours let me be, 
 
 I cannot choose myself, choose you for me. 
 
 'Tis done at once, (said Alfred) I accept 
 The trust and act. See by the water's edge 
 There stands an old world ale-house argumg
 
 3» 
 
 Custom in common plenty comes this way 
 
 Whilst on its opposite bank there runs from shore 
 
 A broad and decent road. These pointers show 
 
 To my poor judgment there's a village close. 
 
 Look we will speak this ale-house, and enquire 
 
 Whether this be or no, and if it be 
 
 Whether your solemn studentship attached 
 
 With such respectable credentials 
 
 Could change to get a lodging. I expect 
 
 Most stringent references will be required 
 
 By some blue-goggled dame, decked with a cap 
 
 Of rusty ribbons in the fashioning 
 
 Of many decades gone, and with a gown 
 
 More ancient if could be ; I envy you. 
 
 Still be this understood if it turns out 
 
 There should be such a village 'tis the one 
 
 You take, and so your questing will be done. 
 
 Do as you will, (said Robert) I impose 
 
 My destiny in this particular point 
 
 Upon your shoulders ; yet you must expect 
 
 In suit the usual worldly gratitude, 
 
 I shirk responsibility, if you 
 
 Are lucky in your choice, I'll call it chance. 
 
 If wrong, expect vituperation. 
 
 For thus appreciation still is shown 
 
 To judgment other than one's proper own. 
 
 I care not (answered Alfred) I at least 
 
 With equal worldliness shall make a shift 
 
 By wordy proof to turn the folly yours, 
 
 For thus it is advisers always act 
 
 Slipping as eels through the most netted fact.
 
 39 
 
 With this they landed at the inn, and found 
 
 Seated beside his punt the ferryman, 
 
 Whose malted portliness seemed a mere mock 
 
 And fleshly barrier to his following. 
 
 Him with convention's greetings they assayed 
 
 And questioned, getting only yeas and nays, 
 
 And guttural grunts with vacant connings, and 
 
 Monosyllabic taciturnity. 
 
 Till Alfred, spying the one gaping flaw 
 
 In his hog's armour acted on the thought, 
 
 A pot of ale will ease his rustiness 
 
 And grease his tongue to glibness. Then he made 
 
 The liquid offer, and most instantly 
 
 The gross man's eye lit with intelligence 
 
 As he reared up his mass to lead the way 
 
 With solemn waddle to the tap-room door. 
 
 Lifted with chubby thumb its easy latch. 
 
 And, as 'twere custom, straight conveyed himself 
 
 Across the brick paved oaken settled room 
 
 Into the corner of the chimneypiece 
 
 And plumped himself therein. The ale was brought. 
 
 The charm of quaffing worked, and 'twixt great gulps 
 
 Burdened in broadest Berkshire dribbled out 
 
 A fretted fragmentary drift which pieced 
 
 And jointed came to something such as this : — 
 
 That the road opposite the ferry led 
 
 Right to a village two short furlongs off; 
 
 That boating men ignored it, part because 
 
 It lay treed out of sight, and part because 
 
 Excepting at the cottage next the church 
 
 There were no lodgings ever to be let ; 
 
 That two old sisters, one a widow, lived
 
 4" 
 
 At this church cottage, very decent folk ; 
 
 That it was probable, nay almost sure 
 
 Their rooms were vacant, seeing that some weeks 
 
 An artist, with a lady who appeared 
 
 His wife, had held them, but the white umbrella 
 
 Which he was used to pitch and work beneath 
 
 Had not been seen some days, nor had he crossed 
 
 The ferry as had been his frequent wont ; 
 
 That he, the ferryman, in consequence 
 
 Had been curtailed of several daily pints. 
 
 Which he, the artist, generously stood. 
 
 All this with other things of minor count 
 
 They drew by cross-examination 
 
 And to be surer took the landlord's tale 
 
 Whilst they paid down the pence for Charon's ale. 
 
 Then leaving their canoe and things behind 
 
 They ferried over to the further bank, 
 
 And took the road which led to where, through trees, 
 
 The tile and thatch of gabled cottages 
 
 Peeped over-mounted by the village spire. 
 
 And came to a great mill which strode athwart 
 
 Some tributary circuit of the stream. 
 
 Here at a pause they found a wheatened boy 
 
 Who showed a pathway shorter than the road 
 
 Through the churchyard along an avenue 
 
 And led them to the cottage that they sought. 
 
 Dainty enough (cried Alfred), as they crossed, 
 
 Unlatched the gate, went up the gravel path. 
 
 Into a many-creeper-covered porch 
 
 And rapped the open door, to startle out 
 
 A prim and decent dame. To her they told
 
 41 
 
 Their errand, said they heard that she had rooms, 
 Were these unlet ? If so could they inspect them ? 
 What were her terms ? To all which questions, she 
 Returned them answer with quaint courtliness. 
 Her rooms were vacant, welcome they to see them, 
 And price she mentioned at such simple sum 
 Compared with river reckonings, that were 
 Accommodation only relative 
 To cost 'twould be but poor— that habit most 
 Runs wrong which settles value by the cost. 
 
 But all of this is drear recitative 
 Yet must it be set down. The simple links 
 That cling together big and sheer events, 
 The ordinary currencies of life, 
 The listless passages of day to day, 
 All these in record may seem vacuous 
 Beside great venturings, yet are they strings 
 To keep the parcel bounden ; the right log 
 Holds dull and trivial records— spoken ships, 
 Tides, phases, observations— things most pale 
 By cyclone, or by wreckage. Be this so 
 A river's tale must keep a river's flow. 
 
 Forthwith they went within to view the rooms, 
 
 A sitting one on the ground floor replete 
 
 With comfort's simpler dues, and decorate 
 
 With such effects as modest cottages 
 
 Are wont to rise to, yet so fairly picked 
 
 As to strike mean between the villany 
 
 Of vulgar ostentation's tawdriness 
 
 And the poor blank of unattempted taste.
 
 42 
 
 This room outlookcd along the avenue 
 Whilst over it, up one short flight of stairs, 
 An airy bedroom, very neat and bright 
 With rosebud paper, flowered chintzes, and 
 Coverlets white as newly-fallen snow, 
 Whose wiijdow creeper-circled framed a view 
 Also along the avenue ; but beyond, 
 Vantaged by height and gaps between the trees. 
 It overlooked afar those border meads 
 Wherein the blazoned river could be seen 
 A silver serpent on a field of green. 
 
 There now (said Alfred), as the discreet dame 
 Left them some little minutes to themselves, 
 As far as quarters go, these are beyond 
 The common ruck of lodgings ; more, if one 
 May judge the owners by the tenement. 
 These sisters must be very decent folk. 
 As for the village, we have scarcely seen it 
 But from the glimpse we had along the road 
 I call it fair enough. Take my advice. 
 Fix yourself here and try it for a week 
 That's times to know : then if you like it, stay, 
 Or if you find it palls, why get away. 
 
 You're right (said Robert), — and the thing is done, 
 
 I'll close with this good lady by the week 
 
 With power to keep the lodgings two months on. 
 
 I like the place, and what else can I do ? 
 
 Seeing that everything is cornered till 
 
 My choice is level with necessity. 
 
 Our mutual days are spent, and I must net
 
 43 
 
 This butterfly of chance before it flits 
 Lightly to its escape. I'll take the rooms. 
 Let us downstairs and tell these people so 
 Then back across the ferry to the Inn 
 Where as my guest, the best the house affords 
 Shall grace your parting, and good-wish the way 
 That speeds you on your foreign holiday. 
 
 So said, so done, and, all arrangements fixed, 
 They went and ordered dinner at the inn ; 
 Whilst this was getting ready strolled content 
 In chat about this ending of their trip ; 
 Returned, fared merry as the sparkling wine 
 Like its own bubbles bred bright buoyancy ; 
 And then, with Alfred's bag sent on before, 
 Walked to the station an odd mile away 
 To catch at leisure the last train to town ; 
 Picked in due course a suited carriage out, 
 Gripped hands as friends can only do, and last 
 With screech of whistle and with cry of " Right ! " 
 Alfred was borne away into the night. 
 
 But Robert standing on the kerb alone 
 Watched out the lessening backlights of the train 
 Until these vanished round a bend from view 
 And seemed to leave him drear in solitude. 
 Then with a turn he passed the platform gate, 
 (As finished porters sauntered off to rest 
 After the lamps were nighted) and returned 
 Along the lanes down to the river's bank 
 Ferried across with bag and mackintosh, 
 Bade Charon his good night, and took the way
 
 44 
 
 To his new home which came but home to-day. 
 But as he trudged to where the Httle Hghts 
 Showed faintly gold beneath the silver moon, 
 He thought, to-morrow I shall cast my lot 
 With new humanity, shall have around 
 Fresh faces and fresh ways. I shall be free 
 Yet friendless, save for such light courtesies 
 As even the closest of mankind exchange 
 With their most distant fellows. Still am I quit 
 Of all my customary social ties, 
 I can consort with those with whom in town 
 It were impossible. I can observe. 
 And still be free from all observances ; 
 So that when Alfred comes back home again 
 Full stuffed with travelled continental lore 
 And learned in foreign manners, I shall say 
 I, too, have learnt, though in a different way. 
 
 With thoughts as these he plodded on his road 
 
 Into the village ; passed by cottages 
 
 Whose candled upper windows testified 
 
 To rest's encroachments, took the churchyard way. 
 
 Reached home, unlatched the door, set traps aground. 
 
 Gave to the waiting landlady good-night. 
 
 And, having watched her mount the stairs to bed, 
 
 Turned to the garden for his final pipe 
 
 And puffed himself to thought and peacefulness. 
 
 The night air softly stirred the whispering trees 
 
 As if to breathe a requiem for repose ; 
 
 Against the lowly moon village and church 
 
 Lay dark in silhouette ; one after one 
 
 Stray lessening voices ceased in " Well, good-night,"
 
 45 
 
 And footfalls crunching on the gravelled ways 
 Faded to distance or abruptly stopped 
 To a last sound of closed and bolted doors 
 And then was all quite still. Upon the which 
 He out-fatigued by labour long and deep 
 Turned in and less five minutes was asleep.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 What kind of a village it is that Robert finds lodf:;ings in, 
 and what first impression it makes on him. 
 
 "T^IS strange with what immediatencss, when once 
 A Nature has claimed her nightly due, and sleep 
 Has given a restful quittance for the debt, 
 We at a rub of our new-opened eyes 
 Start on the business of the fresh-come day. 
 'Tis strange how very instantly we take 
 Touch with the morn, with what resumption we 
 Relink the broken chain of our ideas 
 And open out once more the book of life 
 Even at the very page we halted at 
 Before night's intermission put to nought 
 Our native consciousness. We wake, survey 
 The very spot to which the night before 
 We bade an ignorant farewell, re-catch 
 The thread as we had let it fall, and spin 
 Once more the allotted flax, as if the breach 
 And pass of night-begot oblivion 
 Which comes in death's near likeness were a thing 
 All unconsidered and unwotted of : 
 And with our forward eyes (as one who hands
 
 47 
 
 The fearful helm in straight and dangerous seas) 
 
 Peer only on and on, nor ever cast 
 
 A hindward look on the dark course that's past. 
 
 Robert awoke, and scarcely had his lids 
 
 Lifted, the casements shaped, the room caught form, 
 
 The rosebud pattern on the walls come clear, 
 
 Than all his thoughts getting from yesternight 
 
 Their broken memory leapt with the morn 
 
 Upon the village. He sprang from his bed. 
 
 Quick dressed, descended, lit a cigarette 
 
 And with impatient expectancy 
 
 Went through the porch and garden to the road. 
 
 Here right and left ran the long single street 
 
 Which, like the centre veining of a leaf, 
 
 Stemmed through the village ; and went winding up 
 
 To run through brick and leafage until lost 
 
 Amidst the woods that summited the hills. 
 
 But aptly opposite to where he stood, 
 
 Ported by pillared gates, an avenue 
 
 (Along the which his cottage windows viewed 
 
 And along which himself had come last night) 
 
 Led, as the peeping of a spire proclaimed, 
 
 Towards the church. This way he took, beneath 
 
 Chestnuts and sycamores whose leafage played 
 
 With every air and hued beneath the sun 
 
 Like some cathedral's deep and fretted aisle, 
 
 The walls sad greens, the windowings emerald, 
 
 Casting the while cool dancing chequers down 
 
 Upon the gravelled road. He sauntered on 
 
 Along an ancient ivy-mantled wall 
 
 Until he reached the lych gate, side the which
 
 48 
 
 (For it was locked except for services) 
 
 A wicket led him through to the churchyard. 
 
 Here 'midst great elms and giant unmarred yews 
 
 Rose the grey fabric of the village church 
 
 From out its round of slabbed and mounded dead, 
 
 Who even as they slept on this bright morn 
 
 — When all was life and waking, when the birds 
 
 Carolled with joy, the breezes wooingly 
 
 Wantoned amidst the trees, the insects flew 
 
 Exhilarant on their glad perfected way, 
 
 The very clouds above in breezy white 
 
 Chased softly each on each athwart the blue 
 
 As though all work and ministry forgot 
 
 They made a holiday and festival — 
 
 Who even as they slept still mutely spoke 
 
 And in a voiceless sermon preached to man 
 
 The crumbled goal that bounds his little span. 
 
 But here he paused some moments as he thought — 
 
 Gathered within this sacred edifice 
 
 On Sundays all the village meet to pray, 
 
 And throng to God in such whole innocence 
 
 That prayer mounts angel-borne as incense up 
 
 Rather than reeking from the throes of sin 
 
 In hope for pardon : here as a family 
 
 Squire, farmer, labourer, mechanic, all 
 
 Knit by the bond of one another's good 
 
 Come into congregation ; week on week 
 
 Exempt from jar their days slide smoothly by 
 
 Simple as any ancient pastoral. 
 
 Thus year on year serenely flows away 
 
 Till when they pillow underneath this turf
 
 49 
 
 They leave a life whose passaging though real 
 Has been in pattern all that is ideal. 
 
 Then from the church he scanned the vicarage 
 
 (Whereto within the churchyard's furthest coin 
 
 A little pathway led, piercing the wall 
 
 Beneath a Gothic top) and pictured up 
 
 The parson as he was. Here modest means 
 
 Sufficed (he mused) for simple livelihood 
 
 And yet found spring for charity which welled 
 
 Like the crused oil beyond expectancy. 
 
 Here the good pastor, utterly removed 
 
 From social swagger's vain necessities 
 
 And those cursed lines which cutting class from class 
 
 Dictate dissociation, still could live 
 
 In saintly brotherhood with all his kind ; 
 
 Be guide, companion, refuge, monitor 
 
 To rich, to poor, to tramp, to squire, alike ; 
 
 Joy with their joys, and with their sorrows mourn. 
 
 Be glad with those on whom were showered down 
 
 Untroubled ease and bright prosperity. 
 
 And bring sweet sympathy to those who were 
 
 Job-like, alas, nipped with adversities, 
 
 Pouring the balm of consolation 
 
 Into their raw and winter poignant wounds 
 
 Till, like his master Christ, with ceaseless care 
 
 He sopped earth's gall with heaven's solaces, 
 
 Showed chastisement was love, infirmities 
 
 But benedictions, and the tattered coat 
 
 Whose rotten rags screened abject misery, 
 
 But blessing in disguise and holy ban — 
 
 The wearer not the garment being the man. 
 
 4
 
 ^0 
 
 Then cross the churchyard, through its further gate 
 
 To where the rush and dull mechanic roar 
 
 Brought him afront the mill. Great granaries, 
 
 The stack and store of what was to be done, 
 
 Piled sacks, still waggons, disused stores, men white 
 
 With mealy powder, and beneath all these 
 
 A simple arch whence gushed in swirling spume 
 
 The finished stream. Type of the brain's true work— 
 
 The long deep cut that smoothly runs above 
 
 Stealing in silent strength and fulness on 
 
 Unrippled to the wheel ; force truly spent 
 
 In the dark buildings' bowels where light scarce leaks 
 
 Or only dimly in atwixt the floats, 
 
 Like Hope half feeding effort ; and beyond. 
 
 The heyday froth and lightly bubbling foam 
 
 Which looks so sweet and aptly symbols out 
 
 Gained popularity. Aye, but to-day, 
 
 In this most blatant and upswaggering age. 
 
 Men clutch the bubbled guerdon without worth 
 
 And stalk about in crowded drawing-rooms 
 
 With an assumptive and mysterious air. 
 
 Hinting to upturned eyes their pens are those 
 
 That pulse the press, and all the very while 
 
 These nothings stalking in anonymy 
 
 Like grandam's ghosts are mere imaginings. 
 
 And yet still pin them in the world's regard 
 
 Albeit they are the very tags of fraud. 
 
 Then on again, skirting besides the stream 
 He sauntered till he struck the village street 
 And went (past his new home) to mount the hill. 
 Here were there cottages whose beam-stayed walls
 
 51 
 
 Bulged with antiquity, whose layered thatch 
 
 Had grown to mushroom and to over-bear 
 
 All due proportion ; here the ivy crept 
 
 From monstrous, boiled and twisted trunks to hide 
 
 Construction's very shape, and latticed glass 
 
 Alone proclaimed the mounted mass of leaf 
 
 A human habitation ; here again 
 
 Blue clematis and gold canary climbed 
 
 Round porch and casement modestly to make 
 
 The unheraldic blazons of the poor ; 
 
 Here gardens rich with cherished wealth of bloom 
 
 Signalled the thrifty bee or lightly lured 
 
 The profligate and vagrant butterfly ; 
 
 Here too in pride of greater altitude 
 
 Stood the prim farmhouse with its well-kept front, 
 
 Its formal garden and trim level lawn, 
 
 And by its side the shedded yards wherein 
 
 The fowl and beast of profit softly led 
 
 Their fatted life before the slaughtering. 
 
 And here atop the village was the Inn 
 
 Dating its loyal and continuous sign 
 
 From Charles's Restoration, front whose door 
 
 The widening road went branching into three, 
 
 One lost to left at once amidst the woods. 
 
 One mounting straight and steeply up the hill 
 
 Beneath the shade of elm and larch and pine, 
 
 And one to right winding the slopes to where 
 
 Backed by rook-haunted elms the Manor House 
 
 Looked down upon the village as it had 
 
 Looked down three separate centuries or more ; 
 
 Red bricked, high chimneyed, mullioned, gable-roofed, 
 
 Built in the days when men knew how to build
 
 52 
 
 And tight the liciy Si)aniaids, shattering 
 
 His vaunted galleoned menace from the seas; 
 
 When poHcy, arts, industries, and rule 
 
 Were as the houses, strong and excellent 
 
 And set intent to kist. Those stout walls there 
 
 Manned by the village ancestors had made 
 
 Good bay to Cromwell's scouring Ironsides, 
 
 Had rung with Carolean revelry, 
 
 Had armed at the Orange rising, had glared out 
 
 With ruddy joy when bonfires mocked the night 
 
 After the victories of Marlborough, 
 
 Had seen the roystering villagers rejoice 
 
 For Aboukir, and mourn at Trafalgar ; 
 
 Whilst in the peaceful valley down below, 
 
 The silver stream, mother of navies, nurse 
 
 Of dauntless and unconquered seamen, flowed 
 
 Still absolutely free and inviolable. 
 
 And here (thought Robert) has a line of squires 
 
 Run on and on and on, whilst all around 
 
 Incessant families of yeomanry 
 
 And hardy labourers have lived so clanned 
 
 With their manorial lords that at the last 
 
 Relationship has woven a bond as deep 
 
 As that of son to sire, and it would seem 
 
 The children almost have two fathers, one 
 
 Who gave them birth, and one who gave them all 
 
 The other could not give ; oh, happy spot. 
 
 Where modern Socialism, out the name, 
 
 Concludes its mission and perfects its aim. 
 
 With this he turned upon his heels and flung 
 The lip-moist ending of his cigarette
 
 53 
 
 Aground, for hunger jostled it with thought 
 
 While breakfast waited, and he started back 
 
 To where with but the user of a night 
 
 He now found home ; and going said to himself. 
 
 Life arrows like roulette, I most begin 
 
 To grow a fatalist and pin my faith 
 
 Upon the dies of chance. Alfred and I, 
 
 Whilst seeking after real simplicity, 
 
 (In which he still adventures disbelief) 
 
 Have hunted down for the ideal spot 
 
 Wherein it should by speaking circumstance 
 
 Appear enheld. When labour seemed all vain 
 
 I took with dull dissatisfied disgust 
 
 The fag of fortune ; yet it stands most clear 
 
 That in our brained refusals up above 
 
 We have discarded no more fairer spot 
 
 Than that where now I am. It seems to be 
 
 A blessed corner dipt from Paradise 
 
 That has unmarked escaped the general curse 
 
 Blotted at fallen man. Could any place 
 
 Be sweeter, purer, holier than this ? 
 
 Contentment reigns so rank 't might be a weed 
 
 Indigenous ; in every face I meet 
 
 Happiness seems to have perpetual lease. 
 
 And all the web and woof of social life, 
 
 Its rank, position, grades, and differences, 
 
 Seem here so deftly woven that they make 
 
 Most perfect and entrancing harmony. 
 
 Squire, parson, farmer, yeoman, cottager, 
 
 Are blent in apt accord and hold their place 
 
 In one fine balanced system. Here at last 
 
 I find a true Arcadia, here I see
 
 5 + 
 
 Contented labourers at their daily toil. 
 
 Stout boys attendant at their father's side 
 
 Learning to labour as their sires have done, 
 
 Trim housewives through the widely open doors 
 
 Busied in domesticities, young girls 
 
 Getting betimes the duties of a home. 
 
 That in the future for the man they wed 
 
 They may keep his. Then every one I meet 
 
 Bids me good morn as they had known me years ; 
 
 The village maidens look me straight aface 
 
 With utter innocence and lack of guile ; 
 
 Children with unabashed simplicity 
 
 Stop in their play, and smiling as I pass 
 
 Compel a smile in answer (which none less 
 
 Leaps to its glad recounter) ; had I been 
 
 From very infancy inhabitant 
 
 I could not seem more welcome. But in towns 
 
 Men jostle you with boorish disregard, 
 
 And women are more womanly the more 
 
 They may ignore you ; there the open streets 
 
 Are suspect places, here for confidence. 
 
 Alfred may make his talk of towns, may scour 
 
 The railnet of the continent, may seek 
 
 The gathered sights of sumptuous capitals. 
 
 May bring back talcs of theatres, galleries, 
 
 Cathedrals, palaces, great monuments, 
 
 That little man establishes to mark 
 
 His still most transient memory ; but for me, 
 
 I look to-day upon a fairer sight 
 
 Than bronzed or painted records, I survey 
 
 Something more treasured than the rarest art 
 
 Of all the world, if such were possible,
 
 DO 
 
 Collected into one. This village is 
 
 Compared with some great city as the spring 
 
 Is to the murky river, as the source 
 
 Which bubbles virgin from its mother earth 
 
 Is to the reeking sewage-laden flood 
 
 That with gigantic voluming and tide 
 
 Vomits its gathered filthiness away 
 
 To the receptive sea. Thank heavens, that I 
 
 Wander beside the simple lonely brook 
 
 Coursing clear crystal through the meads and flowers, 
 
 Its hidden deeps (for clearest things have deeps 
 
 Beyond the furthest peerings of the eye) 
 
 Unsullied, and its shallows musical. 
 
 But even here he reached his garden gate, 
 
 And with the whet of morning appetite 
 
 Lifted the latch, all other thoughts set by 
 
 Before the thought of breakfast instantlv.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 How Robert first meets Nell in the village churchyard, and 
 
 their cotiversation. 
 
 ARE things mere chance — or does Predestiny 
 Measure and minute every least event 
 Down to its finest tittle so that all 
 Is cut and cast as by machinery ? 
 Old question and unanswerable; still 
 A stranger met by hazard any day 
 May change the tenor of a man's whole way. 
 Robert had turned to close the garden gate, 
 And as he did so took in casual glance 
 The prospect from his cottage ; opposite 
 Ran (as is down) the avenue to the church, 
 And at its upper angle with the road 
 Only a petty stone's throw from his own 
 A cottage stood ; its lowlier windowings 
 Veiled by a privet hedge, but tliose above 
 Save for the creepers' vagrant trespassings 
 Free. And at one of these his wandering eye 
 Above the blank square of a looking-glass 
 Which topped the straining of a muslin blind, 
 Caught the white working of two little hands 
 Which with (|uick, deft, and dainty nimbleness
 
 57 
 
 Wove through thick tresses: now the comb would stream 
 
 Upwards a length of hair, now would there glance 
 
 A dainty forearm whose arched fingerings ' 
 
 Pinned something into place, now by the glass 
 
 An elbow for an instant peeped, or even 
 
 A white arm with its bodiced sleevelet stole 
 
 A moment and then vanished, aye and more. 
 
 The pale suspicion of a forehead flashed 
 
 Above the barren blankness of the frame 
 
 And like the lightning of a summer's night 
 
 Was gone ere scarce 'twas noted ; but this while 
 
 With art as ancient as the days of Eve 
 
 (Women are women since the world began) 
 
 A gracious head or what was seen of it 
 
 Took its new shaping. Robert saw all this, 
 
 Sighed and he knew not why and went within, 
 
 For breakfast waited. Mystery (he mused) 
 
 Must have its spell, mermaids if one but thinks 
 
 Are merely things of tresses, comb, and glass, 
 
 Like that girl yonder ; Alfred were he here 
 
 Would watch and watch till he had seen the face, 
 
 Let breakfast slide and even go upstairs 
 
 To get the storey's extra vantaging, 
 
 And fancy-fooled perhaps would carry things 
 
 To an adventure. Well, there are men thus ; — 
 
 This bacon, country-cured is better far 
 
 Than aught I get in town ; — what freedom this 
 
 To be alone, unfettered, unconstrained, 
 
 Unbothered, where a village is as wilds 
 
 Beyond the absolute edging of the world. 
 
 What wonder men in ruder days, when minds 
 
 Caught at extremes, made of the wilderness
 
 5S 
 
 Their outcast habitation, haunted caves. 
 
 Took oases as solitary homes, 
 
 And to odd lonely and sequestered lairs, 
 
 With broken hopes, youth's faded dreams, the wreck 
 
 Of manhood's promises, the baulk of sin 
 
 Foul maggoted by harrowing remorse, 
 
 Withdrew themselves. What wonder too, that women 
 
 With their ambitions shattered, sufferers from 
 
 Fooled love, foiled vanity, frustrated aims. 
 
 Drew them as wounded birds to hidden spots, 
 
 Or in calm cloisters sought their solacing. 
 
 If loneliness be sorrow's soft release 
 
 How more is solitude joy's perfect peace. 
 
 Then breakfast done, with this self-communing. 
 He, while the smoke clouds of his cigarette 
 Rose dissipating ceilingwards, resolved 
 Within his mind the programme of the days 
 And how to set them to their best expense. 
 If there be difficult murder 'tis to kill 
 The unfilled gaps of time, to suffocate 
 The tedium of unoccupation, 
 To live unbusy in a busy world. 
 And load the hours as the Danaides 
 Did their unholding sieves with nothingness. 
 So facing this same problem Robert thought : — 
 How true it is our lives arc merely grooves 
 In which once laid we run unthinking on. 
 We hold day after day the same pursuits, 
 Apportion hours week after week the same. 
 Sit to our meals by method, keep our work 
 Within the selfsame boundaries of time,
 
 59 
 
 And as machines expend our metal out 
 
 In overiterated samenesses. 
 
 Then if by hazard anything is changed 
 
 And some new course abruptly forced upon us, 
 
 We landsmen are at sea. Here now am I 
 
 Without the slightest notion how to start 
 
 The first day of a two months' holiday, 
 
 Which none the less I must distribute out 
 
 To its partition, lest I pass the whole 
 
 In ceaseless thinking what I ought to do 
 
 And end by settling nothing ; just as some 
 
 Brood all the he3'day of their years away 
 
 To solve life's dues and dying leave them slid 
 
 And unattempted. I will (let me see) 
 
 Give up my mornings' energy to books 
 
 And with grave study minister the mind 
 
 Until the grosser body gets itself 
 
 The right to crave for lunch ; this satisfied, 
 
 I will make strong and vigorous exercise 
 
 The proper business of the afternoon, 
 
 Crown this with supper's very ample cheer, 
 
 And pass the evening's remnant hours away 
 
 With odds and ends of lightest literature. 
 
 So shall my day run regularly through 
 
 Till when both mind and body have well won 
 
 The healthy recompense of night's repose 
 
 Myself like some old lawyer's musty deed 
 
 Shall to the shelf of sleep, there to remain 
 
 Till morning's light brings me my use again. 
 
 With this he broke a parcel of his books 
 
 And reaching Bacon's Essays out, which chance
 
 6o 
 
 Had p^iven its proper place above the rest, 
 
 Put it a-pockct, wandered out of doors 
 
 Along the avenue to the churchyard 
 
 And sought (for he had noted it before) 
 
 A garden seat beneath a hawthorn tree 
 
 Nooked by the churchyard gate. This he possessed 
 
 And comfortably disposing him drew forth 
 
 The volumed wisdom of the sage, perused 
 
 A casual page or two, then let the book 
 
 Fall on his lap from utter negligence, 
 
 Stretched out his lazy limbs, let close his lids 
 
 And loosed his thoughts adrift to work their will 
 
 In soft ideas and pleasant phantasies, 
 
 Which bore on nothing in particular, 
 
 But stole a roam, this morning-tide despite. 
 
 As much in random as the dreams of night. 
 
 But scarcely had a few soft minutes sped. 
 
 Than from his day-dream he was startled up 
 
 By the harsh creaking of a rusty hinge 
 
 And slamming of the wicket on its post ; 
 
 And, scarce awakened to reality, 
 
 He saw the graceful figure of a girl 
 
 Standing beside the gate and holding it 
 
 To let two children through, waiting the while 
 
 Her dog lagged after them. This done she turned 
 
 Her great dark eyes towards the seat he held, 
 
 And widened them, as in perplexed surprise 
 
 To see it tenanted ; then sweetly called 
 
 The children in a voice as musical 
 
 As any sound that he had ever heard, 
 
 And with a side glance at him passed to where
 
 6i 
 
 An ancient tabled tomb rose out the grass, 
 
 Cut with what once were skulls and cherubim, 
 
 But which the obliterating sop of time 
 
 Had merged into such smudged accordancy 
 
 That death and heaven had come identical 
 
 In their ensculpturement. Upon this tomb, 
 
 Its further edge sunk to an easy seat, 
 
 She sat her down and bade the children play ; 
 
 Then drawing from a simple plaited bag 
 
 Some unintelligible needlework, 
 
 Busied herself in occupation. 
 
 But Robert meantime pulled himself astraight, 
 
 Caught up the fallen Bacon, opened it 
 
 At the first hazard place, and with pretence 
 
 Of reading and its settled attitude 
 
 Looked at the girl ; while she too, in her turn, 
 
 No sooner was her wonted needle set 
 
 To work its almost automatic way. 
 
 Stole up a glance at him ; and so the two 
 
 Without the least intention or surmise 
 
 Looked straight and full into each other's eyes. 
 
 But he with quick and hot self-consciousness 
 Swept both his own back to the book again, 
 While she without confusion only laughed 
 A little to herself and conned her work. 
 Clocks side by side they say will grow to beat 
 Together ; and in curiosity 
 
 There is coincidence, though heaven knows why. 
 Two unknown persons meeting in the street 
 Look at each other and pass by, yet if 
 They turn again for second sight it is
 
 62 
 
 Together, and a third and fourth time so 
 
 In repetition. So 'twas with these two. 
 
 Their eyes in some brief moments met again, 
 
 Only that he, at second venture bold. 
 
 Still kept his, doubting his own daring, fixed ; 
 
 Whilst she let her long lashes sweep and drew 
 
 Her brows into the shadow of a frown, 
 
 Which (as when some stray fleecy cloudlet goes 
 
 Athwart the sun to breed an instant's shade) 
 
 Had vanished almost ere it had been made. 
 
 There is more meaning in the simple eyes 
 
 Than in the utterance of ten thousand words, 
 
 There is more certain speech comes from the depths 
 
 Of crystal orbs than can be emphasised 
 
 By all the clatter of a myriad tongues : 
 
 For what are voices ? Nothing but the code 
 
 And straitened signals of communicance, 
 
 Which in each clime and every country change. 
 
 A sentence that is here intelligible 
 
 A country off is dislocate of use, 
 
 But all the wide world through one single look 
 
 Packs with the selfsame meaning. Tongues are vain. 
 
 And even if gathered, like the fencer's foil, 
 
 Still feint and fool, are false and fit for nought 
 
 Except the veiling of conceit and thought. 
 
 But eyes talk only verity itself, 
 
 And with white innocence put to the blush 
 
 The many lies of lips. Which most speak truth ? 
 
 Who says, " I love," and looks upon the ground, 
 
 Who looks, I love, and never utters sound ?
 
 And so these two who sat that living morn 
 
 Above the crumbhng dust that once had held 
 
 Like senses to themselves, these two but glanced 
 
 With a furtivity that still grew less 
 
 Upon each other till without one sound 
 
 Or the least passage of a single word 
 
 They felt they were in sympathy and accord. 
 
 But all this while the children played (a boy 
 Of seven, a little maid one birth the less) ; 
 First chased the butterflies above the graves 
 (The soul's own symbol on the body's dust), 
 Next, tired in vain pursuit went gathering flowers 
 And gracious seed-sprays of long grass until 
 The forefront of the little maiden's frock 
 Was aproned full with spoil, after the which 
 Upon the turf they softly sat them down 
 To weave their treasures into chain and crown. 
 
 But even with children, interest like the moons 
 
 Comes only full to wane, and weariness 
 
 Dogs with its nose upon the very heel 
 
 Of gained accomplishment ; the blooms were cast 
 
 And with a vacant lack of what to do 
 
 They eyed at Robert. Then the little boy 
 
 (Since custom seemed to make the place his own) 
 
 Came slowly venturing half the distance out 
 
 Towards him, laughed, looked oft at him and oft 
 
 Back at his sister, yet the while drew on 
 
 Till 'twixt the pulse of fear and bravery 
 
 He reached and climbed the seat's far end and there 
 
 Sat him in triumph ; then the little maid
 
 64 
 
 Noting the outworks won, with one quick rush 
 Got seat beside him, (and the coUie dog 
 Who from afar had watched at everything 
 Rose, stretched and languidly came over too 
 To sniff and couch him down), Robert the while 
 Noting these simple tactics with a smile. 
 
 Children have ways whose sweet prerogatives 
 
 Bind with a settled lien upon our hearts, 
 
 Their voices fall as music in our ears, 
 
 And our affections, even if most laired, 
 
 Creep like the answering serpents of the East 
 
 Straightway piped forth and charmed. Their innocence 
 
 Makes our most villanous thoughts to melt away 
 
 As dissipated smoke, and their pure smiles 
 
 Being perfect passports unto plenteous love 
 
 Enamour us : their prattle lights our joys 
 
 And solaces our sorrows. Who then lives 
 
 So absolutely brutal as to spurn 
 
 The simple profferings of a little child ? 
 
 And why ? Perhaps in them we backward see 
 
 The helpless mites ourselves were wont to be. 
 
 What wonder then (and let the why go pass) 
 That ere the turret-hand had minuted 
 Half through one figured gaping of the dial. 
 The children who had climbed to Robert's seat 
 Upon its farthest end, were chattering 
 Close to his knees ? and in such merriment 
 'Twould almost seem this new-born friendliness 
 Was reckoned not by moments, but by years. 
 Yet was it so ? Ignoring him at first
 
 65 
 
 They held their whispered own confabulence, 
 
 Then timidly looked up at him and laughed 
 
 And in their laughter turned their eyes away 
 
 As though these played shy hide-and-seek with his ; 
 
 And next, as no rebuff were couragement, 
 
 Shuffled them closer till the forward boy 
 
 Took at a jump his sister's nearer side 
 
 And on the very first word Robert spoke 
 
 Nestled beside him, whilst the little maid 
 
 More coyly following followed all the same 
 
 And thence their modesty was changed to be 
 
 To what appeared almost effrontery. 
 
 But all this while away upon the tomb 
 
 Plying her needlework the elder girl 
 
 Sat on, and yet she noted all this while 
 
 The children's vagrancy. When first the boy 
 
 Came out towards Robert she had called him back 
 
 But faltered : then again, when both had climbed 
 
 The seat, she still had mind to call them back. 
 
 But indecision, like the rampant weeds 
 
 That rob a summer mill-race of its force, 
 
 Withheld her, till when all was done and when 
 
 Prevention lagged in feeble uselessness, 
 
 She caught her remnant remedy, rose up, 
 
 Shook out the cotton creases of her gown 
 
 And calling them that it was time to go 
 
 Tripped lightly towards the wicket gate and went 
 
 To draw them off as her accompaniment. 
 
 But he, even as the children slid to obey 
 The summons, following upon the heels 
 Of their obedience doffed his straw and bowed 
 
 5
 
 66 
 
 With rightful courtesy (thnt missed its place 
 A little in a graveyard, and brought full 
 The blood with its uncustom to her check). 
 Then proffering apology for speech, 
 Denied the children troubled him the least : 
 Take it (he said) the very contrary, 
 I so love children and their ways that these, 
 Your brother and your sister, had beguiled 
 If that you still had left them undisturbed 
 My leisure moments with their pleasantness. 
 But she, as merriment blinked in her eyes 
 At his misapprehension, answered him : 
 Brother and sister they are none of mine 
 But children of my neighbour, one who is 
 A widow and an invalid ; and since 
 Their school is up for holiday, and they 
 Have none to care them, and their cottage is 
 The next to ours, and further since I come 
 Most sunny mornings here with needlework 
 I bring them too : it gives them air and play 
 And draws them from their sickly mother's way. 
 
 Besides, you see, this hawthorn shaded seat 
 
 Is very pleasant when the summer suns 
 
 Mount to their scorch. And strange there's scarce a 
 
 soul 
 Who ever sits here ; rarely anyone 
 Except for weddings or for christenings 
 Or (and she shuddered) for a funeral 
 Troubles to take this as a week-day way ; 
 And so we have it almost to ourselves. 
 And hence it happens in the children's minds
 
 67 
 
 Has grown a sense of right proprietorship. 
 That was it made them clamber to j-our side 
 And break your reading; pardon me for this. 
 Pardon, (cried Robert) I had no idea 
 The seat enjoyed such sweet monopoly 
 Henceforth if I come here I take a tomb. 
 Not so (quick-shot the girl) the seat is yours 
 As much as anyone's who takes it first, 
 And therefore (and she almost "laid her hand 
 In very earnestness upon his own) 
 If you— but (with a start as some new thought 
 Prompted her shrinking any further speech) 
 We must get home. Then taking by the hand 
 The children who had listened open-mouthed, 
 She with drooped lids and with a shirked adieu 
 Sped to the wicket and passed out of view.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 What impression Nell creates on Robert. 
 
 TIME comes, time goes, it stays for no command 
 The hour moves even with the minute-hand. 
 Robert stood on until their steps had died 
 And then went back into the seat again. 
 This then, he mused, must be the girl I saw 
 Doing her hair behind the looking-glass ; 
 She said her cottage cornered at the ways. 
 And she a village maiden ! Alfred tells, 
 Yet Alfred is a fool, their attributes 
 Are, and the stolen phrase has his assent 
 Big feet, broad smiles, and blunted innocence. 
 A libel ! a most absolute falsity ! 
 For oh, in what perfection did she stand, 
 Speak, move, walk, look ; what truth and purity 
 Rang in her voice, showed in her gestures, played 
 In every lighted feature of her face ; 
 And of that curse of modern womanhood 
 Care-cultured artificiality 
 Not one least tainting vestige was abrupt ; 
 But like a flower from out her native fields
 
 69 
 
 Compared with garden-grown monstrosities 
 Nurtured on hotbed filth, she simply stood 
 In sweetest contrast ; type of what should be 
 Maidenhood's beauty and simplicity. 
 Her face ! In it entrancingly were blent 
 The innocence of childhood with the tinge 
 Of coming womanhood ; her guileless eyes 
 Shaded and arched by silken lash and brow, 
 Despite all modesty were eloquent. 
 And had such sunlight of their own the sun 
 When hid seemed all unmissed, and when ashine 
 Was shamed for very light ; her coral lips. 
 The pouting guardians to a wealth of pearls. 
 Were shaped in lines like Cupid's very bow. 
 And with such tender fulness that they looked 
 Modelled (oh, what a wrong) for kisses only, 
 To which their corners chastely gave denial. 
 These were the portals whence as sweet a voice 
 As ever noted sound came issuant 
 With syllables so softly musical 
 That every word flew dulcet to mine ears 
 As Mercuries of heavenly messaging. 
 Her cheeks were doubly as the damask rose 
 In hue and softness, and as this were nought. 
 Or all too little in their sum of grace, 
 They from the brooks stole beauty's recipe 
 And laughed in dimples of such rippling spell 
 My helpless eyes that sought to follow them 
 Were mesmerised and held ; her forehead was 
 As ivory, it had even been as snow 
 But that the envious and jealous sun 
 Had with faint tan besmirched it, as to asperse
 
 70 
 
 In rancour the fine texture of her skin, 
 'Gainst which soft veins in azure rivulets 
 Coursing her temples gave the sun the lie. 
 Her chin was modelled in a maiden round, 
 Saving one fixed and tiny dimplet showed 
 With such provoking, that its very sight 
 Had power to ruffle from his solemn suit 
 The holiest meditations of a saint. 
 Her nose — but memory fails me, and its lines 
 Shape, profile, tilt, the passions that might lurk 
 Beneath its nostrils' tell-tale sweep and curve, 
 All these have slipped me, yet it held a grace 
 In sweet concordance with so sweet a face. 
 
 Her hair ! Did I not see 't this very morn 
 In volume sweep before the happy comb 
 Till coiled and bound it came the gracious frame 
 To a more gracious face, its handiwork 
 Holding the mean 'twixt trimness and neglect ; 
 And as the visible ocean penned in straint 
 Breaks at its loosened edges into froth 
 So her main tresses wound in mazy bond 
 Still let stray locks go fluttering in escape 
 To be the playthings of the wanton winds 
 And wave in ceaseless tremulance adown 
 Her forehead and her neck-nape and around 
 Her small half-smothered ear. That little ear 
 Like some pink fragile solitary shell 
 Cast from the boundless treasures of the sea 
 Perfect upon the sands, whose tender lines 
 Halt one to cogitative wonder how 
 Nature was schooled to model into form
 
 7^ 
 
 Things so superlatively beautiful — 
 
 That little ear, unhelped by action, void 
 
 Of motion and expression's ceaseless change 
 
 Held like the pole-star its fixed place amidst 
 
 A heaven of shifting charms, and like it still 
 
 Pointed my trembling fancy. Then her neck — 
 
 To what a head, to what a face, to what 
 
 A gracious poised and superb capital 
 
 Was it right under-pillar, parallel 
 
 In grace to what it poised ; oh, it was like 
 
 Some perfect alabaster column set 
 
 To be the prop and finest ornament 
 
 Of a saint's shrine, or (being graced above 
 
 Whilst vested into secrecy below) 
 
 'Twas like the aspirations of a poet 
 
 Which thrill above to what is beautiful 
 
 Making his mind a rich and damasked dream 
 
 Of figured glories, lofty enterprise. 
 
 Fame, reputation, high ambitions, hopes 
 
 Whilst yet one single sober glance below 
 
 Sees but a future veiled and garmented 
 
 Beneath the cloak of time. Her rounded throat 
 
 Seemed where (again these thoughts) kisses should lodge 
 
 As light as butterflies upon the flowers 
 
 To suck thencefrom moist scented sweetnesses. 
 
 Her bosom — for her summer bodicing 
 
 Clung with such loving closeness to her shape 
 
 And told as traitor what it should have hid — 
 
 Stood with obtrusion's modest veiling out 
 
 Demurely perfect. Her lithe sinuous waist 
 
 With nature's lines mocked those of artifice 
 
 And gave so fondly to each slightest move,
 
 7^ 
 
 That all the gracious motions one recalls, 
 The waving reeds, the yielding birches, swans, 
 The nod of lilies on their stalks, the sway 
 Of topmost elm-boughs to the courting breeze 
 All these were mocked as very crudity 
 Beside her happy motions. For the rest 
 Her hips, limbs, shoulders, body, everything 
 Hung so responsive and proportionate 
 Each to the other, part to part akin. 
 That not one speck that the most critic eye 
 Could sourly corner to disparagement 
 Dusted as smart to sight. Her very feet — 
 And with anticipation's shudder first 
 Dreading the broadened slur of country roads 
 And jointed spread of wide unshapeliness 
 I looked them out, — in ankle, arch, and mould 
 Had all proportion's due and excellence ; 
 Whilst those light ministers of industry 
 Which plied just now with busy lingering 
 So deftly that the customed needle seemed 
 To catch the digits' senses as its own, 
 Had such a courtly shaping as indeed 
 To seem a very testament of breed. 
 Yet this a village girl ! Those were her arms 
 I saw this morning gleam behind the glass 
 Out like a goddess's. An hour ago 
 And they were nothing ; now their memories 
 Patter on recollection's sandy shore 
 Like children's naked feet, till what was blank 
 Is printed endlessly. We change and change 
 Places are nought, surroundings ciphers, all 
 That we call nature is but colourless.
 
 73 
 
 Until some ray of human interest 
 
 Like the first beam of an uprising sun 
 
 Lights it to proper showing. What the stream 
 
 The trees, the breeze, birds, flowers, insects, sounds, 
 
 When one least incident can overreach 
 
 Their beauties and can bring them attribute 
 
 To something greater. They have simply served 
 
 As an appanage to a regal show — 
 
 Regiments tramp by, the haughty trumpets blare 
 
 Against the brawling of the martial drum. 
 
 The horses prance, bridle, bit, spur, and sword 
 
 Clank jingling to the charger's footed rhythm ; 
 
 The serried lances gleam, bright pennons fly 
 
 Fluttering upon the breeze, there is the flash 
 
 Of gold, and gorgeous blaze of uniforms 
 
 And the procession swells by grade to reach 
 
 A perfect ecstasy of pageantry. 
 
 And then in unassumed simplicity 
 
 At last comes very royalty itself 
 
 After the which anticipation's gorge 
 
 Sated chock-high with show turns sick from food 
 
 And all the sequel even though it pass 
 
 In its magnificence what was precedent 
 
 Tails tamely off to be the terminal 
 
 Of mere uninterest and indifference. 
 
 It is the gaudy petals lure the bee 
 
 Who, once the longed-for nectar is upsucked, 
 
 Sees in them nothing. Well, I will get back — 
 
 Her manners too, her actions, gestures, speech. 
 
 These were in sweet harmonious accord 
 
 With her corporeal beauty. I'm a fool — 
 
 It is as Alfred says my constant fault
 
 74 
 
 That flimsy moments catch inc spider-like 
 
 In any casual web. What's she to mc, 
 
 Or I to her? Ah well, I will get back 
 
 Undo my things, and loose my books from pack.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 How Robert whiles away the rest of his first day in the 
 
 village. 
 
 THERE are attractions out all reason's bounds. 
 The happy moth that once has found its flame 
 Will fly to kiss 't and singed will fly again, 
 And even when shrivelled up in agony 
 Would mount again to kiss it, and to die. 
 
 Robert went home ; an instant by the gate 
 
 Paused to observe the neighbouring cottages 
 
 And scan the people up and down the street ; 
 
 Then passed indoors, flung Bacon heedlessly 
 
 Upon the table of the sitting-room, 
 
 And with presentimental certainty 
 
 Went to his bedroom whose sole window looked 
 
 Right down into the garden opposite. 
 
 Presentiment is very often nought 
 
 But hidden calculation ; as he leaned 
 
 Across the window-sill he saw the dog 
 
 Couched by the cottage porch (he knew 't), there was 
 
 Her hat, a simple straw with common flowers, 
 
 Hanging behind the open door (he knew 't) 
 
 And she herself though hidden out of sight
 
 76 
 
 Was there (he knew it all). Then he began 
 
 That curious watch that men will keep for women ; 
 
 They see the fragment of a petticoat 
 
 Vanish behind a door, beneath a blind 
 
 They catch some snowy vestiges of linen 
 
 Or aught mysteriously feminine, 
 
 And forthwith, disregarding all things else. 
 
 Set them to vigil which they keep until 
 
 Their very orbs grow blind with steadfastness 
 
 And jaded patience only brings distress. 
 
 So Robert watched : the remnant morning slid 
 By minute after minute into waste ; 
 The clock struck one ; then for a little while 
 The tramp and passage of done labourers 
 Homing from mill and forge for dinner-time 
 Crunched fading up the road, after the which 
 There came that lull which makes this hour of light 
 Almost as still and silent as the night. 
 
 And yet he went on watching, though in vain ; 
 The only thing that stirred itself at all 
 Was the dog changing at odd intervals 
 From sun to shadow, and from shade to sun. 
 And it at last moved restless out of sight 
 Into the house. Then he disconsolate 
 And wearied with befooled continuance 
 Turned to his room, and bluntly set himself 
 To sorting out and tidying his things, 
 Though all the while his ears were sentinel 
 To the least sound without, nor was there pass
 
 Of one short minute but some snatch of it 
 Paid windowed due to what was opposite. 
 
 But this had end : the woman of the house 
 
 Begging her interruption with a knock 
 
 And punctual to the resonance of two, 
 
 Brought hmcheon's due announcement. Then he went 
 
 Taking a piled-up bundle of his books 
 
 Down to the lower room ; yet even here 
 
 Shuffled his chair around the table side, 
 
 So to be seated that he still might view 
 
 Her cottage gate lest she should come there-through. 
 
 Our meals break up the daytime of our thoughts 
 
 To their partition, separate the hours 
 
 And point the flowing courses of ideas 
 
 Like the reversing tideways of the sea 
 
 Into new currents ; our digestion brings 
 
 With its embodied increments of newth, 
 
 Fresh blood to our conceits and makes them range 
 
 Revivified along the lines of change. 
 
 And so it was when Robert's pulses beat 
 
 In full replenishment and fed his brain 
 
 To the engendering of firmer thought. 
 
 That he began to mock his morning's self 
 
 And introspectively to pick out holes 
 
 In this poor watching for a petticoat. 
 
 Why should he bother after things like this 
 
 And waste his time in mere stupidity ? 
 
 'Twas nonsense, holidays if rightly spent 
 
 Had rest and exercise as their intent.
 
 78 
 
 Therefore the river for the afternoon 
 
 And truce to all this folly. So he took 
 
 A book or two, went to the landing stage 
 
 Pushed the canoe astream and paddled off, 
 
 Rough reckoning the mileage that was due 
 
 To bring him home before the turn of night. 
 
 But loneliness and lost companionship, 
 
 Like the locked air within a dustbound lamp. 
 
 Stifled his flame of object till it snuffed. 
 
 And so it was, after a spurt or two, 
 
 He fell to mooring underneath the trees 
 
 And dreaming. Eyes — what magic is in eyes ! 
 
 The worn-out, old, uncared-for bachelor 
 
 Shaky with life's accrued infirmities. 
 
 Crouches in slippered winter by the fire 
 
 And musing on his end will still recall 
 
 Perforce the distant heyday of his youth ; 
 
 For in the burning coals, the gloom that shrouds 
 
 The corners of his room, aye, in the air 
 
 Or in the darkness of closed lids he sees 
 
 (For nothing is can make him blind to them) 
 
 Two eyes that years and years and years ago 
 
 Were closed in death, two eyes that yet have been 
 
 The memoried holds and beacons of his life 
 
 And through its remnant driblet still shall be 
 
 Until he meets them in Eternity. 
 
 What then with eyes which but that selfsame day 
 
 Had hit their impress ? Robert saw them rise 
 
 And seem as absolutely sensible 
 
 As they had been at morn. Round them he wove, 
 
 With happy youth's delightful phantasy, 
 
 Warm circles of imaginings which spread
 
 79 
 
 Like children's bubbles blown to rainbow out 
 And burst the way for others. Then he'd wake 
 Shake himself down once more to commonplace 
 Paddle another furlong on and then 
 Relapse to dreams beneath the trees again. 
 
 Thus doing, the hours slid by, the waning day 
 
 Fell with the sun beyond the western hills 
 
 And all things melted with dusk's deepening shades 
 
 To dim grey indistinction, till the moon 
 
 Catching the silver fulness of her strength 
 
 Cut them again with colourless cold light 
 
 Back to their place and shapings. Day was spent 
 
 And Robert from the water homeward went. 
 
 Supper was done and cleared, and though the room 
 
 Had study-like and lamplit cosiness. 
 
 And though his books lay all around to hand, 
 
 Yet through the open casement the night air 
 
 Wafted in whispering invitation, 
 
 And out in front the moonlit avenue 
 
 Looked like a weird mysterious arcade 
 
 Leading away beyond the silent graves 
 
 Into some fairyland of promises. 
 
 Such as tempt men to dream. But 'twas not this 
 
 That drew him out of doors ; only he went 
 
 To lean his arms upon the garden rail 
 
 And watch the downstairs windows opposite, 
 
 (Whose blinds shone j^ellow underneath the moon) 
 
 Trying to picture what the room beyond 
 
 Was like, and what the girl who haunted him 
 
 Might be at doing. He might look from these
 
 8o 
 
 Beyond the graves or gaze along the hill 
 
 Where the bathed village lay in one soft sheen 
 
 Of silvery light, or turning the other way 
 
 Eye the great elms that topped the church's spire, 
 
 The Vicarage chimneys or the gabled mill 
 
 Cut in black blotting out against the sky. 
 
 But look or think his thoughts would turn and play 
 
 Always upon the cottage over-way. 
 
 So he stayed on until the turret struck 
 
 Ten and the tavern's curfew : then was flash 
 
 Of open doors along the village street 
 
 And the loud voices of late roysterers 
 
 Flinging last jests before they bent them home, 
 
 And after this a gentle lull of peace. 
 
 Still he stayed on, whilst lower casements darked 
 
 And upper ones gleamed a disrobing time 
 
 Ere they darked too. But opposite he watched 
 
 The lights downstairs behind the privet hedge 
 
 Faint and then vanish, whilst above there came 
 
 A mounting glimmer on the bedroom blinds. 
 
 And then two candled halos in one frame 
 
 For a few minutes, till one rose and moved 
 
 To reappear within the fellow room 
 
 Showing the shadow of that looking-glass 
 
 That he had seen at morn, and over it 
 
 The silhouetted figure of the girl. 
 
 (But here the impatient woman of his house 
 
 Came out intent on rest, and drew his word 
 
 To leave the front door safely closed and locked 
 
 Which got, content she creaked upstairs to bed.) 
 
 Still he stayed on and watched the tell-tale blind
 
 8i 
 
 On which that girHsh shadow rose and fell, 
 
 Now sharp and small, now vague and over-large 
 
 To be entire to the frame's continent, 
 
 And sometimes altogether obsolete ; 
 
 But link on link, albeit some were missed. 
 
 The shady semblance pieced until she stood 
 
 Upon the mazy moulding of his mind 
 
 In the loose robing of the night, and twined 
 
 Her plaited hair to proper prisonment. 
 
 Now is this done, and now she lifts the light 
 
 Sets it beside her bed and sinks in prayer, 
 
 And as her body had been bared now bares 
 
 Her innocent soul to God, turns back the sheets. 
 
 Sets one white knee upon the mattress edge, 
 
 Mounts to her nest and on an elbow stayed 
 
 Reaches her little pouting mouth to puff 
 
 Herself to darkness, coils beneath the clothes 
 
 Rests her fair head within its pillowed vale 
 
 And sleeps. If Robert did not see all this 
 
 In verity and actuality. 
 
 Yet as a master of the pencil jots 
 
 A few strong lines whose ripe suggestion builds 
 
 A perfect picture from imperfect strokes. 
 
 Their strength being warranty for what is lacked, 
 
 So what was blank from what was not he caught, 
 
 Saw much in fact, the rest in fancy wrought. 
 
 Still he stayed on whilst the late villagers 
 Passed by his garden gate their way to home, 
 Until at last no single voice nor step 
 Was violate on the quiet of the night. 
 Still he stayed on as loth the day should end 
 
 6
 
 82 
 
 (If day it be until we get to rest) 
 And, as a miser views his hoarded wealth 
 Last moment ere he sleeps to see it safe, 
 So he watched on till iu;^'ht had coverted 
 All things to silence and then went to bed.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 How Robert wishes, and thinks to create an acquaintance 
 with Nell, and how he fails. 
 
 A ^7" HEN is it men first think they learn to love ? 
 
 * ^ Some are precocious in their very teens 
 And scarce get all their second teeth but they 
 Affect the under nurse or come to dote 
 Upon their sister's maid, and having thence 
 So early grasped some little odds and ends, 
 Pass with a masterful assurance on 
 To higher chase and greater consequence. 
 Another runs his schoolboy days away 
 Ere the ripe instinct of a moon-calf sense 
 Mounts to its sum ; the child that he affects 
 With ankled frock and simply plaited hair 
 Still fears a governess ; but he at length 
 After a fortnight of upsetting sighs 
 Handles his lonely opportunity 
 And with a flush of shamefulness blurts out 
 His pent confession (when what love may be 
 In very substance what is continent 
 Within its great and all-absorbing bonds 
 They absolute children, know not) and he gives
 
 84 
 
 The earliest kiss which his new manhness 
 Prompts him to render — not of lip to lip 
 But a smudged timid touch that but half lights 
 Upon a helpless cheek : yet both are joyed. 
 Others there are who from mere fearfulness 
 Never knew love at all, but let it slide, 
 Having such vague and timorous nervousness 
 That opportunity is rather curb 
 Than ease to their advancement ; profferings 
 Made to the fullest by their other sex, 
 Instead of luring them to soft accord 
 Act as a choke and throttle ; so they pass 
 Year after year coldly impossible 
 And (saving nature by some shift gets by 
 Their shrinking sentinels) will steal away 
 Into a grey and barren bachelorhood 
 Hanging their love-life on some memory 
 Of one with whom they nearly came to tie, 
 And yet were frighted from it. It is hence 
 That varied natures show their difference. 
 
 Alfred knew every wrinkle in the shifts 
 That clothe a woman's will or her intent, 
 Caught his impressions quickly and as quick 
 Could set his knowledge to initiative ; 
 But Robert was a baby at the game, 
 Felt Nature's impulses as all must feel, 
 Yet how to give them issue, how to bring 
 His senses' promptings to right profferings 
 How to pay court, make love, insinuate 
 Flatter, dissimulate, twist, turn, invent. 
 At all these things he was an innocent.
 
 85 
 
 Still he the very instant that he woke 
 
 Flew to the window, drew the curtains back 
 
 And as full day gushed in peered out upon 
 
 The cottage and the garden opposite ; 
 
 Yet not one sign of anybody there. 
 
 Then (as most simple trifles show the wind 
 
 The sailor's spittled finger, the stray straw, 
 
 A leaf, a tiny feather, or more home 
 
 The tell-tale angle of a lip, the brow 
 
 Gathered into the fragment of a frown 
 
 The lid's least droop, all which be monitors 
 
 Of what is yond) preoccupation, 
 
 Fooling the usages of every day, 
 
 Proclaimed his mind ; his hand-poised razor ran 
 
 Almost to skinn}^ error ; he picked up 
 
 A garment, laid it down again and then 
 
 Sought where to find it, and with mind distressed 
 
 Rambled his dressing through till he was dressed. 
 
 Breakfast no sooner done he hurried off 
 To the churchyard, but not a soul was there ; 
 He crossed it, wandered by the river's side 
 A little while and with some self-excuse 
 Came back again only to find all void ; 
 Went off, and several separate times returned 
 And yet nor girl nor children ; then again 
 And still again till this ran most day long 
 Like the stale chorus of a hackneyed song. 
 
 So we build Spanish castles ; seat us down, 
 Our market eggs a-basket on our laps, 
 Foresee their profit and enlargement grow
 
 86 
 
 From halfpence into houses, manors, lands 
 Lordships, revenues, baronies, domains. 
 Till with a jerk all drops and the burst yolks 
 Lie splattered at our feet ; and what is real 
 Knocks all the bottom out from an ideal. 
 
 Robert had thought (and thoughts are easy things) 
 
 Nothing was simpler than to find this girl 
 
 Break into conversation, and thenceforth 
 
 Hold her sweet parcel of his holiday ; 
 
 But it takes two (a thought that never came) 
 
 To make a quarrel or to play a game. 
 
 At last, when night had closed a fruitless day, 
 
 He asked the lady of his little house, 
 
 As if 'twere idle curiosity. 
 
 Who were those people living opposite, 
 
 And learnt from her their current history. 
 
 A widowed woman — yes — 'twas years ago — 
 
 Came with her baby child antl an old nurse 
 
 To take that cottage ; they were gently bred 
 
 If ways and manners went for anything, 
 
 And yet the lesser gentry round about. 
 
 Perhaps as they had only cottage means, 
 
 Did not acknowledge them. The girl had grown 
 
 To friendship with the farmers' daughters round. 
 
 Whilst both herself and mother were beloved 
 
 By all folk in the village. Time on time 
 
 They had in sickness and adversity 
 
 Done more than all those wealthy families 
 
 That were about together, — folks who thought 
 
 The simple handing of a little coin
 
 87 
 
 Was the sole needed solace of the poor — 
 And thence the garrulous old dame began 
 A homily on the dues of man to man. 
 
 Again next morn, his purposes reset 
 
 By last night's history he hurried out 
 
 To seek the churchyard as before, again 
 
 With the selfsame result, she was not there. 
 
 Some men are as the grass which shoots the more 
 
 The more it is downtrod, difficulties 
 
 To them are but as goads or pointed rowels 
 
 That spur their higher energies to pace ; 
 
 But others are like poor unblooded jades 
 
 Who make one spurt and heartless slacken out, 
 
 Or at the best accommodate themselves 
 
 To less ambitious jogs and easier. 
 
 So Robert since anticipation 
 
 Had found two separate days its blank rebuff. 
 
 Sat feebly after breakfast on the third 
 
 Debating whether it was worth his while 
 
 To trouble more. He'd thought the girl's own wish 
 
 Would run the same direction as his own, 
 
 And as he sought her so would she seek him ; 
 
 But since 'twas obvious that this was not so 
 
 Why should he bother further ? was 't not stale 
 
 That casual chance or common circumstance 
 
 Would knock two atoms in the world together. 
 
 And when affinity should make them one 
 
 Whisk them apart for ever. At a dance 
 
 A man and girl may only meet for once, 
 
 Whom but a brace or two of interviews 
 
 Would bring to wooing and to marriage ;
 
 88 
 
 Yet that dance done they never meet again, 
 And with a few days' hannting all fades out 
 Face, manner, voice, form, disposition, all 
 That went to stamp a happy memory — 
 Like morning recollections of a dream 
 A ^•anishcd ripple on fair fancy's stream. 
 
 But the baulked trout will still come to the tly. 
 
 And even whilst these thoughts were echoing 
 
 In fainter repetition through his brain, 
 
 The girl herself, the children, and the dog 
 
 Walked quietly along the avenue 
 
 Before his window up towards the church. 
 
 Then in one instant he was on his feet 
 
 Looked in the glass, caught up his straw, set right 
 
 The pocketed corner of his handkerchief 
 
 Flew to the door, yet (as discretion bade) 
 
 There checked a minute that they might have time 
 
 And followed them at ordinary pace, 
 
 And reached the wicket gate and overlooked it. 
 
 There — as when first he met her — was she now 
 
 Seated upon the tomb, and close to her 
 
 The children were at play. Then all his heart 
 
 Leapt to his throat, for that she left the seat. 
 
 Which she had claimed her customary own, 
 
 Untenanted presumably for him. 
 
 And took by preference the monument. 
 
 This was a pointed message to himself 
 
 And, all his courage fortified thereby, 
 
 He drew towards her. She at the gate's first clank 
 
 In one swift glance had gathered who it was, 
 
 But as he came beside lifted her eyes
 
 Sg 
 
 With such a look of innocent annoyance 
 
 And such a vacuous interdiction, 
 
 And the next instant, ere he had a chance 
 
 Of start or word or gesture or beginning, 
 
 Based them in such a frozen modesty, 
 
 Sitting as chilly as a marble saint. 
 
 That as a novice with a one-line part 
 
 Learnt to the very letter of his cue 
 
 And posed with over-hideous nervousness 
 
 Upon his tongue, who at rehearsal finds 
 
 When action ambles to his little words 
 
 That no cue comes and stands in vacancy 
 
 Devoid of even stammer, like a stick ; 
 
 So Robert in lack-word paralysis 
 
 Stood his few moments a shamed trespasser, 
 
 And then without one single sign or sound 
 
 Shrank to the further gate ; and yet looked back 
 
 Some several times in useless hope to catch 
 
 At least a motioned semblance of reply, 
 
 And waited ere he went to see again 
 
 If he might gather it — but all in vain. 
 
 The bitterest things that ever come to us 
 Are baulked anticipations ; death itself 
 Is but a term to what we hoped should last 
 Cut despite wish to end ; nothing there is 
 That galls or hurts or festers but itself 
 Is hope mocked of denial ; ingratitude. 
 Injustice, jealousy, bad faith, backstabs, 
 With those stray venomous malignities 
 Which scorpion-like upsting us as we tread, 
 All these are merely disappointed hopes ;
 
 And commoner than all, like salt new rubbed 
 
 Into raw wounds, the sting of being snubbed. 
 
 And she — what were her thoughts, what undersprings 
 
 Governed her actions ? Well, she was a woman, 
 
 And what is pertinent to a woman's mind 
 
 No man can fathom. Eve had her excuse, 
 
 The serpent tempted her and she did eat, 
 
 Yet were this really so or whether she 
 
 Upon her own initiative transgressed, 
 
 Why even ask ? Women are opposites. 
 
 Their no most oft is yea, their yea most no ; 
 
 What they would grant they must seem to deny, 
 
 And what they wish they mimic to despise. 
 
 Sound as you think the bottom of their mind, 
 
 Unsounded deeps far greater lie behind. 
 
 But truce to cynicism which blurts out 
 
 Like gouty breakages in middle age. 
 
 Marring simplicity's white skin with sears 
 
 Which should be bound and hidden ; back instead 
 
 To clean and homely facts. Robert had lost 
 
 His only hoped-for chance of conversation, 
 
 Had dropped the thread in tangle to the ground, 
 
 Which by the puny wind of circumstance 
 
 Was puffed aside beyond recovery. 
 
 Why cramp then to details, why harp upon 
 
 The strings of causes, trouble to dissect 
 
 Humanity to mental filaments? 
 
 His goal was missed, his arrow glanced astray, 
 
 And there's the end. 'Tis the first step that scores, 
 
 Be this not made no act can have its start ; 
 
 And when fair chance to take this step has slid
 
 91 
 
 And splendid opportunity is lost, 
 Like a dropped coin that wheels- into a chink, 
 It may be choked for ever. Never again 
 He dared or even thought to speak to her : 
 Some men but grow the hotter from rebuff, 
 Others snail up, being of weaker stuff. 
 
 So August's fervid month went waning through, 
 
 And Robert settled in his holiday 
 
 To casual things, walked, boated, fished, and read ; 
 
 But with all this he never dared again 
 
 (Poor fool, perhaps, as most men's wisdom goes) 
 
 To try and speak to her. Yet none the less 
 
 She, like some most loved picture in one's room, 
 
 Was still to him the sweetest incident 
 
 His village sojourn held. He watched her ways, 
 
 Nay, he would wait to watch them, saw her move 
 
 Within her garden tending to the flowers. 
 
 Cutting at morn their faded blooms away, 
 
 And in the evening quenching their parched roots 
 
 With discreet caring : in the churchyard, too, 
 
 He often saw her (she had taken again 
 
 Her customed seat), and though he now and then 
 
 Spoke to the children when they strayed his way. 
 
 Which often pertinaciously they would 
 
 (For children are too fresh for differences) 
 
 Yet all so sacred was her seeming wish 
 
 Against obtrusion, that the least idea 
 
 Of disobedience almost seemed a sin 
 
 If the thought rose within him. Often, too, 
 
 Out in the roads he met her face to face, 
 
 And would look full into her eyes, as she
 
 92 
 
 Would frankly foil in maidenly response 
 
 His mute and modest message of accord. 
 
 So the month passed away. September came 
 
 And still they never spoke — Such are the grooves 
 
 That underguide our neighbour intercourse 
 
 And run 't as it begins ; some we just nod, 
 
 With others pass the simple time of day, 
 
 Some stop and chat with, some have to our homes. 
 
 And jump with some to most thick amity ; 
 
 Yet as things set at first they most remain, 
 
 Unless by chance some gross coincidence 
 
 Shuffles the cards and dots us to new seat : 
 
 And even Love, the master of the world, 
 
 So free of common law, if timid falls 
 
 Beneath the burden of Convention's thralls.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 How Alfred cumes unexpectedly back from London and has 
 made an appointment with some girl he has met in the 
 train. 
 
 LOVE is a seed, it falls (the parable 
 Has eighteen centuries of blessed grace 
 Which yet if borrowed, like all Holy things, 
 And subvert to poor uses, still may seem 
 Unhackneyed) — therefore on : — Love is a seed; 
 It falls, floats on the winds, is hazard-borne 
 Dropping astray in vagrant carelessness 
 Any and everywhere. Sometimes it tinds 
 Such rich luxuriant and ready soil 
 And haps on circumstance so moistly hot 
 That it is scarce a moment incubate 
 
 Before it starts and sprouts and shoots and spreads 
 
 Into a rich and fulsome leafiness 
 
 Too sapped and overgrown ; then one least frost 
 
 Blackens it down and changes it to hate : 
 
 Sometimes, and this most oft in common ways. 
 
 Upon a simple tillage it comes up 
 
 In its due place and settled ordering
 
 94 
 
 And makes such sturdy strength as to withstand 
 Inclemency's mahgnant buffetings : 
 Sometimes in hapless accidence it falls 
 On casual and unintended ground 
 Where one thing or another holds it back 
 The arid parch of summer's over-heat, 
 Depth over-great (for Love that is too deep 
 Can scarcely show), or poverty's chill winds 
 And then it bleaks from lack of warmthfulness : 
 Sometimes it — but why push the stony ground — 
 Love is a seed eternally the same, 
 'Tis where it falls, and this is only chance ; 
 That makes its growth a thing of circumstance. 
 
 One morning, 'twas September's second week 
 
 Robert upon the breakfast table found 
 
 A letter scribed in Alfred's hand, French-stamped, 
 
 And postmarked two days back. He caught it up 
 
 Tore 't open (leaving all was hot to cool) 
 
 And with a thrill of curiosity 
 
 Spread it forthwith to reading. Thus it ran : 
 
 My dear old chap, my mother (and you know 
 
 What women are), just as our holiday 
 
 Had lost its roughness and uneasiness 
 
 And ran to slide in most delightful grooves, 
 
 Found an odd fit of nerves and would come back. 
 
 Her real reason for it Heaven hut knows, 
 
 Surely not she herself. Some cholera scare 
 
 Wired up from half a continent away 
 
 (The whole thing probably a beastly lie) 
 
 Got paper-paragraphed : Mecca, Batoum 
 
 Or some outlandish place. Because of this
 
 95 
 
 And last year's wretched Mediterranean fright, 
 
 As though contagion came electrically, 
 
 She made her mind and in a single hour 
 
 The trunks were packed, my father lectured, I 
 
 For mere pooh-poohing damned a reprobate, 
 
 And by the very first express we ran 
 
 Straight here to Paris. So our holiday 
 
 Comes to its broken end. But to the point : 
 
 My most respected parents have proposed 
 
 A three weeks' sojourn at some seaside place. 
 
 Dressing, parades, beach, bands, and promenades, 
 
 And close-eyed supervision subtly hid : 
 
 This thing is not my line. I mean instead 
 
 To spend a flannelled fortnight with yourself. 
 
 Get me a room and by the midday train 
 
 On Thursday I am with you. All my news 
 
 And my adventures when and where and how 
 
 Are told you better then than papered now. 
 
 So Robert on the day that Alfred came 
 
 Was waiting at the station, watched the train 
 
 Creep round its curve offsteamed, and took his stand 
 
 Beside the ticket exit, peering in 
 
 Through every carriage window as it passed, 
 
 Till the vanned tail was even with himself. 
 
 And yet no Alfred ; then he threaded through 
 
 The medley crowd and at the platform's end 
 
 Found him, and more than this with him a girl 
 
 Smart in the fashion's latest vagaries 
 
 To whom with all that studious gallantry 
 
 Which by light shades speaks new acquaintanceship. 
 
 He was with sundry wraps and packages
 
 cj6 
 
 Giving his services, all oblivious 
 
 Of everything besides; nor was "t until 
 
 Robert cried greeting (seeing boating shoes 
 
 Arc footsteps' very scanty monitors) 
 
 That he turned suddenly, and having doffed 
 
 His hat in most impressive courtesy 
 
 And with a *' Nothing else that I can do ? " 
 
 Took leave of her. Then he caught Robert's arm 
 
 In blithe elastic boyish merriment, 
 
 Captured a porter for his baggages, 
 
 And loft the station, chattering all the way 
 
 With happy questionings. Arcadia 
 
 How has it piped since I have been away ? 
 
 Is 't Amaryllis or Amyntas most 
 
 That you affect ? or, and I will sweep down 
 
 To modern prose from ancient poesy, 
 
 Can you declare on honour that no girl 
 
 Has caught you distaff-tangled ? have you lived 
 
 One whole continuous month without romance ? 
 
 Come, come it is impossible, — and when 
 
 Robert in modesty's abashment said 
 
 (Missing the proper ring of mockery) 
 
 No none, except — Oh, (Alfred laughed) except — 
 
 There always is a but or an except 
 
 i Out with the whole. Then Robert told him all. 
 
 Fool, yokel, zany, ninny, simpleton, 
 (Shot Alfred), why an opening on a snub ! 
 
 11 A good strong opening on a puny snub ! 
 
 Lost ! and a snub which if translated meant 
 A closer invitation ; idiot, why 
 You played the first day right and lost a month 
 By fooling with the second. But what luck.
 
 97 
 
 1 stay you in the very nick of time : 
 You need your lessons, I'll be Socrates 
 And you my aptest Alcibiades. 
 
 Now see me turn Professor to yourself 
 
 Here is the lecture — Opportunity 
 
 And rightly how to seize it — My dear boy, 
 
 I was at Paddington too soon by hours, 
 
 Well, twenty minutes ; walked the platform through 
 
 Still scanty from this overshoot of time 
 
 Seeking the best third smoker; in its stead 
 
 I found that very girl to whom just now 
 
 You saw me bid adieu. (I like adieu 
 
 Its soft French sweetness sings we meet again.) 
 
 She, like myself was wandering about 
 
 To pick ensconcement, like myself I take it 
 
 To map adventure's any odds and ends. 
 
 Then as a western trapper on the trail 
 
 I bore besides and simply interchanged 
 
 The simplest cursory courtesy of glance, 
 
 Ventured a second with intelligence 
 
 More subtly pregnant. After this she slipped 
 
 Into her seat which also was third class ; 
 
 And with the fixed and absolute certitude 
 
 Of one who flicks his fly above a trout 
 
 When every fish is rising, I went straight 
 
 Sat myself opposite and the third time 
 
 With definite and clear familiarity 
 
 Looked right and pointedly into her eyes. 
 
 Three looks will test most women, he's a fool 
 
 Who fiddles any further in this fret. 
 
 Yet most men's natures spite experience 
 
 7
 
 98 
 
 Are so alloyed with mincing modesty 
 
 They simply sniff and sniff, and like a dog 
 
 Which tutored suits its mistress by the heel 
 
 Follow in foggy hope when half a growl 
 
 Would make them masters. I saw good my way, 
 
 Kicked at her toe so accidentally 
 
 It called for most profuse apologies, 
 
 Upon the top of which, as jugglers poise 
 
 An egg upon a needle, I built up 
 
 The base-work of my pre-planned edifice. 
 
 At first with airy light uncertitudes, 
 
 As subtle as the snail's out-probing horns, 
 
 I felt my way ; said we had met before, 
 
 As to the where, what odds, she never asked ; 
 
 For in these daily ebbs and Hows of time 
 
 Who counts each wavelet to its rise and fall 
 
 And sets it down in record ? — let it stand — 
 
 With rippling platitudes and pointed fence 
 
 In all of which like footlight duellists 
 
 Each pass and lunge is practised as rehearsed, 
 
 We told each other all that each should know 
 
 Keeping untold what should be held from show. 
 
 She — that she took a fortnight's holiday 
 
 From Bond Street's mazy millinery, that 
 
 She now was homing to her father's farm 
 
 (I have its name in pencil in my pocket) 
 
 Only a stone's throw from this very place 
 
 (Her station therefore mine) ; that she was bound 
 
 By rule and custom to go down and drone 
 
 What ought to be a yearly mirthfulness 
 
 In dull slow miserable monotony,
 
 99 
 
 So eyed and phoenixed that one whiff of fun 
 Was damned for heresy ; Heaven did but know 
 How she should haply hit to while away 
 The formal fulness of each tedious day. 
 
 And so in pitiful pinings and regrets 
 
 She left the lead to me ; I took the cards 
 
 And played straight to her suit, first preluded 
 
 My continental trip, then pitied her. 
 
 And in the selfsame breath pitied myself, 
 
 For that to fill the tags of the recess 
 
 I was constrained to rusticate and mould 
 
 With — well, and then I drew a sketch of you 
 
 Like all that is artistic overwrought 
 
 To strengthen an effect, pictured you up 
 
 As prim propriety's perfectitude, 
 
 As one who shrank on virtue's very line 
 
 To give girls blushes rather than fair words, 
 
 And yet to me, all that a man could be 
 
 In good companionship, tinder that lacked 
 
 But one least spark to blaze, a stagnant pool 
 
 That wanted but the loosing of one sluice 
 
 To swirl in dimples, one who looked at life 
 
 As men must look the moon only to see 
 
 The selfsame half and aspect endlessly. 
 
 And on this somewhat overcoloured cue 
 
 I stopped dead short. And she — but to be brief 
 
 Just as deep lawyers come to compromise 
 
 In secret chambers and unprejudiced 
 
 (Merry I've heard such conferences are) 
 
 And with bared hands bring readily to terms
 
 lOO 
 
 Their clients' best concordant interests 
 
 (Money perhaps being lacking for full suit) 
 
 So we entreated. Aye, and mark you more, 
 
 All that had need, pour-parlcrs, protocols, 
 
 Preambles, and the indenture's self was drawn 
 
 Within five minutes ; so that by the time 
 
 The platform crowded and our carriage filled, 
 
 We sat with such ;l modest intimacy 
 
 And yet so cordial that she might have seemed, 
 
 Even to old experienced travellers 
 
 Who look their carriage round and scan it up, 
 
 My sister or my wife. The whistle shrieked 
 
 The engine jumped its start, and we were off. 
 
 And yet throughout the run no half-slipped word 
 
 Ever betrayed our new relationship, 
 
 And here we are. Oh, but I have forgot 
 
 W'hat after all closely concerns yourself — 
 
 The terms and articles to which we agreed ; 
 
 And lest so grave and so important thing 
 
 Should of its due precision be curtailed 
 
 I, in the garbled jargon of your trade, 
 
 Give it its formal recitation. 
 
 Whereas — (God bless us, how is 't Genesis 
 
 With the assumption of the world's own book 
 
 Does not begin whereas ? ) — Whereas there is 
 
 A very staid, modest, respectable, 
 
 And notwithstanding nervous sort of man 
 
 To wit, (here fill your list of names in full) 
 
 Who one whole month has messed his time away 
 
 Like a new-fledged solicitor : Whereas 
 
 We subtle experts in the game of life 
 
 Whose signatures are hereunto affixed
 
 lOI 
 
 Met quite by hazard in no place defined, 
 
 And hereby be it expressly understood 
 
 Herewith, hereon, hereafter, heretofore. 
 
 With every other here conceivable 
 
 That the location of the foresaid place 
 
 Shall by these presents for all purposes 
 
 Be held unknown and indeterminate 
 
 (Like you the way I smother Paddington) 
 
 And whereas too — with fifty folios more 
 
 Flowing along through margins of whereas-es 
 
 At so much draftings and engrossments cost 
 
 But Heavens, I lose myself — the thing stands thus- 
 
 To-morrow morning at eleven I meet 
 
 The girl you saw just now, a mile upstream 
 
 Where the woods creep to touch the water's edge ; 
 
 And she, lest it seem selfish, undertakes 
 
 To bring with her as decent chaperone 
 
 Another girl for you, one whom she says 
 
 Tallies so clean with all I told of you 
 
 Demureness, bashfulness, simplicity. 
 
 That barring sex's hopeless differences 
 
 You'll be as like as peas. Nay, not one word 
 
 Of thanks, still less one breath of argument ; 
 
 The thing is settled. Here's the ferry, leave 
 
 Discussion on this bank. So, pupil mine 
 
 This lecture's over and you are dismissed 
 
 The next one's title is " Should girls be kissed ? ' 
 
 But Robert answered not a single word 
 In opposition, being loth to start 
 (So glad he was at Alfred's coming down) 
 The slightest counter to his pleasantr}^
 
 102 
 
 Or put least check upon the merry flow 
 
 Of his Hght spirits which broke as the sun 
 
 On shadows of a month's monotony. 
 
 Nay more if he had wished, words would ha\e lacked 
 
 For he, most absolutely overborne 
 
 By this gay frothy bubbling rush of babble, 
 
 Was as a strong man, who in solid seas 
 
 Swimming with ease can overbuoy the waves 
 
 And yet in puny breakers suffocates 
 
 Under a yeast of foam. Thus the thing stood 
 
 To run like all things else for ill or good.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 How Alfred with Robert keeps the appointment, and how 
 Carrie (the girl whom Alfred has met in the train) 
 chances to bring as her companion Nell ftlie girl whom 
 Robert has met in the churchyard ), and hoiv this quartet 
 arrange to meet daily. 
 
 NEXT morning scarcely were they called, and whilst 
 Robert was still half waking and half dozed 
 Alfred came rattling right into the room 
 To noise all vestiges of sleep away. 
 Gay was he in pronounced pyjamas, shod 
 In velvet slippers, golden monogrammed, 
 Some weak girl's gift, and half his face besmeared 
 With lathered white, whilst his right hand upheld 
 An out of all proportion shaving brush. 
 Also some weak girl's gift, — indeed the all 
 To which his dressing-case was continent 
 Was gift on gift from girls, who being of course 
 Of a man's use profoundly innocent 
 Medlied their ministrance museum-like 
 And — Well, let by — Alfred came rattling in. 
 Ho, ho (he laughed). Wake up you lazy dog ;
 
 104 
 
 A glorious morning this ; I've planned the day ; 
 
 But look you first of all, that old canoe 
 
 Wherein we paddled downward to this place 
 
 Is far too crank for me, it has no ease 
 
 It's very sitting is a thing of hairs 
 
 Being like your own old-fashioned steadiness 
 
 Which balances on scruples, sets itself 
 
 Upon the agate of propriety, 
 
 And is so over-delicately poised 
 
 That the least ripple ruffles it to fear 
 
 And threatens to upset it. No, for me 
 
 A boat or punt with cushioned luxury 
 
 Where one at least can move, and safely stretch 
 
 One's languid limbs to lazy indolence. 
 
 I saw a boat-house opposite on the bank. 
 
 Where for a thousand we can hire a boat ; 
 
 So first thing after breakfast wc will do it. 
 
 Then like knights-errant to the trysting place 
 
 Where may we win our dainty lady's grace. 
 
 Men sort by dominance — beasts in a yard 
 Will take their feeding troughs day after day 
 Each in the selfsame order, one has lead 
 Whether there be a hundred or a pair 
 And one brings up the tail ; so 'tis with men 
 Although the qualities that catch command 
 Are in variety so kaleidoscoped 
 None can be fixed as positive or first. 
 Thus was it Alfred by a flow of words 
 And by the fling of overtopping spirits 
 Bubbled his wishes and ideas to be 
 A law of unopposed authority.
 
 105 
 
 And Robert yielding as his easy way, 
 
 The boat was hired, and with full time to spare 
 
 He took the sculls and gently pulled up stream, 
 
 Whilst Alfred, sitting cross-legged in the stern 
 
 Ignored the all-unnecessary lines 
 
 And babbled airy chaff, as they passed by 
 
 Great meadows knee-deep full with fatting kine. 
 
 Till the woods were abreast, cresting the hills 
 
 And toppling lowly to the water's edge 
 
 In lesser growth like feudal servitors 
 
 Beneath great forest lords ; but all the bank 
 
 Was hemmed with pollard willows so close lined 
 
 That slanting looks were unavailable 
 
 To pierce the leafy screen till opposite. 
 
 But Alfred, now alert, peered up and down 
 
 Forwards and backwards every separate way 
 
 (While Robert like a stoic still pulled on) 
 
 To find the girls' white dresses through the green ; 
 
 But when three parts the woods had slipped behind 
 
 And still no quarry broke from harbouring, 
 
 He veered to angry grumblings ; plague upon 
 
 All women who belie their given words ; 
 
 The disappointment of appointments broken 
 
 I scarcely ever know nor fret about ; 
 
 The girl seemed straight enough, — but here he checked 
 
 And on a sudden sitting bolt upright 
 
 Cried, Heavens, why there they are ! I know that hat, 
 
 That patch of white I noted yesterday, 
 
 That bow, that feather ; most us men will note 
 
 Only the effect but not the things that make it — 
 
 Pull right a little more — ah, my dear boy, 
 
 Accept my best congratulations,
 
 io6 
 
 You will not now be playing gooseberry — 
 
 Still more a little right — they both are there, 
 
 You'll be a Don Giovanni after all 
 
 And frisk in frolic foolery around 
 
 My lady's petticoats — ship at the word — 
 
 A jolly nice girl too, and such a figure 
 
 I think your luck beats mine (This lowly voiced 
 
 For they had come in earshot of the bank) 
 
 Ship ! mind the trees ! So Robert slid the sculls, 
 
 (As Alfred slithered past him to the bows,) 
 
 Felt the light tip as he jumped off ashore 
 
 And heard the cool familiar merriment 
 
 Of his first salutations, ranged the sculls 
 
 Beside him as the boat ran bow aground 
 
 And then in leisure slowly turned him round. 
 
 There were the girls : the one by Alfred's side, 
 
 His fellow passenger of yesterday. 
 
 Was bubbling full with fun and mirth and life 
 
 And animated chatter, blithely light 
 
 At the neat hit of her planned accident. 
 
 Whilst holding modestly a little back 
 
 As strangers hang when those they're with meet friends, 
 
 And all untutored to this rendezvous, 
 
 Eyeing the ground in modest mien until 
 
 Converse should call her in — there — yes, there stood — 
 
 (And Robert's startled senses scarce could hold it 
 
 As churchyard rose with tombs and children playing) 
 
 The very girl who now had grown to fill 
 
 His constant thoughts by day, his dreams by night, 
 
 This maiden of the cottage opposite.
 
 107 
 
 Who even as he looked Hfted her eyes 
 
 Which met his own, and with a guilty start, 
 
 As if suspicion's self could construe guilt, 
 
 Flushed tell-tale crimson to the very roots. 
 
 But Alfred at this instant looking up 
 
 Caught in a lightning flash from one to the other 
 
 The truth by instinct (which will lightly float 
 
 When laden reason founders) and upon 
 
 Swift apprehension lest some hitch might twine 
 
 And tangle up the currence of events, 
 
 Yet laughing in himself at this sheer chance, 
 
 Broke cheerly out, — for motions scatter scares 
 
 As the sawed bit will calm a frighted horse 
 
 And movement steadies soldiers under fire) — 
 
 You Carrie (he had easily found her name) 
 
 And I in London long have been old friends 
 
 (This was a lie but little lies his coin 
 
 Or greater ones if the necessity) 
 
 And friend's friends should be friends, I introduce 
 
 The dearest comrade that I have in life, 
 
 To me he's Robert — be he so to you. 
 
 For what are surnames, things we shuffle from 
 
 As intimacy grows, which if dispensed 
 
 At the first outset of acquaintanceship 
 
 Throttle estrangement from its petty grip 
 
 And cut off months of knowing ; therefore he 
 
 Should be to you what he has been to me. 
 
 And Carrie tumbling (oh, Americanisms 
 Bud at the tongue and graft upon the stock 
 Of native speech to glib as usages) 
 Instantly acquiesced, and yet as one
 
 io8 
 
 Who through the dark, when eyes are useless, probes 
 
 With dexterous digits forth to feel the way 
 
 And fumbles with one sense, so she tipped out 
 
 (Noting confusion's covert incident) 
 
 To catch at what she could not understand, 
 
 And failing, with a dubious syllable 
 
 In which assentment and backthinking clinked 
 
 For mastery of tone — preluded — Well — 
 
 I introduce my friend, to me she's Nell. 
 
 But Alfred, clear in all, turned to the boat, 
 Backing the girls who could not note his face 
 And cocking to their widest altitude 
 His talkative brows, eyed Robert as to say 
 See how things run when I but lead the way. 
 
 Then in five minutes more (and what is \'outh 
 
 Without its innocent facility 
 
 For thoughtless mingle) they were fast aseat ; 
 
 And mirth, like fruit which ripens on a wall 
 
 To break itself with juicy lusciousness, 
 
 Ran ripe to overflowing. Once 'tis true 
 
 With reprobate familiarity 
 
 Alfred twined Carrie's arm within his own 
 
 To wander off into the wood for flowers ; 
 
 But Nell had cried, and Robert backed her up 
 
 Not to be left alone. Thus the mom passed 
 
 Until a monitory turret struck 
 
 From out some leaf-screened village over stream 
 
 The knock of one, and time for parting came. 
 
 Parting ! — paled word, hackneyed by every day 
 And worn from superscription like a coin
 
 log 
 
 Thumbed down to thinness, till its sense has wiped 
 
 Beneath the rub to blank obliterance. 
 
 The only real partings are farewells 
 
 That be for ever. Who that by the bed, 
 
 Where all he loves lies pillow-propped and wan. 
 
 Has watched her drifting senses gather up 
 
 To lip a last farewell, her final strength 
 
 Buoyed brave beyond the chill and sweat of death 
 
 Struggling to make poor breath articulate 
 
 And frame her final words ; who that has seen 
 
 Loved eyes (oh, God, that such should be !) loved eyes 
 
 Now in affection's whole intensity 
 
 Fixed on his own and the next moment glazed 
 
 In awful orblessness ; has felt his arm. 
 
 Which but the previous instant clasped a life. 
 
 Give at the next beneath the poise of death 
 
 Under a sinking corpse; has seen that hair 
 
 Now vagrant in profuse untidiness 
 
 That shall be decked once more and only once. 
 
 That broidered nightgown only once more changed, 
 
 That bosom under which no heart now beats, 
 
 Those pallid lips that shall no more be stirred, 
 
 That nerveless hand that never shall again 
 
 Impress devotion's clasping on his own ; 
 
 Who that has seen all this and then has sunk 
 
 To moan his hour of absolute agony 
 
 Cheek to cheek with dear dust, and shriek in vain 
 
 His soul may go or hers come back again ; — 
 
 That man knows what is parting. Partings else 
 
 Are simply phantoms of reality 
 
 Over the which the silver gauze of hope 
 
 Hangs as a blessed robe : the sailor lad
 
 no 
 
 Who sets to sea amidst a mother's tears, 
 
 The soldier son who hies away to war, 
 
 The schoolboy leaving first his life-loved home, 
 
 The adventurer for fortune in far lands, 
 
 The pilgrim, traveller, wanderer, vagrant all 
 
 These have their partings ; but what they beside 
 
 That awful blank whereout all hope has died ? 
 
 But wherefore mince upon the force of words, 
 
 When with convention they chameleon-like 
 
 Change before fashion's antic colourings ? 
 
 So therefore on — the time for parting came 
 
 With fixture for next meeting. Then arose 
 
 Enhanced by Carrie's quick suggestiveness, 
 
 The question of the where. This river bank 
 
 Was hideously open, every boat 
 
 Pried with impertinent curiosity 
 
 All business but its own ; now there were woods 
 
 Down in the valley back beyond the hills 
 
 Wholly sequestered, running through a dip 
 
 Which had its sunny and its shady side 
 
 And for all weathers, times, and purpose they 
 
 Were ever apt ; covert their only use, 
 
 Where pheasants by the hundred were upreared 
 
 And even waited now the remnant month 
 
 To bring their day of doom. Keepers alone, 
 
 And these occasional, betrod odd paths 
 
 Which from old user gained establishment 
 
 As public right a many years ago. 
 
 And yet which led from nowhere to itself. 
 
 There, save on Sundays when the fields were freed 
 
 And every yokel walked his cottage lass,
 
 Ill 
 
 No single soul was found. Let us agree 
 That this shall be to-morrow's meeting-place 
 As to the when, why any time will do 
 For we, (and Carrie still spoke on) we girls 
 Have all our unclaimed leisure as our own ; 
 Hence at your will it follows that you men 
 Have but to set the clocking of the when. 
 
 But Alfred who, away beneath his brows 
 
 Where thoughts rear brood, had caught what fell and 
 
 ground it 
 Smoothly in calculation's perfect mills, 
 Said, Why make promise of a single day. 
 Which ever fades beneath the light it bears ? 
 Let us be broader in our government. 
 There is an ancient book, Italian-writ 
 By one Boccaccio, whose light incidence 
 Tickling the world through all live hundred years, 
 Hangs to the agreement of some boys and girls 
 To spend not one day but a term together. 
 Why not, since we but loan from ancestry 
 Bequeathment to ourselves, why not empawn 
 This very same idea ? Thus let it stand 
 That every day we can conjoin be spent 
 Together in our chase of merriment. 
 Robert and I are free, you, Carrie, free 
 And you too (but he did not mouth out Nell, 
 The fowler knows too well to scare the bird) 
 Surely can fit your freedom to our own ; 
 Therefore to prick the caterpillar crawl 
 Of drowsy time into some better pace
 
 112 
 
 Let this for once and all be passed as plan ; 
 We meet each day and fix the place vvc can. 
 
 There is a forcing in initiative, 
 
 Which setting argument itself aside, 
 
 Breeds with hot-blooded propagation 
 
 Deeds from mere heedlessness ; which instant cuts 
 
 Prim reason from her standing and drives thought 
 
 Into magnetic sequence ; who lead men 
 
 Do it by fire and not by regimen. 
 
 So the thing was agreed to ; every day 
 
 They were to meet and next day's legacy 
 
 Of time, appointment, disposition, place. 
 
 Was to be willed as a last testament 
 
 Of the dead day before. This done the men 
 
 Took to their boat and turned the bow about ; 
 
 So Robert (sculling still) faced to the girls, 
 
 Whilst Alfred had to turn himself around 
 
 To wave back his adieux ; and thus they drew 
 
 Midstream and slowly drifted down until 
 
 The girls who stood the while upon the verge 
 
 And very breaking of the water's edge 
 
 Began to be boughed out, so that at last 
 
 Albeit they tallied with the shifting boat 
 
 To the full craning of their pollard gap 
 
 They came outleafed from sight. Then Alfred turned 
 
 As from a thing that's done ; but Robert still 
 
 Watched where in little glimpses through the trees 
 
 The occasional gleam and flash of white demarked 
 
 Their passage from the wood, and pulled in thought 
 
 Balancing what he would with what he ought.
 
 113 
 
 But not so x\lfred : he ran babbling on 
 
 Into exultant satisfaction. 
 
 See what a single day (he said) with skill 
 
 Can do, whilst duffers grope a barren month 
 
 To bring forth nothing. Look you, we are fixed ; 
 
 And the whole fortnight that I stay with you 
 
 Has every item planned and plotted out 
 
 For our amusement. Ah, my dear old chap 
 
 All kinds of lives have treasures of their own 
 
 So you can only delve them ; wine as rich 
 
 Is pressed and vatted from the plain white grape 
 
 As from the imperial purple, juice as sweet 
 
 As comes from cane comes also from the beet. 
 
 Yet folks who hang in towns look down upon 
 
 The country's separate simplicity, 
 
 This sun, this sky, these trees, the shady lanes. 
 
 Cool and sequestered corners in the woods, 
 
 Nooks out of eye and earshot ; they are fools. 
 
 Because they think the whole monopoly 
 
 Of pleasure lies with them ; yes, they are fools, 
 
 For anywhere and everywhere there are 
 
 The selfsame longings, passions, tenderness, 
 
 Whence, after all, all human pleasures flow. 
 
 All that is needed is to strike the vein 
 
 And mine beneath the customary crust 
 
 That overtops and hides humanity, 
 
 Well, we have done it — now each day will be 
 
 Some fresh experience in pleasantry. 
 
 8
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 How Robert and Nell arc thrown constantly together, and 
 come, after 6onic natural nervousness, to H)iderstand each 
 other. 
 
 THERE are things scarce want prophecy or if 
 They do, who in the deeps are Hke to drown 
 May yet come true in shallows. All things slid 
 As Alfred had forecast ; day after day 
 They met, now in the woods, now on the stream 
 Now at odd corners of sequestered woods, 
 Now in stray and outlying villages; 
 But in the midst of this variety 
 One thing was constant — four was two and two ; 
 Alfred and Carrie by some hook or crook 
 Always escaped together out of sight 
 And stayed till most the time for homing came, 
 And as a consequence Robert and Nell 
 Were left together to each other's spell. 
 
 But why pursue the former, where they went 
 (Carrie and Alfred, lest the sense is slipped) 
 What deeds they did let these lie in surmise ;
 
 115 
 
 Some things are old as Eden and as stale 
 As this earth's crust, which yet like bread itself 
 Can never pall upon the appetite, 
 Therefore in chiaroscuro let them stay 
 Their deeds but incidents beside the way. 
 
 But to the actual and continuous theme — 
 
 Robert and Nell thrown their first time together 
 
 With not an eye to note them, not a sound 
 
 Of human stir to mar their sohtude, 
 
 With everything that should unbend restraint 
 
 With leisure, loneliness, seclusion from 
 
 All passing interruption, were at first 
 
 But talkless and abashed. He had he been 
 
 Right tutored to the manners of his kind 
 
 Had played her simply ; she too had she learnt 
 
 Beyond what nature gives to womanhood 
 
 One tittle further could have drawn him on. 
 
 But (most strange thing in this hot modern flush 
 
 Of vagrant bent) they were two innocents ; 
 
 And so instead of hitting it together 
 
 As Alfred and as Carrie both had done. 
 
 They sat constrained in the first drift of talk 
 
 Picking with labour any little thing 
 
 To hang a stupid word or two upon, 
 
 And then to mute ; noted the flitting wren. 
 
 The random nipping of a robin out, 
 
 The gentle rustle of the wind-swayed trees, 
 
 (That softest voice sweet nature whispers in) 
 
 The sudden straightening of a grassy blade 
 
 Loosed by a crawling snail, or anything 
 
 That gave words less their reason than their ring.
 
 ii6 
 
 And thcrcf(jrc words, which run dependent on 
 Or fullest thought or utter thoughtlessness, 
 Were by the inability of both 
 At their quick origin inhibited, 
 And speech was at its outset frozen back 
 By nervous fearsomeness : just as the brooks 
 Whose work is babble, stand in silent thrall 
 Before bleak winter's sullen fingering 
 And yet (how glibly hackneyed similes 
 Drop to the pen from memory's pigeon-holes 
 When that the hard-up brain sickened of work 
 Has lost its currency and stoops to beg 
 Humbly at wealth's old postern gate), and yet 
 As springtide gently solves the bitter bonds 
 Of winter's grim and stony prisonment. 
 Till melting brooklets ripple into sound 
 And trickle drop by drop in driblet down 
 From their ditched shadings out into the sun, 
 And purl with glint and sparkle on to meet 
 Others in merry babbling as themselves, — 
 So with these two (though scarcely little more 
 Than boy and girl) responsive sympathy 
 Began to solve their chilly reticence. 
 And their ideas frozen at first and stiff 
 Went nimbling into words, until at last 
 These ran to flow spontaneous and fast. 
 
 Nay more — as one who fingers through the keys 
 Idly on scraps and odds of melody, 
 Till with this prelude some stray chord is struck 
 Or noted sequence which on sudden brings 
 Back to the rambling hit of memory
 
 117 
 
 An old old air, and into this thereon 
 
 All soul and force and practice with a rush 
 
 Presses to great gripped service and there roll 
 
 Rich, variant, and successive harmonies 
 
 All tribute to this single ancient tune ; 
 
 So they from little amblings of scrapped thoughts 
 
 And stammered sentences of poor pushed words 
 
 Struck a stray note — the simple note of self, 
 
 Which yet when woven into measure we 
 
 Can harp on or can hark to endlessly. 
 
 For each man has his tale, an inner thing 
 
 That wholly is his own, and from the which 
 
 All that is seen and outward is distinct 
 
 As earth is from the spirit ; 'tis by this 
 
 That those who are most hideous can plead 
 
 And grip their ways into a woman's heart 
 
 The negro's self, despite black counterpoise 
 
 Won Desdemona — Scarron won Fran^oise. 
 
 Oh, there are men who play such things to trick 
 
 Making a trade of what is natural, 
 
 And as a living put their tale of life 
 
 Into a long confession through the which 
 
 Run humbugged greatness and their weaknesses. 
 
 This will they sing, like some old threadbare verse 
 
 With variations suited to the place ; 
 
 Now thrown off-hand amidst the smoke of clubs, 
 
 Now drawled in drawing-rooms where open mouthed 
 
 Gape-giddy women suck it in and let 
 
 Pity, the chamberlain to something more, 
 
 Plant it as pander to affection : 
 
 Discourse it broadly where a medley is
 
 ii8 
 
 Or fine it to accumulate detail 
 In honoured privacy ; and do all this 
 Because they in their cunninp; ri^^htly know 
 This tale of self brings profit from its flow. 
 
 But these are driftings only — back again — 
 
 Robert and Nell, in stupid odds and ends 
 
 Of nervous converse and shamed intervals. 
 
 Had wandered feebly on without a touch, 
 
 Till in the all-absorbing sea of self, 
 
 They found themselves together; told to each other 
 
 The very simple counter of their lives 
 
 And thenceforth were in bond. Two aerolites 
 
 That whirl their separate ways apart in space 
 
 By some attraction get at last conjoined 
 
 And in the happiness of a tiny star 
 
 Pursue their way together. What the cause 
 
 That kept them sundered or that made them mate 
 
 Why trouble ; — call it Law or call it Fate. 
 
 Enough the woven spell as in witched days 
 Was cast and caldroned, the ingredients 
 Modelled to simmering perfection and 
 With diabolical exactitude 
 Compounded to its use. Remains to tell 
 Whether it ran to heaven or to lull. 
 
 So ends this Act : the drop falls for it's time, 
 And the house thins upon the interlude, 
 The critics congregate beside the bar 
 And over whiskies seek each other's minds,
 
 iig 
 
 Whilst the faint whinny of the orchestra 
 Ambles unheeded through stale tunefulness. 
 And then at last the bell ; half cigarettes 
 Flung to the floor and trodden out of fire, 
 With rustling gowns and shuffling steps of men ; 
 Stay or go on — the curtain's up again.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 How Nell tells Robert her history, and hoiv her mother, not- 
 withstanding the evident kindness of her toicle, had 
 been reduced from comparative affluence into great straits. 
 
 THERE is a girl whom gentle diffidence 
 Like some broad stone above a germing seed 
 Chokes from spontaneousness ; at dance or rout 
 She sits, whilst others chat, demurely mute; 
 Or at the most with monosyllables 
 Strikes those about her simply as a fool. 
 Yet when some man will, almost in disdain 
 Arm her into an alcove by herself 
 Where all restraint of overlook is gone, 
 This mute cold marble (like Pygmalion's) 
 Turns with immediateness to such sweet warmth 
 And volumes forth such pleasant wealth of thought, 
 That he is dumbl}' struck to astonishment 
 At luck and his misjudgment. Even so 
 Was it with Nell when out of eye and ear 
 Within the leafed recesses of the wood 
 She sat with Robert, chatting more and more. 
 For gradually her nervousness began. 
 As morning's mists that solve before the sun. 
 To melt and dissipate ; all seemed so right.
 
 121 
 
 He so replete with gentle courtesy, 
 
 And, almost even shyer than herself; 
 
 Whilst his submission to her lightest will 
 
 So b}' each act and every look outspoken, 
 
 That all her fearsomeness came to an end, 
 
 And in its place the gentle soft delight 
 
 Of her poor self envalued by a man, 
 
 She who till now had only had as friends 
 
 Girls in their simple teens. Hence blithe she loosed 
 
 Her speech to fulness with the yielding sense 
 
 Of a complete and utter confidence. 
 
 But Robert meanwhile lying at her feet, 
 
 Dry and constrained at first only because 
 
 She with same mood and bent made him the same, 
 
 Had watched her face and figure and the grace 
 
 Of all her motions, and when speech began 
 
 To babble out to pleasant currency, 
 
 Each little word rang as a charm, each tone 
 
 Struck as a talisman upon his ears. 
 
 Till when at last from trivialities, 
 
 Which must precurse all intimate intent. 
 
 She drifted onwards into deeper themes, 
 
 Her ways at home, her mother, things within 
 
 Her daily life and common usages. 
 
 Then all that tie which is bred from the trust 
 
 A woman sets insensibly on man 
 
 To make of him a guardian confidant. 
 
 Grappled his heart and meshed it in such bond 
 
 That not a further power was left beyond. 
 
 So bit by bit encouraged of himself
 
 122 
 
 Her history came out, not snl)tly ^iven 
 
 With cold self-seeking deft diplomacy 
 
 Such as a scheming woman fructifies 
 
 To trap at hearts, nor ramped with old ostents 
 
 Of vain and bolstered genealogy 
 
 (Even if a village girl could reach to this) 
 
 Such as the common parvenu purvej-s 
 
 To top and over-pinnacle his fellows; 
 
 But in sweet truth and pure simplicity, 
 
 Her tale ran forth — something like this to be. 
 
 My mother was — (Is yours still living ? Yes) 
 
 The parish parson's daughter ; father was 
 
 A wealthy linendraper's elder son 
 
 So delicate 'twas wonder that he stayed 
 
 Into his manhood ; yet as often is 
 
 With settled plaints and constant illnesses, 
 
 His thread of life, though poor and loosely spun, 
 
 Stretched out beyond prime scope. In usual ways 
 
 The two (that is my father and my mother) 
 
 Hemmed by the pales of social difference. 
 
 Which hurdles up each class within its fold 
 
 Nor lets the carter nibble where the blood 
 
 Browses, lest even simple meadowing 
 
 Should by the mere community of food 
 
 Custom contamination, they (I say) 
 
 Most like had never met ; but little chance 
 
 Fortuned it otherwise. Each took a class 
 
 (Serving the Master Whom the world still owns 
 
 To sometimes disregard) at Sunday School ; 
 
 And here stray hazard haply brought the two 
 
 From look to talk, and on from talk to woo.
 
 123 
 
 So Sunday mornins^ after Sunday morn — 
 
 (The children from the school let loose to gfo 
 
 And prim themselves before the bells in clang 
 
 Chimed out the prelude of the House of God) — 
 
 They in void rooms and vacant passages 
 
 Found their soft while together. At the first — 
 
 (Though what is Love and what are Love's beginnings 
 
 I cannot know, yet Mother talks these times 
 
 With endless fondness o'er and o'er again) — 
 
 At first their union was all secrecy, 
 
 (For Love they say is as the violet 
 
 Which till it blossoms never gets to eye) 
 
 But before long the thing came out, and with 't, 
 
 Like thorns that prick the plucking of a rose, 
 
 Nothing but fierce and galling bitterness 
 
 'Twixt the two families. My mother's folk 
 
 Were shocked that misalliance should beblurr 
 
 The sheen of their respectabilit}' ; 
 
 (Yet the Professions vaunt a heraldry 
 
 That has its azure out of calling only) 
 
 Whilst Father's people with that Saxon grit 
 
 Which, trade or no trade, holds men even all. 
 
 And backed moreover b}' three hundred years 
 
 Of Yeoman ancestry scribed to record 
 
 Betwixt the folios of their Bible leaves. 
 
 Tossed scorn for scorn in hot and quick return. 
 
 But what are obstacles when Love is true ? 
 
 Why this is rooted in the fairy tales 
 
 Which we as children spell from nursery books 
 
 As sop to feed the springtide of ideas 
 
 When the brain first grips truth ; and history 
 
 Itself teems with a thousand instances ;
 
 124 
 
 Nay, even outside Love, in anything' 
 
 Will not set purpose win ? Whatever fails 
 
 Docs surely so from lack of tine intent ; 
 
 Those blocks which one day seem enduredly fixed 
 
 To-morrow loosen, next day slide, the third 
 
 Are overturned from place and out of thought. 
 
 But why pursue this vein ? The pair were wed 
 
 Simply and quietly. From mother's side 
 
 I mean her family, scarce aught but sneers 
 
 And the guised sham of helpless acquiescence ; 
 
 But from my father's father everything. 
 
 First, as his son had been an invalid 
 
 From nursing up, he loosed him free from work 
 
 And made him settlement of an allowance : 
 
 And next without the saying of a word 
 
 Bought in his name the house where now we live 
 
 (Though 'tis a cottage rather than a house 
 
 And therefore being so the homelier) 
 
 Furnished it through, from very top to ground 
 
 And on some pretext brought my mother to it 
 
 To make her present of it. So the pair 
 
 Were wed and housed, with all before them fair. 
 
 But scarce three months ran out (.and Providence 
 Works to strange ends in ways inscrutable) 
 As if my father's life had hung till then 
 So that its mainspring all along in flaw 
 Should at its easiest snap, he was alas — 
 Almost before the ring of marriage bells 
 Had lost the minding of their resonance — 
 Caught with a poignance of his old disease 
 And after three months' fearful lingering
 
 125 
 
 In clawed consumption's hacking agony 
 
 He loosed to his last breath, leaving myself 
 
 As an anticipated legacy 
 
 To be bleak born like Spring's first flowers amidst 
 
 An April's mother tears. Father's asleep 
 
 Close where I was the morning you first took 
 
 (You recollect) my customary seat ; 
 
 And so in one short year, a birth, a death, 
 
 A marriage, life's entire epitome 
 
 Were clenched to mother's lot. But still she found 
 
 In her bereavement just as in her joys 
 
 The same blunt hardness ; for her flesh and blood, 
 
 Her very father, sisters, relatives, 
 
 (To what coarse edge do social teachings jag) 
 
 Ignored her ; and from that day up to now 
 
 All lack of line or letter tells you how. 
 
 But grandpapa (that's father's father) being 
 
 Himself a widower with one deep void 
 
 And breach in his affections still unfilled, 
 
 Opened his heart with instant tenderness 
 
 And took our poor and helpless selves within it. 
 
 So that from that time forth we came to be 
 
 His chief solicitude and dearest care. 
 
 Nay more — to such substantial certitude 
 
 Did his affections stretch, that all allowed 
 
 To father, (which was rendered but at will) 
 
 He settled now on mother and secured 
 
 By a first lien on his business ; 
 
 Saying, If my poor boy less half my age 
 
 Has gone where I at any time may go. 
 
 You must have right provision which shall be
 
 126 
 
 As stay and pjround in all continf;;cncy. 
 And he went further, for as I grew up 
 My dress, my education, everything 
 That I might want at little or at large 
 He still would render at his proper charge 
 
 Ah, these for us were happy, happy days. 
 
 Flowing serene without one single flaw, 
 
 When mother from an ample income had 
 
 (Ample I mean for unassuming wants) 
 
 Enough and more wherewith to overspare 
 
 When pinch or sickness cramped our neighbours down. 
 
 And we stood well with all men ; with the poor 
 
 Seeing our ways went somewhat as their own ; 
 
 And with the rich estated county folk 
 
 Because they felt perhaps that mother had. 
 
 Albeit ignorant of her origin. 
 
 Some sort of breeding similar to theirs ; 
 
 Therefore they treated us with kindliness 
 
 Although sphered separate from us and above us. 
 
 Yes, these were very happy days, all done 
 
 From my first memory until two years gone. 
 
 Then in my sixteenth birthday's very week 
 News in its deep-edged enveloping came 
 That Grandpapa was dead. This was first post ; 
 And without warning that same afternoon 
 Uncle (my father's brother) came himself 
 To tell us all. Oh, but he was so kind, 
 Though quite a different man from grandpapa, 
 A quick, clear-headed active dominant man 
 Under whose management the business,
 
 127 
 
 From whence our income came, had grown and changed 
 
 With the progressive needings of the times 
 
 Till it was multiplied in magnitude 
 
 Beyond all earlier thought. He previously 
 
 Had not seen Mother much ; truth is his wife 
 
 With Mother never seemed to hit accord 
 
 Perhaps aunt thought (how wildly complicate 
 
 And tedious these family details 
 
 Must seem to you), that her large family, 
 
 My tribe of cousins, were by Grandpapa 
 
 Neglected in comparison with myself; 
 
 x\nd this being so a sort of roughness bred 
 
 Insensibly between us — let this go. 
 
 Uncle came down, and none could be more kind 
 
 For very often men who are most blunt 
 
 In the more ordinary things of life 
 
 Solve with its joys and griefs and show themselves 
 
 Beneath the outer shell of every day 
 
 Kernels of softness ; so indeed was he 
 
 Harsh turned to soft, and rough to sympathy. 
 
 Then came the dreary rote, our journeying 
 To town, the fearful funeral, and on it 
 The reading of the Will. All things it seemed 
 (Ghastly obtrusion to life's faded breath) 
 Were, spite those unintelligible wraps 
 Wherewith the lawyers love to smother up 
 Plainness itself, as fair as fair could be. 
 Some little legacies were to be paid 
 And the rest halved in even moiety 
 'Twixt uncle and ourselves ; if the division 
 Could by agreement fairly be pursued
 
 128 
 
 So well ; if not, then everything should be 
 
 Brought into an open sale and common stock 
 
 And thence be equally distributed. 
 
 But Mother at the reading caught no word 
 
 For like a bandage from a half-healed wound 
 
 Torn horribly away to loose new gush, 
 
 Death's fresh affliction woke her widowhood 
 
 And breaching time's assuagement loosed new grief 
 
 Which broke afresh despite of old relief. 
 
 But Uncle and the lawyer were so kind, 
 
 So tender-hearted, so considerate. 
 
 Soothed her till sorrow lulled, and later on 
 
 Explained she need not trouble how things stood. 
 
 She was the richer far than hitherto, 
 
 They would do all for her ; nay more than this 
 
 Things were so straight and so self-evident 
 
 She need not have a lawyer of her own 
 
 To worry her with trouble or expense. 
 
 But they themselves would duly get engrossed 
 
 What papers should fulfil the will's intent 
 
 And bring or send them her for signed consent. 
 
 So we went home assured in happiness 
 That if at least dear grandpapa was gone 
 Uncle would be our standfast in his stead ; 
 And he was faithful to his given word 
 For three weeks later coming down again 
 (Not a snatched visit but for a full day) 
 He brought some jewellery that Grandpapa 
 (He said) had always wished should be my o\sn — 
 The chain I wear and watch are out of them — 

 
 i2g 
 
 And for dear mother things associate 
 
 With poor papa : then overlooked the house, 
 
 And after praised my simple garden flowers 
 
 Plucking a choice bloom for his buttonhole, 
 
 And taking back a posy for my aunt ; 
 
 Then dined (in town your midday meal is lunch) 
 
 And walked with Mother out along the meads 
 
 That meet the river, talking all the way 
 
 Of olden times and many a cherished day. 
 
 And in the afternoon when tea was done 
 
 Told us (although it was against himself). 
 
 How he, conjoined with his solicitor, 
 
 The very cleverest man that London held. 
 
 Had settled all. As for himself, he said 
 
 I am a man, and men can work, but women 
 
 Must be provided for and properly. 
 
 Therefore, although it cuts against my rights. 
 
 The whole division of our property 
 
 (For what is mine is yours, and therefore ours,) 
 
 Is settled thus. First, as you know, a lien 
 
 Hangs your allowance to the business ; 
 
 It is much better for the business 
 
 To be set free of this. Next we have put, 
 
 Including all the landed property. 
 
 And with 't this house, and every kind of share, 
 
 Asset, available security. 
 
 Into whole hotch-potch — that's a legal term 
 
 Implying unity — to be disbursed 
 
 Again by an agreement, which runs thus 
 
 (Although it runs most hard against m3'self 
 
 Still you are women and I am a man) —
 
 130 
 
 The shares and things with greatest interest, 
 
 So that your income shall be the more great 
 
 (My wife, but she has nought to do with it, 
 
 Objected to this split) are to be yours : 
 
 And I, since 1, thank God, have power to work 
 
 Take only things with small percentages, 
 
 As land — which now-a-days is gone to ruin, 
 
 As any farmer about here will say. 
 
 (To which my mother gave her whole consent) 
 
 Well then — these pettier things as land and shares 
 
 Bearing an idiotic interest 
 
 I freely take as mine ; but hand to you 
 
 (Although I scarcely think my lawyer's pleased) 
 
 Whatever brings a larger revenue 
 
 To swell your income up. Could I than this 
 
 Be absolutely fairer or more just ? 
 
 Still you might like these papers over-eyed, 
 
 Though anyone who overlooked them through 
 
 Would almost cr}- in fairness to myself, 
 
 Seeing exactly how things really stand, 
 
 I did me wrong. Still as I am a man 
 
 And you — but Mother broke in here and said 
 
 (Giving my Uncle his dear Christian name) 
 
 Between ourselves as of one family 
 
 What need of stranger wits : what you advise 
 
 As nearest to myself and this dear child 
 
 I can accept unread as right and sure. 
 
 And to the deeds set any signature. 
 
 Not so (said Uncle), you should have fair time 
 For their perusal and considering. 
 Nay (said my mother), let it be at once.
 
 131 
 
 Still (answered Uncle), you should look things through ; 
 
 And then there is another obstacle, 
 
 We must have witness to your signatures. 
 
 Could you send out and get two neighbours here 
 
 And in the interval before they come 
 
 Eye the deeds through ; for it is only right 
 
 The witnesses should know they had your sight. 
 
 But this to 3'ou is ver}- tediousness 
 
 (Said Nell) ; Not so (said Robert), tell it through. 
 
 Well then (and Nell resumed), fair witness found 
 
 Mother declared the drafts her act and deed. 
 
 And they were signed ; on which with lighter things, 
 
 And an apology for business 
 
 As being troublesome "twixt kith and kin, 
 
 Together with an often handled watch, 
 
 Uncle took leave to catch an evening train 
 
 Which fitted his return to town again. 
 
 The deeds (as I have said) were signed and we 
 
 Took over shares with such percentages 
 
 That calculated up they trebly capped 
 
 Our previous income. Then at Uncle's hint, 
 
 Since women cannot manage stocks and shares, 
 
 Which want collection of their dividends 
 
 And endless other things, we simply put 
 
 All papers, vouchers, and certificates 
 
 Into the hands of his solicitor 
 
 Who undertook what mone3-s came to be 
 
 Due to ourselves to render quarterly. 
 
 Alas, why was it we had not been left 
 
 With what through sixteen years of happiness
 
 132 
 
 Had more than been enough ? Before a week 
 
 Had run and scarce the signatures were dry, 
 
 There came the first of one great lengthy trail 
 
 Of lawyer's letters. Things will fluctuate — 
 
 'Twas thus he wrote, — and I have thought it best, 
 
 Seeing your interests want more advice 
 
 On things financial rather than on law, 
 
 To take a broker's full opinion, 
 
 A very able man and friend of mine, 
 
 On }our securities. I will report 
 
 From time to time what he most recommends 
 
 As being best to swell ycjur means and ends. 
 
 And then a tangled business began, 
 
 Regrets of falls, congratulating news 
 
 Of rises, and a little later on 
 
 Note that a call was made upon some shares, 
 
 An ample holding, which had to be met ; 
 
 And since we wanted ready capital. 
 
 Something must be sold out to balance it. 
 
 But mother, absolutely ignorant 
 
 Wrote up to Uncle, who (and was he not 
 
 Kindness itself) went to the lawyer straight 
 
 And then came down and bought from us at once 
 
 At a much higher value than their due 
 
 Enough to set us straight to start anew. 
 
 If it had ended there we should have been 
 
 Blessed indeed ; but there ran on once more 
 
 An endless unintelligible skein l] 
 
 Of sale and purchases. Why tell it through 
 
 (Oh, would that Grandpapa had never died) r
 
 133 
 
 Our quarter's income dribbled each time down 
 And by diminishment came less and less 
 Until it seemed we should be penniless. 
 
 Then Mother wrote to Uncle and again 
 
 He came down here to save us. Everything 
 
 (He said) upon the clearest evidence 
 
 Has been most rightly done and your mishaps 
 
 Are absolutely unintelligible ; 
 
 Our lawyer in his wide experience 
 
 Has never known a case where circumstance 
 
 Had borne so hardly on a single client 
 
 But this (to Mother) is beside the point : 
 
 All that you have, when it is valued up, 
 
 Comes to next nothing : liabilities 
 
 In calls may make it less, and bankruptcy 
 
 May set its final and malignant seal 
 
 Upon your ending. I will save you from it. 
 
 And since you are my brother's flesh and blood 
 
 Will father your responsibilities 
 
 Upon myself. This is what I propose : 
 
 You shall make over (it will save your rum) 
 
 All that you hold to me, and I will take 
 
 My chances of the loss : in the meantime 
 
 Stay in this house as though it were your own 
 
 (Although in actuality 'tis mine) 
 
 And I will undertake to pay to you. 
 
 Though less than half the sum you had before. 
 
 Yet more by far than half of what you hold 
 
 As income for your life. A little deed, 
 
 Scarce worth the reading, signed will settle this
 
 134 
 
 I'll get it drawn for you and bring it down 
 
 And clear you once for all from penury. 
 
 Nay more than this : — I said just now, hve here ; 
 
 It would be better if you came to town, 
 
 For there your daughter who is young and has 
 
 Good and intelligent capacity 
 
 Might find a future means of livelihood 
 
 No ? Does this shock you ? Well, there is no need, 
 
 Stay here, and hold this house your very own. 
 
 Yet think it over — all must look afront 
 
 And in the present sow the future's fruit, 
 
 Do as you will, but if you change your mind 
 
 Write to me — best be forward than behind. 
 
 Mother is brave, mother is very brave, 
 
 Though these two awful years have aged her ten. 
 
 Nothing on earth, she says, shall sunder her 
 
 From this our place of home ; and if the house 
 
 Were taken from our heads, which God forbid, 
 
 (But Uncle leaves it ours so long we will) 
 
 The merest hovel should suffice for us 
 
 And she would work her fingers to the bone 
 
 Rather than quit the village. Till this time 
 
 She never knew what earning meant, but now 
 
 Her music — for from girlhood she has been 
 
 Accomplished as an artist — stands in stead, 
 
 And with confession of her faded means 
 
 She turns this now to use ; nay, what is more 
 
 Half of the farmers' daughters round about 
 
 Already are — though will this last — her pupils. 
 
 But gracious Heavens, whilst Mother slaves, I — I — 
 
 I with the strength of youth and health enough, 
 
 % 

 
 135 
 
 Can still do nothing ; for albeit taught 
 
 And fully taught, what girls are held to learn 
 
 Nothing I know is here convertible 
 
 Into a living. Uncle's plan is right 
 
 In wishing us to leave to go to town 
 
 And promising to find an opening 
 
 For me in business ; something to fill 
 
 My days and yet to let me live at home, 
 
 A clerkship or the like. But Mother's no 
 
 Is very definite and absolute. 
 
 My means are maimed, she says, but this if met 
 
 Resolves itself to estimated cuts 
 
 And finely regulate economies ; 
 
 Up to this moment I have paid my way 
 
 And stand in debt to none — what may be still 
 
 I leave in faith to God and to His will. 
 
 Thus dearest mother harps, and if I point 
 Against her wishes, she is miserable. 
 Therefore you see me now in merriment 
 With Carrie ; part because my nature runs 
 (Perhaps a fault which still I cannot help) 
 Into the heedlessness of gaiety, 
 And part because it is a bitter hurt 
 To Mother if she sees me otherwise. 
 For if I stay at home and mope and think 
 It makes her sad ; therefore I feel I ought 
 To let our pinches pass without a thought. 
 
 Such was Nell's tale ; but Robert as he heard it 
 Boiled up in indignation at the crime 
 And sheer iniquity that threaded it.
 
 136 
 
 For thieving was so clear and palpable. 
 And yet when he (strangers can do no more) 
 Ventured a guarded hinting at the wrongs 
 Which were self-evident, Nell only said 
 But Uncle is the kindest man alive 
 And for attachment to our interests 
 No lawyer is as ours. So confidence, 
 More blindly handkerchiefed than Justice is, 
 Lulls fools to faith by open villanies.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 How Robert boils over at the iniquitous looseness of the Laws 
 on Robbery — a matter that is only a digression. 
 
 CRIME is a thing so changes with each age 
 It seems a matter of mere sentiment. 
 Wrongs now are freely done day after day 
 In kid-gloved openness which we regard 
 As nothings saving when they hit ourselves, 
 When yet but scarce a century ago 
 A Httle fractioned fraction of their tithe 
 Had sent a man to gallows. Men now rob 
 By law and its laid down machinery 
 Their thousands on their thousands, where a pound 
 Once meant the hempen knot : and all this while 
 We (if ourselves or those most cherished by us 
 Be not the losers) merely smile and say 
 These gentlemen are shrewd and know the way. 
 
 So Robert, had he heard of one hard hit 
 
 By simple holding to another's word, 
 
 Had set the loser merely down as fool : 
 
 But here, this girl, this little more than child 
 
 Ousted by trickery from heritage 
 
 And all the while, like an old faithful hound
 
 138 
 
 That licks the very hand that poisons it, 
 Trusting and trusting on — this drew his blood 
 In whitened anger from his face and clenched 
 His fists to indignation. But the law 
 Covers its multitude — and all along 
 Things are but righted to let loose new wrong. 
 
 Again, again, a thousand times again 
 
 The covert crime that makes a mock of law 
 
 And eats as rot into this seeming age 
 
 Of model right is simply horrible ; 
 
 And the rank ages that have gone before 
 
 Have nought for gross and vile iniquity 
 
 To put in parallel with what now is. 
 
 Men in old days were hideously bad 
 
 Yet stuck they to their blazon, ran the flag 
 
 Skulled windclear to the mast : were murderers 
 
 And cared no fig if any knew them so. 
 
 Cut throats in war, burnt villages, sacked towns 
 
 Murdered old women as of course, abused 
 
 Stripped shrieking maidens and then slaughtered them, 
 
 Revelled in rapine, lechery, excess, 
 
 Lust, incest, drink, marauding, sacrilege, 
 
 Until the thinnest thought of them to-day 
 
 Shivers the spine with shudder. Be this so, 
 
 But look to-day for things more villanous. 
 
 For which is better, rather which is worse ? 
 
 The open stab that floods life's sanguine stream 
 
 For once and all to ground, or this new mode 
 
 Which bit by bit steals off all sustenance 
 
 And lets starvation like a cancer eat 
 
 A broken life to nil. Yet this it is
 
 139 
 
 Which now is universal as the air, 
 
 As broad as are the seas, as general 
 
 In usage as the very sun itself. 
 
 Men stalk the streets as dandies, haunt the clubs 
 
 Fill drawing-rooms, whose sole and actual trade 
 
 Is murder and their business pillaging 
 
 Who stead of steel wear cloth and stead of knife 
 
 Weave webs that starve the helpless out of life. 
 
 The wrecking company promoter sits 
 
 Snug in his office, thinks his fictions out, 
 
 And foists them through accustomed channellings 
 
 Commission-lubricate to thrifty men 
 
 Who, on the faith of what seems solid truth, 
 
 Put all the hard-earned savings of a life 
 
 Into a lie and lose it ; yet this while 
 
 He who is just as much a common thief 
 
 As one who dirty-handed picks a purse, 
 
 Faces the world an honest gentleman, 
 
 Builds with the infernal proceeds of his trade 
 
 Some mansion out upon the Surrey hills, 
 
 Or buys a manor somewhere on the Thames, 
 
 Furnishes fresh a sumptuous house in town. 
 
 Jewels his wife, barouches her to view, 
 
 And simply cozenmg society 
 
 Rears a position up beyond all drop — 
 
 A cesspool bottom with a marbled top. 
 
 Or take the mock philanthropist with schemes 
 To make the working man's old age all ease 
 Who lures such scanty savings as in gross 
 May mount to millions. His particular fake
 
 140 
 
 (Let slum words only note his fiendishness) 
 
 Is to pose as a saint ; his open lure 
 
 Humane consideration for his kind : 
 
 He takes the chair at summoned gatherings 
 
 To save the abandoned, haunts conventicles, 
 
 Lays the first stones of chapels, holds himself 
 
 For ever in a mock-saint attitude 
 
 And intersperses with whole reams of texts 
 
 His daily conversation : yet this while 
 
 With fraudulent sheets and bogus balances 
 
 Lures still more in and more. If by stray chance 
 
 And through successes' callous carelessness 
 
 The bubble bursts, he Balfours it in gaol 
 
 But if, as is most oft, the thing runs on 
 
 He wafts him to a splendid opulence 
 
 Sucked from the shatter of a thousand homes 
 
 Wherein wan women weep, strong men stare blank 
 
 At hopeless ruin and where the children cry 
 
 In ache for bread and shivering misery. 
 
 Or take the peculant solicitor, 
 
 The hook-nosed clerk who through an honest firm 
 
 Has risen to partnership and mastery 
 
 To damn a hundred years of probity. 
 
 He with advantages of bonded trusts, 
 
 Kept deeds, original documents and things 
 
 That lie to his own handling and control, 
 
 Instead of fair and lawful guardianship 
 
 Reckons up every opportunity 
 
 To mulct by any petty crooked turn 
 
 Those whom he should protect. There's not a deed 
 
 Indenture or agreement but he drafts
 
 141 
 
 Subtly and with such ambiguity 
 That its whole dubious construction serves 
 Within a year or so to breed and swell 
 His crop of costs and litigation. 
 Heavens that a family which he controls 
 Should run the way of simple harmony 
 Where he can make a quarrel : Sire and son, 
 Widow and children, nearest relatives. 
 Are fostered into direst enmity 
 And driven as beasts are into ambuscade, 
 From which it is his cue to loosen them 
 Only at awful charges. Thus he lives 
 And like a vampire fattens on the suck 
 Of other people's blood, and feeds upon 
 The very eggs of discord which he lays 
 Hap-nested in their places, and so fills 
 One hand with lucre whilst the other kills. 
 
 Yet he too is an honest gentleman 
 
 For who on earth can prove him otherwise. 
 
 But why run out the note when everywhere 
 
 From top to gutter, mansion down to slum 
 
 The selfsame thing obtains. Look where you will 
 
 Labour's right efforts are despised and slurred 
 
 And speculation (that first letter gives 
 
 To theft a softer and politer name) 
 
 Outpowers honest trade, corners it down, 
 
 And saps its energies. The thing to-day 
 
 Is to grab money and it matters not 
 
 The trick nor treachery, so it is got. 
 
 Therefore let those who may have sustenance 
 Estates, possession, goods, stuff, livelihood,
 
 142 
 
 Yet lack for fence the knavish wits of rogues, 
 Be henceforth every scoundrel's proper prey; 
 For law, poor law, old-fashioned faded law 
 Dozes a-corner safely bandaged up 
 And rocks asleep to the damned lullaby 
 Of chinkling millions got b}' robbery. 
 
 For robbery is now respectable 
 
 And need be only blinked at. Yet look back 
 
 To just before her present Majesty 
 
 Lifted with maiden hand the new loosed orb 
 
 And sceptre of dominion. Justice then 
 
 Tripped in the heyday of her sprightliness. 
 
 Her hooding doffed, her sword unscabbarded. 
 
 Then was a man — (Ah, but it was the poor 
 
 The nought) — for stealing of a pewter pot, 
 
 The filching of a cambric handkerchief, 
 
 Or for a few small coins purloined in w^ant 
 
 Sent to the gallows. For a lesser thing, 
 
 If what is lesser can seem possible 
 
 When a sheep's life was even with a man's, 
 
 He was transported to the Antipodes 
 
 To herd with bushmen. Then if in the deep 
 
 Hideous outlandishness of a strange world 
 
 Wherein the taskmaster could drive and grind 
 
 The iron to his soul, if even there 
 
 There came (as God knows how the thought of home 
 
 Comes to the very deepest of all villains) 
 
 There came again the Sunday sound of bells 
 
 The vision of the winding village street 
 
 The picture of thatched cottages, of one 
 
 Whose every room, whose every cornering,
 
 143 
 
 The pictures, chairs, the cracks within the walls 
 
 The very cobwebs that were wont to weave 
 
 Within those angles which dark oaken beams 
 
 Made with the plastered ceiling, if these came 
 
 With memories of a mother, whether dead 
 
 Or even living yet, and if on this 
 
 With one great yearning impulse of escape 
 
 He planned it and accomplished it, and thence 
 
 With fearful hardships and adventurings 
 
 Stole over half the world until at last 
 
 The anchor dragging at its hawser hole 
 
 Told him his native shore ; and still with stealth 
 
 He tramped in utter destitution 
 
 Haggard through half the kingdom, getting bread 
 
 By beggary, or by any other means. 
 
 Until at last, foot-blistered and in rags, 
 
 Down-broken, fever-wasted, careworn, done, 
 
 He sat in utter consummated peace 
 
 On the sheer down that overlooked below 
 
 The nestling village that was once his home 
 
 And then, as one whom long starvation 
 
 Had feebled so that when food comes to him 
 
 He eyes it dazed without the power to eat it, 
 
 So he not daring down the boy-trod road 
 
 Sat on and dreamt of childhood, of the days 
 
 When by the side of the white stream below 
 
 He floated boats or with a withy branch 
 
 Angled a truant morning idly through — 
 
 But even then if they had tracked him down 
 
 The subtle-scenting runners of the law 
 
 Took him ashoulder, broke his reverie 
 
 And at his passing to the very place
 
 144 
 
 Where he was born, where he had playerl, whence he 
 Went forth a-world, circled his wrists with ^yves 
 And for this folly of homesickness he 
 Was sent hemp-throttled to Eternity. 
 
 This was good justice was it not ? Great God 
 
 Then a man suffered fairl^^ for his crimes 
 
 And this too not a century ago : 
 
 But now a hundred thousand may be stolen, 
 
 And by the ruling of the selfsame law 
 
 Which slew for half a sovereign. 'Tis the advance * 
 
 And gentleness of soft humanity. 
 
 It was the poor who that time robbed the rich : 
 
 Take turn and let the rich now rob the poor. 
 
 Solicitor, executor, trustee, 
 
 Philanthropist, director, gentlemen — 
 
 But why push all this matter through again 
 
 When Law is but smug pander to a class 
 
 That most times has its making. There were days 
 
 In England's mediaeval history 
 
 When that the Lord Chief Justice dared — not dared — 
 
 Did as his right — to put into committal 
 
 The very heir-apparent of the throne 
 
 And only for an insult. Would to God 
 
 There were a Justice now to take in hand 
 
 This cursed robbery that damns the land.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 How Carrie has to go back to London, and so breaks up the 
 quartet; and how Nell tells Robert that their own 
 meetings must now terminate ; together with A If red's 
 comments on this decision. 
 
 TRUCE to digression — Still if sin hath use, 
 And its permission wants for warrantry 
 'Tis that repentance may ensue from it 
 And vice, like refuse throwing strongest flowers, 
 May be a brood for virtue. Back again 
 To Nell and Robert — He, when he discerned 
 That all his indignation missed response, 
 And that his thrusts at clear and palpable wrong. 
 The which in anger he pushed hilted home 
 Against her uncle and solicitor, 
 Fell like baulked weapons from proof armoury 
 Without effect, then all his risen ire 
 (For is not every passion, each with each 
 Alternative and interchangeable 
 As Love through jaundiced Jealousy to hate 
 Pushed fear to bravery and so the rest) 
 Then all his risen ire resolved away 
 As being presently impertinent, 
 And in its place and counter there arose 
 
 lO
 
 146 
 
 Affection for this gentle innocence 
 
 Which saw no wrong to self, but sweetly meek 
 
 Upturned to villany her other cheek. 
 
 And so as one who humbly holds himself 
 
 Before some glorious and costly shrine, 
 
 Lost in profound and mazed astonishment 
 
 At the rich rareness of its workmanship, 
 
 Its jewelled ornament, the sinuous art 
 
 With which its golden traceries enweave 
 
 To pattern out a perfect coverture ; 
 
 And yet when this which is but outer shell 
 
 And human adjective is opened forth 
 
 To unveil the holy relic cased within it,— 
 
 Behold a thing so seeming valueless 
 
 It mocks with its simplicity the eye, 
 
 And yet is none the less memorial 
 
 Of saint, apostle, martyr, hermit, or 
 
 Of some pure virgin, bringing to the nonce 
 
 As very witnessing and sacrament 
 
 The wafted breath of a gone holiness : 
 
 Then his whole soul to adoration pours 
 
 In prayer that he at least in his poor way 
 
 May learn to imitate and grow as they. 
 
 So (if things sacred may be versed mundane) 
 
 Robert who at the first had been entranced 
 
 By this girl's bodily and perfect grace. 
 
 Her movements, manner, gesture, voice, and all 
 
 That goes to make a woman beautiful. 
 
 Now saw beneath this earthly envelope 
 
 A thing contained that was all spiritual
 
 147 
 
 And where before his senses were in thrall 
 He found a gentle soul beyond them all. 
 
 But let the deeper drop to trivial. 
 
 And on. — The days sped by, some part of each 
 
 Spent with her in the woods, or by the brooks, 
 
 Or in the meads unscythed of aftermath, 
 
 Always in nature and in solitude, 
 
 Where is the sweetest of companionship 
 
 A man may have with woman. This to-day 
 
 Is neither held nor sought for, woman's best 
 
 Is by the sensing of society 
 
 Laid where in frill and flounce and furbelow, 
 
 A perfect triumph of the milliner. 
 
 She shows at Ascot, dawdles in the Row, 
 
 Paces down Bond Street, or in giddy gaze, 
 
 A porter of supreme confections, 
 
 Jewels it out at ball or at At Home ; 
 
 The modern canon holding her the less 
 
 At what she is than what she carries — dress. 
 
 But those old ancients who have laid the base 
 
 Of laws which stand till now, of government 
 
 Which still pursues, in short of everything 
 
 That yet stays solid, held in this respect 
 
 Ideals of a softer womanhood 
 
 So wholly different, and embodied it 
 
 In myths that covered truth. The Muses danced 
 
 Beneath Parnassus, Dian coverted 
 
 Within the thickets. Flora roamed the fields 
 
 And not a brook, nor tree, nor wood, nor grove, 
 
 But hath its fair and girlish denizen ;
 
 148 
 
 All of which marks of poesy divest, 
 
 In what sweet place a woman shows her best. 
 
 On — on. The days (as has been said) sped by 
 
 And far too quick the little fortnight waned 
 
 Towards its end. At first in full excess 
 
 The time to come was never thought upon, 
 
 Then it was halved, then fractioned further till 
 
 Only a day was left — well, so we live ; 
 
 At twenty reck in utter carelessness, 
 
 At thirty plan the prospects of our days 
 
 And set the ladder for ambition's mount, 
 
 At forty age, and then it is comes in 
 
 The thought of over half a life sped by 
 
 Without accomplishment, and all the rest 
 
 Is plaint upon the lessening compass which 
 
 Cuts to a faded end. One day was left 
 
 And Carrie the next morn went back to town, 
 
 To breach the happy stretch of their quartet 
 
 And cut to term the sweetest interlude 
 
 That these two lives had touched. The last morn came 
 
 And though both knew it final yet were both 
 
 Deep in the longing for continuance 
 
 Had this been possible — which it was not. 
 
 The last morn came, and they sat in the woods 
 
 Looking with melancholy retrospect 
 
 Back to what had been brightly done — as done, 
 
 And silent in the melancholy straint 
 
 Of thoughts that lacked for words. September's self 
 
 Sad with the signs of summer's overflow, 
 
 Of things that made a last exuberant push 
 
 Before the fade, of shorter days, of nights
 
 149 
 
 Chilling with mists, of finished harvesting 
 
 Of later blossoms as accompaniment 
 
 To hopes which even as they vanished pushed 
 
 To the last richness of their heritage, 
 
 September — which with gentle sympathy 
 
 Leads widowed nature into winterhood 
 
 Softly as one who in bereavement's hour 
 
 Leads mourners from a grave, — was passing by 
 
 Break off — 'twas Nell first tendered to the point, 
 
 Carrie, she said, goes back to town to-night. 
 
 This solves our party up and brings to end 
 
 What has, to me, been a most pleasant time ; 
 
 Yourself and Alfred in a day or so 
 
 Go too : in London you will soon forget 
 
 Amidst your work and new society 
 
 This autumn's outing; and to-morrow^ morn 
 
 Puts such estrangement on our intercourse 
 
 That if we, you and I, shall chance to meet 
 
 'T must be at distance and without a sign 
 
 Of having met before. Companionless 
 
 I know that I shall hover at a loss 
 
 (Since use has made the thing a habitude) 
 
 How to find filling for the vacant day 
 
 And — and, — But Robert broke to catch the thread 
 
 Good heavens (he cried), what is't if Carrie goes 
 
 Or Alfred, I am here for several weeks 
 
 Nay if I could I would stay on for ever. 
 
 And just as we have done, so may we do. 
 
 But Nell into decision pursed her lips 
 
 And answered ; I have thought out all and set 
 
 My clear conclusion on it. For a man 
 
 How he may act is nothing ; adages
 
 I50 
 
 Pin this as permanent, a rake reformed 
 And so on ; but a woman's not a man. 
 True it might seem the same thing if we two 
 Met in the woods to-morrow as to-day, 
 Yet would there be a world of difference. 
 Look — single actions argue single ends 
 Our four as four carries its own excuse 
 Where a poor two has evident abuse. 
 Therefore — it is unpleasant more to me 
 Believe than it can ever be to you — 
 As Carrie goes, this holiday must end ; 
 And argument falls quite beside the point ; 
 You see my meaning, kinder is it far 
 To take it thus than bring this day to jar. 
 
 But Robert for all this persisted, urged 
 Distance from home gave easy secrecy, 
 Had she no friend could fill up Carrie's place 
 And partner it with Alfred, sought all ways 
 To baffle and break resolution down 
 But to no purpose — try the best he knew 
 In suasion, sophistry, or argument 
 Nothing he said could alter her intent. 
 
 So Carrie left that night, and the next day 
 
 The men had for themselves to saunter through 
 
 In odd reflections and comparisons 
 
 On their last fortnight's pass. And as each sex 
 
 Has its own secrets in particular. 
 
 And women talk of things beyond men's ken, 
 
 So men in friendship have their separate thoughts 
 
 Which they unbosom unto openness
 
 On things that women hold imcalendered, 
 And yet which oft concern them. Hence the two 
 Set their experiences side b}- side 
 The one to muse, the other to deride. 
 
 For Alfred, when he heard how Robert fared 
 
 Laughed, Oh, how lamely you have been choked off; 
 
 Where is your manliness ? Why you should scorn 
 
 Where you want yea to take a negative ; 
 
 And yet from what you say it is no odds, 
 
 So strangely counter are things feminine. 
 
 There are two women — one who b)- intent 
 
 Does all exactly as the other does 
 
 Who solely acts by nature, innocence 
 
 And finished infamy are so alike 
 
 That the perfectitude of harlotry 
 
 Is to right dress and cast an artist fly 
 
 In likeness of the natural : so it comes 
 
 That both alike will take the feeding trout. 
 
 Therefore I say this handling has no odds 
 
 For as the candle draws the giddy moth 
 
 So will you two, moths in each other's light 
 
 Circle again together. Dear old chap, 
 
 If this offends you take it all unsaid 
 
 Only I thought the truth a pleasant one 
 
 And offspring to your wishes. As to myself 
 
 I'm sated, otherwise I would stay on 
 
 And flush at further game. But lessening days 
 
 And mistier nights diminish and damp out 
 
 My ardour for the country. I'm for town 
 
 My stay with you has been most pleasant ; more 
 
 You see I have not let it run to waste,
 
 152 
 
 For Carrie (we're a nimbler pair than you) 
 
 Has fixed to spend with me what evenings stray 
 
 Into unoccupation. She's a girl 
 
 Exactly of the sort I looked to find 
 
 For casual and odd companionship 
 
 After the dinner hour. You know my views ; 
 
 That man's a fool who flaunts him in the glare 
 
 Of downright vice and dissipation, 
 
 Labels himself a debauchee, runs riot 
 
 With reckless roister into common haunts ; 
 
 But he more fool, I hold, who toes the line 
 
 To chilly prudery, and scorns to sip 
 
 The fuller cream of nature. 'Tis one thing 
 
 To take the vilest as associate 
 
 And lower to her level, but it is 
 
 Other to keep to that unsullied edge 
 
 Which lightly fringes on propriety, 
 
 (And to do this out danger to oneself) 
 
 To find some girl whose merrj^ levity 
 
 Depends on liking not necessity. 
 
 Carrie is just that girl, in some things fresh 
 Even to simple childishness, in others 
 Wise as the veriest worldling ; yet without 
 That nasty cunning which will turn to rogue 
 And dart a passioned sting. Affectionate, 
 Seeing she has the love of being loved, 
 A thing which leaves the man the dominance; 
 And for the rest in those accessories 
 That go to make a show of outward parts 
 Well dowered : manners so near ladylike 
 As to blank-baulk suspicion ; then she hag
 
 153 
 
 A figure and appearance that might fit 
 
 Almost into relationship : her face 
 
 (Why is't that we love faces ?) is itself 
 
 A very comely and attractive one ; 
 
 Her bearing passable enough to blunt 
 
 Scandal's advertisement ; her mind (you'll think 
 
 I set no store upon these women's minds 
 
 But yet I do) is fertile in idea 
 
 And shows this in fair diction. Women are, 
 
 And take this from me as an aphorism, 
 
 Like wine, the rare, the bad, the passable ; 
 
 And 'tis the passable that is the best. 
 
 Therefore I hate the bad, seek not the rare 
 
 But hold content with what is passable ; 
 
 For observation, like the critic's pen, 
 
 Gibes rare and bad alike infallibly 
 
 And yet lets what is passable go by. 
 
 Further she dresses very quietly 
 
 And yet, which as she is a milliner 
 
 She ought to do, in fashion's decent wake. 
 
 I loathe a girl that's loud and fast in dress 
 
 Nay of the two, I loathe a dowdy less. 
 
 And last of all — the most important thing 
 
 She has her day at occupation 
 
 For let me pin you this — women grow false 
 
 And fool the men that are attached to them 
 
 When over leisure leaves long idle loops 
 
 That have to be picked up ; more wives go stray 
 
 From these void gaps than any other way. 
 
 But, dear old chap, I drift ; the thing is fixed 
 And I am on with Carrie. This to you
 
 154 
 
 With your sad serious and solemn views 
 
 Sounds absolutely wicked, protligate 
 
 Loose, ribald, what you like. Well, let it be 
 
 You only are some laps behind myself 
 
 Because by accident or circumstance 
 
 You like Achilles at his ladies' school 
 
 Have had your manhood hid ; but mark my words 
 
 As being forecast, you are bound to find 
 
 Sooner or later your Deidamia, 
 
 And come to hold same tenets as myself. 
 
 Now as two men that race at handicap 
 
 You at the scratch and I with goodish start 
 
 We run wide separate ; You'll catch me up 
 
 And then the odds will be that you may beat, 
 
 Or, as most like, we both shall run dead heat. 
 
 So two days later Alfred left for town, 
 And his last Parthian arrowing of chaff 
 Shot from the window of the moving train 
 Was of the selfsame string : not that this stirred 
 Robert to anger nor conviction, for 
 Friendship although it handles those same arms 
 As may be used in tourney to the death 
 Yet jousts with blunted weapons, and we take 
 Its thrusts as lacking edge, seeing it still 
 Fences with buttoned foils that bear no ill. 
 
 Then Robert from the station wandered back 
 To his new solitude. A few weeks since 
 Loneliness lacked the very tinge of irk 
 And the smooth current of his separate life 
 Had flowed unruffled to contentcdness.
 
 155 
 
 But now the thing was changed, and as a whelp 
 
 New blooded out of ignorance will chafe 
 
 At deprivation, so he ceaselessly 
 
 Fretted for what was gone. True every day 
 
 He still saw Nell, now at the window, now 
 
 Within the cottage garden opposite 
 
 And met her often in the village street. 
 
 Point-blank ; and though as often as they met, 
 
 His ever impulse was to stop and speak. 
 
 Yet all so sacred held he in regard 
 
 Her settled wishes that he checked himself 
 
 And never dared a sign, albeit she 
 
 Would look him clear and frankly in the face 
 
 Her smile part welcome, part prohibitive. 
 
 Her blush of memories indicative.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 How Robert, finding that Nell will no longer meet him, 
 determines to go back to London, and packs up his things ; 
 and how on his last evening he chances to meet Nell in 
 the churchyard, and what was the result. 
 
 THERE are some states that cannot last ; the bow 
 Must be unbent or spHts, and so the mind 
 Poised on a balance of uncertainties 
 Cannot stay stressed but must pick out its way 
 Into a settlement of yea or nay. 
 
 Robert throughout a shifting week of days 
 
 Wavered ; one moment he would pack and go, 
 
 And the next moment would stop on for ever. 
 
 This girl, what was she ? (yet how sweet she was) 
 
 A vagrant nothing in a holiday, 
 
 To be enjoyed as Alfred would enjoy it, 
 
 And then to be forgotten, as a dream 
 
 Is with its morning's recollections ^ 
 
 Only a breakfast moment dwelt upon 
 
 And then dispersed for ever. But to go 
 
 Back to his chambers bounden in with books
 
 157 
 
 And sit in solitude ! Why had not he 
 
 As many men he knew had wisely done 
 
 Cut up his life in common sense to twain, 
 
 Leaving the larger half upon his work, 
 
 And putting out the lesser one to loan — 
 
 Those tags of time that leisure each week's end — 
 
 At interest in the country. He would do it 
 
 Another year ; but what should he do now ? 
 
 The thing was ended if he went away 
 
 Was it not ended too if he should stay ? 
 
 At last one afternoon when pros and cons. 
 Brought him no nearer to his consummation. 
 Decision on a sudden shaped itself 
 And fixed into resolve : he would go back. 
 Where was the sense of stopping on ? at most 
 He had but six days more ; and, these run out, 
 To go became enforcement. Should he waste 
 These six days through in thinking what to do ? 
 And like a leaguered garrison outstarved 
 Render upon compulsion ? No at once. 
 So to stamp instant zeal to settlement 
 He called the ancient lady of the house, 
 Told her he meant next day to go to town, 
 Gave to this suddenness some right excuse. 
 And then went up to pack ; parcelled his books 
 And, save some matters for the next morn's use 
 Put all things else to bag ; went out and made 
 Arrangements that his luggage should be trucked 
 Next morning to the train ; and this all done 
 Felt as some long-kept prisoner set free 
 Restored at last to his full liberty.
 
 158 
 
 And then he wasted out the little hour 
 
 That ran till dinner, dined with scarce a heart, 
 
 Threw down his napkin, lit his cigarette 
 
 And sauntered to the garden. 'Twas a night 
 
 So soft and warm it seemed that summertide 
 
 Repaid it back to autumn as a loan 
 
 For some chill beggary from hot July ; 
 
 So still that scarce a leaf stirred on the trees. 
 
 And there he leant upon the garden gate 
 
 Settling within himself that he was right. 
 
 Yet musing on the cherished days just gone 
 
 And hating those to come. 'Tis so we halt 
 
 Often in life at pleasant intervals 
 
 And would stay still for good, but that the pinch 
 
 And prick of time urges us on again 
 
 To what cannot be baulked : and then as those 
 
 Who caravan to pleasant oases 
 
 Out of the droughty desert's arid edge 
 
 Where all is green with fruit and flower and frond 
 
 And still would stop when they perforce must press 
 
 Again across the seas of beggared sand, 
 
 So destiny or destination still 
 
 Forces us onwards in despite our will. 
 
 And there he leant, when softly on his ears. 
 So unabrupt its start was scarce perceived, 
 Fell the sweet sound of music sweeping up 
 From out the trees along the avenue. 
 Simple its reason, for at hazard times 
 The vicar's daughter crossed into the church 
 To practise what enrichment might enhance 
 The current of her father's services,
 
 159 
 
 For she was his musician. There are sounds 
 
 That fall so apt unto our circumstance 
 
 That they seem supernatural, though their cause 
 
 Can be with all simplicity resolved ; 
 
 And yet we so translate them to ourselves 
 
 That they bring either soothing or alarm — 
 
 The run of rats, the creak of doors, the moan 
 
 Of pent-up winds through crannied cracks, the drop 
 
 Of waters as in footsteps ; or reversed 
 
 The sounds of Christmas carols through the frost, 
 
 The ijielody of some stray vagrant voice, 
 
 The breezes softly stirring through the trees, 
 
 The night-note of a bird, such things as these 
 
 Strike either fearsome shudders down the frame 
 
 Or lull us into gentle peacefulness ; 
 
 And all because by chance they come to hit 
 
 The tenor of a mood to which they ht. 
 
 So was it now with Robert. Melody 
 
 And melancholy ran to sister grooves 
 
 As each drew to the other ; therefore he 
 
 Longing to near this sweet accompaniment 
 
 Lifted the latch with lightness, and stole out 
 
 Across the road and up the avenue 
 
 Until he reached the lych-gate, on the which 
 
 With rested arms he leant in listening 
 
 To the clear volume of reverberant sound. 
 
 And watched the half-lit window set with saints 
 
 Beyond the which it came. Some time he stayed 
 
 With not one vagabond step to trouble him. 
 
 Until with lighter footfall than a man's 
 
 And with the swish of gown and petticoat
 
 i6o 
 
 Some woman came his way. But he at once 
 
 Unwilling in his reverie to be found 
 
 Stepped softly by beneath the ivy's shade 
 
 Whilst she, whoe'er it was, just as himself. 
 
 Nay caught perhaps with the same phantasy, 
 
 Came to the gate and almost in his place I 
 
 Leant listening against it. Ah, the night 
 
 Can like misfortune cover those we know 
 
 And make them all unrecognisable; 
 
 And yet the night for those we really love 
 
 (So swiftly does perception come confirmed) 
 
 Has neither pall nor coverture. At once 
 
 By step, by dim caught shape, by instinct, by 
 
 All senses rushed into quick unison 
 
 He knew and felt 'twas Nell. Then instantly, 
 
 Without the lightest grating of the ground 
 
 Or the least cough of admonition 
 
 He was't her side. Whilst she with a quick start 
 
 Which came as jar upon her broken thoughts, 
 
 Looked up one second and next second knew 
 
 That it was Robert. Then, strange mockery 
 
 Of previous resolves, as if't had been 
 
 Some 'ranged and preconcerted interview. 
 
 So haply sometime accident fits in 
 
 And unexpected opportunity 
 
 Suits to the moment's wishes, they together 
 
 Dropping the shadowy shams of reasoning 
 
 Leant on the lych-gate closely side by side. 
 
 And thus will Chance, when the least thought of, lend 
 
 Its aids in ways we never could portend. 
 
 What was their converse there — mere broken noughts
 
 i6i 
 
 And pointless sentences — has no account, 
 For there are times when the vocabulary 
 Halts and when silence has more eloquence 
 Than a whole tale of words, when feeling swells 
 Like the still mill-head noiselessly to power 
 And gathers but to strength. But even now 
 The organ ceased, the windows lost their light 
 And with a sound of voices in the porch, 
 Went two dim figures fading, one along 
 The pathway to the vicarage, the other 
 (Only the boy that blew the leathern lungs) 
 With clownish tramp out at the further gate ; 
 And after this all silence. Minutes sped 
 Unjarred before the inexpressible 
 Like the lulled calm that comes before a storm, 
 Till with one impulse — not of violence 
 Nor born of passion's wanton recklessness 
 But of a calm deep irresistible 
 And pent-up longing — they were side by side — 
 He loosed his arm gently to take her waist 
 Bent down his face to hers, and on her cheek 
 Laid the first kiss of love. Let mockery 
 Gibe with its ribald laughter till it splits ; 
 Let the spent knowledge of a thousand things 
 Of every move, word, coming gesture plaint, 
 Distress, pain, delicate agony, delight 
 Jeer in its staleness at simplicity ; 
 Let sated surfeit fold its puffy hands 
 In patron recollection, spendthrift lust 
 Nod its lewd visage like an artist tried 
 Before the brushwork of a ventured boy ; 
 Let infamous and pale debauchery 
 
 II
 
 1 62 
 
 Roar ribald at the blush of innocence; 
 Still it remains nothing can equal this 
 The gift and memory of Love's first kiss. 
 Therefore the fathom of the fairy tale 
 Which like a jewel many faceted 
 Shows in a different light to different eyes 
 (Though 't sparkles chiefly for the nursery) 
 Is deeply true : pent love will fettered keep 
 Till Love's first kiss awakens it from sleep. 
 
 And next — as there are acts which put the seal 
 
 To what like grossed and tabled documents 
 
 Are void without an impress, acts which give 
 
 Upon this stamp potentiality 
 
 To future ordering and government, 
 
 Although the time before and after seems 
 
 So simply similar, this one first kiss 
 
 Made all the difference, though it seemed to make 
 
 No difference at all. 'Twas not repeated : 
 
 Rather it was in modesty ignored, 
 
 And yet it forms the situation 
 
 On which the curtain readies for its fall. 
 
 The rest runs with simplicity itself 
 
 To those who know the ropes, or runs without 
 
 To those who do not — still complete it out. 
 
 The turret's monitory quarters now 
 Were reft of warning and were follied with, 
 Each that should be the last being but the note 
 To tell a libertied stretch up to the next ; 
 And like the bell the very night itself 
 Became a minder into furtherance
 
 i63 
 
 As the joyed present gave its reckoning 
 
 For future repetitions. Obstacles 
 
 Which at first sight had seemed insuperable 
 
 Became as slight as stage-built battlements, 
 
 Strong only in pretence : and hence it was 
 
 That next day's night was fixed to rendezvous 
 
 Without demur or any semblance of it. 
 
 Then when 't had grown so late that reasoned bounds 
 
 Had stretched beyond all tether of excuse, 
 
 They dallied back along the avenue 
 
 In little steps of large unwillingness, 
 
 And ere they reached the gaping of the road 
 
 Or vantaged space of observation 
 
 They parted : Nell to lightly trip to home 
 
 Blithe in the joyousness of the first sense 
 
 Of being loved. For though love has degrees, 
 
 Steps, grades, progressions from the tender shoot 
 
 Right to the great absorbing consummation 
 
 That whelms and overshadows all beneath, 
 
 Until its early under-leafages 
 
 Seem scarcely worth a name ; yet both are oak 
 
 The seedling leaflet and the giant tree, 
 
 And of the two we cherish with more joy 
 
 The little frond just broken loose from ground 
 
 Than the great trunk branched broad to leafy round. 
 
 But Robert having watched Nell to her door 
 
 Walked backward to his own, intoxicate 
 
 With the delirium of this first kiss 
 
 Which given without remonstrance, aye, and yet 
 
 Unanswered as beyond all usages 
 
 Was simply suffered, as if modesty
 
 1 6 
 
 I 
 
 Nor daring reprobation nor response 
 
 And impotent of answer or offence, 
 
 Yielded itself outright. So he went in 
 
 Flung himself downright into an arm-chair 
 
 And pictured all the evening up again 
 
 Athrough and through and through. Then on a start 
 
 Got up, called out the lady of the house, 
 
 And almost broken, as a man in drink, 
 
 Told her — To-morrow — I have changed my mind — 
 
 I think I shall stay out my week to end ; 
 
 When the man comes to take my luggage up 
 
 Pay him and send him off— I wish I could 
 
 Stay all this winter through — my work stops that 
 
 But I shall come again, and when the sear 
 
 That lies between this leafage and the next 
 
 Is gone, I mean in spring, I shall arrange 
 
 To split the working of my weeks to half 
 
 And keep their endings here — if I can have 
 
 These rooms which somehow have grown dear to me 
 
 I'll take them in advance — is not this night 
 
 Out of all season hot and wearisome ? 
 
 But she (for these old dames keep doctor's tact 
 
 Upon their lodgers) peered him open-eyed 
 
 In question of this sudden change and ring 
 
 From the dull lead of taciturnity 
 
 To the true coin of buoyancy, and yet 
 
 Said nothing, fixed his offer and went off. 
 
 But he sat on some while till scarcely knowing 
 
 He did it, out of habit, went to bed 
 
 Disrobed, his garments tumbled anywhere 
 
 Sprang 'twixt the sheets and pillowing his head 
 
 Let his full mind go working on and on
 
 i65 
 
 To the same theme, until as one who counts 
 (Old artificial trick to catch repose) 
 The thousand iterant hurdle-jumping sheep 
 He faded off into the depths of sleep. 
 
 The curtain must slip down, the act must end, 
 
 The chapter come to fine. When he awoke 
 
 And looked from his last evening to the next 
 
 He was (strange paradox) indifferent. 
 
 Upon this ending of his holiday, 
 
 Whether he went or not. A few days since 
 
 To stay was torture as it was to go, 
 
 But now his end was gained, his goal was won, 
 
 His reach was pulled and on his easied oar 
 
 He was content to rest. There are some men 
 
 Who get a scheme no sooner to their brains 
 
 Than it is pushed and rushed into effect 
 
 And every rung that the foot toes upon 
 
 Is spurned to catch the next. But others are 
 
 (Most being so) who work in periods, 
 
 Like petty streams that drop from pool to pool, 
 
 And when one effort brings with it success 
 
 They lie on little laurels laggard-wise 
 
 To breathe before next move and further tries. 
 
 Cease this and close. Robert had only reached 
 A courtship colon : one of those stray stops 
 Where men, and this has daily evidence. 
 May stand or may continue. The next night 
 They met, and on the next, and afterwards ; 
 But each was only repetition 
 Without new meaning matter for romance.
 
 i66 
 
 He had to go, that was his terminal ; 
 His settled promise was to come again. 
 And so with one last evening that empaled 
 A world of uttered purpose and intent 
 Their throttled wooing ended, and he went. 
 
 Shut up the prompter's copy, ring the bell, 
 The gasman has his hand upon the tap, 
 Down go the lights behind the fallen drop, 
 Another act is over ; it may be 
 Abrupt with inartistic tinity.
 
 PART II.
 
 i.i
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 How the months pass through winter into spring, till with 
 the advent of May the river is again alive with 
 pleasure-seekers. 
 
 AUTUMN had sped and winter come, and now 
 Once more the finished measure of the year 
 Hung at hyemal balance on the pause 
 And turned : once more the fuller circling sun 
 Began to raise its arc that it might shed 
 Such warmth and light as with more ample kiss, 
 Like Beauty's wooer in the fairy tale. 
 Should call numbed nature into wakening. 
 But, as a weak-born infant put to breast 
 Lies senseless oft on that sweet reservoir 
 From whence with generous and unstinted flow 
 Life's making wells, so did the new-born year 
 Hang for the nonce devoid of livening 
 And in the grip of winter's icy thrall 
 Stood starved in seeming inability. 
 Throughout the country all was colourless 
 As some great etching cut in black and white ; 
 Over the meads and hills the sheeted snow
 
 170 
 
 Stretched in unbroken sweep, save only where 
 The carts had rucked the roads, and cottagers 
 Had struck their hobnailed and indented paths 
 With calculated but unguided step 
 In short-cut ways across the fields to home. 
 And from this sea of white the bare black trees 
 Upreared their gaunt and branching arms towards 
 Dull grey cloud-laden skies, as if to pray 
 Winter's continuance should cease its sway. 
 
 The sun was mostly veiled, or if it were 
 
 Left by the clouds some moments visible 
 
 'Twas red in anger or at its impotence, 
 
 And it sank sullen down into the west 
 
 Leaving a night more desolately bleak. 
 
 The brooks stayed brawlless clenched in icy bond 
 
 Their waters' rippling music checked and mute ; 
 
 And winds from out the harsh unkindly north 
 
 Held nature's voicing to monopoly, 
 
 Wailing now high now low like some sour wife 
 
 Who grumbles at her work. All beasts were housed. 
 
 The sheep close pent in strawed and sheltered folds 
 
 Where bleating lambs, first promise of the year 
 
 Huddled against their dams and blinked at life, 
 
 As genius on a cold inclement world 
 
 Must often look in utter bitterness. 
 
 The poor numbed birds, voiceless and motionless, 
 
 Cowered in shelter, all their feathers fluffed 
 
 As with pricked plumage to fence out the cold. 
 
 The fields were tenantless and labour-left 
 
 Mocking the useless and by-cornered plough. 
 
 The gardens had their beds and herbage hid
 
 171 
 
 Their evergreens down-bowed beneath the snow ; 
 But winter to excuse this coverture, 
 Or in derision that the windows were 
 A border to its power, had ferned and flowered 
 Their panes with fine fantastic imagery, 
 Whereon the ruddy gleam of household fires 
 Played as the flames went flickering up and down, 
 Now high in laughter at its enemy 
 The cold, and blithe with man to keep him out, 
 Now sinking low and sad with those around, 
 Who as they looked abroad in pity thought 
 Of homeless hundreds that there still must be 
 Shivering and starved in abject penury. 
 
 Thus January ran most through until 
 
 Winter's grim witchcraft with a shift of wind 
 
 Broke and the spell gave out. Then came the thaw : 
 
 Where had been silence, now the infinite drops 
 
 Pattered upon the ground, and on one's steps 
 
 A thousand others seemed to suit at heel 
 
 Like following footfalls of freed water-sprites. 
 
 Beneath the feet slush scrunched and splashed ; above 
 
 Grey clouds dissolved to leave clear blue and sun ; 
 
 The snow in masses overslid the eaves, 
 
 Sprayed from the elms flushed from the evergreens. 
 
 Weeping the while it made its forced farewell. 
 
 Birds for the first time sang their mating call 
 
 Until night dropped. And when the clouds re-rose 
 
 To fall in soft warm rain, the hedges cleared. 
 
 The fields crept from their sheety prisoning ; 
 
 A day or so the grass and beds were free. 
 
 The crocuses peaked up their bristling points
 
 172 
 
 Above the softened earth, worms rose at night 
 Where rooks a-morning gluttoned in the fields : 
 The mole awoke to work, netting the meads 
 With its pathed evidence and brought at last 
 Witness that winter's servitude was past. 
 
 Then February came, bringing witli it 
 
 A moiety of fair days and moiety 
 
 Of pouring rainfalls, scouring all the earth 
 
 As charmaid to the new installed year. 
 
 Who ere he furnishes his tenement 
 
 Should have it clean and fresh and purified. 
 
 The waters sluiced, the winds swept searchingly 
 
 Through every nook and cranny, rushlets poured 
 
 From hill and upland down through course and stream 
 
 Into the river which with loaded flood 
 
 Roared at the weirs and skirled away to sweep 
 
 Down to the ocean cesspool of the seas 
 
 Worn earth's most rotten refuse and spent lees. 
 
 But as the rains cleared off, the breaking clouds 
 
 Rising in chase across the firmament 
 
 Let free the glorious sun, beneath whose rays 
 
 The wet earth glistened. Then came cloudless days, 
 
 Blue skies, bright warmth, the songs of birds, the lark 
 
 Soaring in thrill a-sky, the rook's grave note 
 
 Almost harmonious, the pigeon's coo 
 
 Soft in the woods, thrush, blackbird, robin, all 
 
 Blending their songs to one sweet harmony. 
 
 And buds began to swell ; the hazels flagged 
 
 Their catkins out ; the honeysuckle burst 
 
 To tender leaf; laurels and sombre yews,
 
 173 
 
 Dark types of sorrow, in despite grew glad 
 With unobtrusive bloom ; the violet 
 Simple in modest and unconscious worth 
 Brought her first treasured colour to the year. 
 And the new bladed snowdrops rose to hang 
 Their little bells which swung upon the breeze 
 Like joy-bells at a birth ; the crocuses 
 Opened their golden chalices and caugh 
 Deep floods of sun ; upon the cottages 
 The yellow jasmine burst to wealth of bloom ; 
 And men grew very glad as everything 
 Flushed permeate with the promise of the spring. 
 
 Now once again the ploughman drove his team 
 
 In plod across the rested fields, again 
 
 The ground was shared to furrow, and the seed, 
 
 Scattered and harrowed out of sight, was set 
 
 To germ and shoot and blade and fructify. 
 
 Thus year on year the farmer sows in hope, 
 
 As all life through we sow in hopes ourselves 
 
 Setting our seedling deeds within the past 
 
 That they may fruit — while still rings through our ears 
 
 As cast and calendar of what shall be 
 
 Paul's poignant parable, the salve of grief, 
 
 The solace of all loss, bereavement's balm 
 
 " Thou fool ! " — And once again upon the meads 
 
 Was cast that rot and garbage which bewrought 
 
 By sun and rain and wind becomes as gold 
 
 Breeding a grassy wealth ; so still it is 
 
 Things in themselves most loathsome often bear 
 
 A bounty second viewed — things we despise 
 
 Oft tender very blessings in disguise.
 
 174 
 
 Now birds began to pair, the partridges 
 
 Fell from their coveys into twos and twos ; 
 
 The rooks skied coupled ; the upsoaring lark 
 
 Carolled above its fellow and abused 
 
 The pointing eye with its locality ; 
 
 The grounded sparrows warred to win their mates, 
 
 Singing the while like ancient knights at joust 
 
 Who rang their lady's name through list and lute 
 
 As fight were joy and fighting marred if mute. 
 
 And so in song and strife at last were wed 
 
 These winged possessors of the air, on which 
 
 With instinct's wondrous certainty they found 
 
 Some subtly situated coverture 
 
 Wherein to build safe home. Man thumbed and brained 
 
 Ransacks the orb for matter, fells the trees, 
 
 Updigs the ores, outquarries stones, converts 
 
 The fashioned clay to usage, plans, draws, schemes, 
 
 Reckons his quantities, constructs and then 
 
 Is fooled in structure by a simple wren : 
 
 Puts all his vaunted reason to its best 
 
 And finds it blurred before a common nest. 
 
 And therefore reason, which the fool has not 
 
 Fools those that overhave it. God has set 
 
 Within the pools and deeps of all men's thoughts 
 
 The lurk of truth, which fostered into act 
 
 Would be infallible, and by the which 
 
 A very child (the freshest from His hands) 
 
 Cudgels the brains of age. As the poor bird 
 
 Holding no other guiding builds its nests 
 
 Untaught, unread, unschooled, uneducatc, 
 
 So man if he would trust himself could build 
 
 A nest slunild last him through eternity.
 
 175 
 
 But reason shuts his finer feeHng out, 
 
 As grosser herbage does the violet, 
 
 And thus he gropes his hazard way along, 
 
 Feels what is right but reasons what is wrong. 
 
 But ere these mated songsters scarce began 
 
 Their woven homes, rough boisterous brawling March 
 
 Rushed warring on his rights, and howling shook 
 
 The dead wood out of the high elms and scared 
 
 The building rooks, tossing the withered leaves 
 
 Of last year's autumn in derision 
 
 As things whose day was gone ; and with weird shriek 
 
 Whistled amongst the beeches, (where alone 
 
 The faded vesture of a vanished year 
 
 Hung yet, as some old faithful servant still 
 
 Clings to his beggared master), lashed along 
 
 The reaches of the river till they foamed : 
 
 Beat down the smoke within the chimney tops. 
 
 Strained at the doors and windows with a rage 
 
 That seemed redoubled out of impotence, 
 
 Then baffled, swept away, lulling a space 
 
 With many a moan and sigh beyond the hills 
 
 To make by sound the distance sensible, 
 
 And from its opposite quarter came in main 
 
 To rise and howl and die in lull again. 
 
 So winter with the winds of March shrieked out 
 Its dying throes, and bonny winsome Spring 
 (As is the wont where there is heritage) 
 Came visiting her dying relative : 
 At first not oft nor long, but as he drew 
 Daily towards his end, more frequently ;
 
 176 
 
 Until at last when his decease was near 
 She took her lawful tenure of the year. 
 
 ' Tis said pain's cess is pleasure, ecstasy 
 
 But agony's decease, bliss sorrow's end ; 
 
 So by nef^ation we philosophise, 
 
 Putting pronouncement on to happiness 
 
 As if 't could be demarked. But what are words ? 
 
 Or definitions? Can they conjure up 
 
 Our passions, senses, holdings, feelings, joys ; 
 
 Unless like her of Endor they can call 
 
 Presentment of what has been : failing this 
 
 And missing all the mark of memory 
 
 They are but syllables of clattering sound, 
 
 Mere intonations of some foreign tongue. 
 
 Puzzles devoid of answer. Say but Spring 
 
 To him who out beyond the stuff of towns 
 
 Has lived to know its new-born joyousness, 
 
 Then on the single word come images 
 
 Of suns, skies, birds, trees, maidens, meadows, flowers 
 
 Woven to such a phantasy that his mind 
 
 Hangs on their being as the balanced hawk 
 
 Will hang above its quarry. Verse this round 
 
 And tell of Spring in every detail 
 
 To one whose ways are toil-pent, one whose breath 
 
 Has still been drawn in murky towns, describe 
 
 The blush and maiden tripping of the year, 
 
 Put it to picture and enumerate 
 
 The sweet procession of its charms, portray 
 
 The very wooing time, all this will fall 
 
 As music does on ears unmusical, 
 
 Which mock sweet sounds with deaf indifference
 
 177 
 
 Unportered to the brain. Spring came — enough 
 Smooth to the smooth, the rugged to the rough. 
 
 Now under hedgerow, within woods, and where 
 
 Most shelter was, the brown and empty earth 
 
 Re-broke to emerald ; the arum pierced 
 
 Its way to hght, the needled stitchwort shot 
 
 From its dead straw, and the scorned nettle spread 
 
 With such a wealth of service that its bite, 
 
 Like those fanged ways which sometimes overlie 
 
 The gentlest hearts, might be forgiven it. 
 
 And all the earliest herbage came to leaf 
 
 Each in its kind and its locality. 
 
 Then as some water-colour artist lifts 
 
 His loaded brush to wash the first faint tones 
 
 Upon a pencilled paper. Nature so 
 
 Set her first tintings in. The beechwoods flushed. 
 
 The osiers purpled, and the pollards turned 
 
 To tender emerald ; the grass began 
 
 To richly pile and thicken with new blade ; 
 
 And from ground upwards Winter's barrenness, 
 
 As if earth's sap were visible in flood, 
 
 Went daily inch by inch — though ancient trees, 
 
 Oaks, poplars, and the rooky-dotted elms. 
 
 Stood obdurate to change — for so it is 
 
 Ancientness in the swirling rush of life 
 
 Holds for its stubborn time gravely aloof 
 
 From yet inevitable motionings. 
 
 And only when all things around have changed. 
 
 Leaving it isolate, it gravely yields 
 
 Sooner than seem befooled ; so by the new 
 
 Die old ideas, the many swamp the few. 
 
 12
 
 178 
 
 Now days more ample 'tvvixt the east and west 
 
 Were by the song of multitudinous birds 
 
 Volumed to music (which with rise and fall 
 
 Was as the changeful babble of a brook 
 
 That from still deeps breaks to a pebble bed 
 
 Broadening to make the shallows musical), 
 
 Being one ample harmony through which 
 
 Each separate and melodious carolling 
 
 Rose now to dominance or sank depressed 
 
 By turn to proper service with the rest. 
 
 And to this feathered concert were adjoined, 
 
 As minor instruments of feebler scope, 
 
 The new-born notes of insects, for the hives 
 
 Were loosened, and the staunchly venturing bees, 
 
 Bearing their lives as errant knights in hand 
 
 Against the nip of evening's treachery, 
 
 Winged buzzing forth where earliest flowers might blow 
 
 To swell their stores with earliest husbandry. 
 
 And 'twixt the eye and sunshine all the air 
 
 Grew quick with tiny floating denizens, 
 
 Whilst in the draughtless lull amid the shrubs 
 
 The wee gnats hovered congregate, and spent 
 
 What we with patronising pity call 
 
 Their little day — and yet what fools we be. 
 
 Seeing that memory but gauges time. 
 
 And in the almanack of infinity 
 
 Our ten years added to the triple score 
 
 Are like their little day or little more. 
 
 Nor were the creatures of the air alone 
 
 Re-invigorate to life, from out the deeps 
 
 The wintered fish drew shallowwards and rose
 
 179 
 
 To trifle with the inhibited element, 
 
 Priming in play and darting out at flies 
 
 Till all the solemn surface of the pools 
 
 Was fretted with wreathed rings whose ripples ran 
 
 To widen out, but ere they yet had chance 
 
 Were broken at by others newly made, 
 
 Which in their turn fared likewise : just as when 
 
 Light mirth plays wanton and laugh follows laugh 
 
 Across a merry maiden's comely face 
 
 With such re-dimpling haste that each new smile 
 
 Ere it can hold its due continuance out 
 
 Is by its close successor put to flout. 
 
 Nor did the powers of the Spring stay here, 
 For its reveille stirred chill loathsome things 
 Whose sight compelled a shudder into life ; 
 Toads jerked abroad and frogs, and in foul swamps 
 The tadpoles' blackened spawn broke vivified 
 To wriggling surge ; new waking snakes stole forth 
 To bask on sunny banks ; nay nought so foul. 
 So insignificant, so void of worth, 
 But felt the call that Spring had issued forth. 
 
 And in the midst of this new jollity 
 
 March died, March who like some raw lusty boy 
 
 Who blusters into dominance at school, 
 
 And that established sinks to quietude ; 
 
 Or like some rising orator who bluffs 
 
 With boisterous words and noisy utterance 
 
 An early way to ear, and this secured. 
 
 Lapses with riper age insensibly 
 
 To even and judicious periods ;
 
 i8o 
 
 So that his reference, when later years 
 Have bleached the first, is one of gentleness. 
 Thus March who ramped in with the lion's roar 
 Passed meek and lamb-like out, and was no more. 
 
 Then dainty April, handmaid to the spring, 
 
 Who vests her mistress out in emerald 
 
 And decks her with first blazoning of flowers 
 
 Tripped blithely to her customed task. And now 
 
 The solitary almond bloomed ere leaf 
 
 And blushed with shame at its own forwardness ; 
 
 Pale primroses that gleamed like heaven's deep stars 
 
 Came out to light dark banks ; anemones. 
 
 Frail children of the windy equinox, 
 
 Patterned the woods with tesselation ; 
 
 And on the moving carpet of the meads 
 
 The golden celandine disbursed its wealth 
 
 To overrich the green. Thus the earliest flowers 
 
 Budded and broke and bloomed and fell to wane. 
 
 Whilst their near loss (for in this world what is 
 
 Is not alas, replaced ?) was lightly filled 
 
 By new inheritors. Yet well perhaps 
 
 The joy of that which comes is antidote 
 
 And solace for what goes : were this not so 
 
 We should with backward and perpetual eye 
 
 Pine all our lives away ; but with each grief 
 
 New birth of joy is so concomitant 
 
 That ere the trickling tear can creep the cheek 
 
 Fresh rising laughter swells to make a brink 
 
 From whence the salty witness topples off 
 
 And drops away from evidence. So 'tis 
 
 New joys make up for those old joys we miss. 
 
 I
 
 i8i 
 
 Yet is it faith when all is said and done 
 
 To take new loves because the old are gone ? 
 
 But let these methods of the world rub by. 
 
 Dog-violets, mere ghosts in scent and hue 
 
 Of their gone kin, brought blue to hedge and slope, 
 
 And daisies pied the meads with flakes of snow 
 
 Where children loved to foot the nine of spring; 
 
 While lady-smocks in drifts upon the grass 
 
 Lay patched as things at bleach ; the buttercups 
 
 Mounted to dust the green with specks of gold 
 
 Out-bla2oning the cowslips' modesty 
 
 (Even as assurance with its showy tricks 
 
 Will overplay true worth) ; down by the streams 
 
 Where ground was damp the great marsh-marigolds 
 
 Blazed in imperial lordship of the swamp ; 
 
 And on the edge the sad forget-me-not 
 
 Opened its eye of azure to recall 
 
 The old sweet tearful legend of its name. 
 
 Cherry and pear in cultured orchards broke 
 
 To mass on mass of white, whilst out away 
 
 The wild uncared-for blackthorn (which can yet 
 
 Bring oft a snowy winter of its own) 
 
 Grew robed in blanch of white which seemed to say 
 
 Despite this cold of nights we make our day. 
 
 But as the bloom made process, so the leaf. 
 The larches flung their tender featherlings ; 
 The sycamore pipped full to pearls which throve 
 Till almond-big they burst and broke to green ; 
 The chestnuts swelled their scaled and sticky buds 
 To turgid fulness, which in overflow
 
 l82 
 
 Toppled their five limp flagging digits out 
 
 Await for strength to spray ; the beeches clawed 
 
 With teniiate buds at air and ruthless cast 
 
 Old autumn's brown but faithful leaf to earth 
 
 Contemned at last — sermon on servitude 
 
 Which in this new shot and ungrateful age 
 
 Gets spurned when done with, and yet like a hound 
 
 Hangs to the very death upon the hand 
 
 That bears its poison — Hell epitomised 
 
 Holds in the word ingratitude comprised. 
 
 On still —the hoary helms sulking behind 
 
 Threw laggard out against an azure sky 
 
 Their lace of emerald, the stubborn oak 
 
 Despising green broke brown and russety 
 
 And the black poplar halt and dignified 
 
 Threw its last verduring upon the tide. 
 
 Thus shrub and tree in proper ordering 
 
 Brought each its part to nature's vestiture, 
 
 Which day on day grew nobler and more rich. 
 
 The hedges thickened and old open lanes 
 
 Began to darken back to jealous shade 
 
 As they came roofed and aisled with foliage ; 
 
 The woods grew caverned from the upper sky 
 
 And hemmed around with leafy barriers, 
 
 Whilst sweeping views these six months clear and bare 
 
 In which men's naked habitations stared 
 
 Were broken up and closed ; stray chimney-pots, 
 
 Or the peaked corner of some gable end, 
 
 Peeping alone above the tide of leaf 
 
 Which flowed up everywhere — old paradox ; 
 
 That earth which shivers stark the winter through
 
 i83 
 
 Gets garbed and 'parelled out for summer-time, 
 Spreading abroad its amply pleated robe 
 Within whose secret shelters beast and birds 
 Woo, couple, home, produce, and rear at length 
 Their offspring to maturity and strength. 
 
 Thus as some lordly house is richly decked ' 
 
 And furbished forth for coming visitors 
 
 So was the country-side luxuriantly 
 
 Set ready for those yearly coming guests, 
 
 Who with strange variance of day and date 
 
 Hail by what rule and reckoning heaven but knows, 
 
 And whose full advent and blank exodus 
 
 Baulks still the inquisitive inventory of Science. 
 
 The snowy-breasted martins suddenly 
 
 Were out along the river in expense 
 
 Of some few rambling days wherein to mark 
 
 What banks and eaves were apt ; the swallows next ; 
 
 And then the sable swifts who save for brood 
 
 Unwing not their hereditary air. 
 
 But whilst the eye chased these new sojourners 
 
 The ear was no less noviced ; nightingales 
 
 Throbbed with their thrill the pulses of the night, 
 
 And by the day that dissyllabic bird 
 
 Overtopped sound with its monotony 
 
 Which though unmusical still forms the bond 
 
 Off full-come spring with summertide beyond. 
 
 So April played the hostess, April first 
 Of all the months a woman ; in her ways 
 As changeful as the lights which flick and flash 
 From off the facets of the diamond ;
 
 i84 
 
 April like some bright girl in maidenhood 
 
 Who has not yet her manners in restraint 
 
 But is unartificed and natural, 
 
 Now bright with laughter, sombre now in thought 
 
 One instant frivolous, but with a shift 
 
 (As hasty as the passage of a breath) 
 
 Turned quick to tears which well upon the eye 
 
 And give it such a hold and eloquence 
 
 That sympathy is woven to a bond 
 
 To tie all men her slaves ; one moment caught 
 
 With trivial and earthly incidents, 
 
 And at the next with spiritual gaze 
 
 Out in the fathoms of infinity ; 
 
 Nothing for long the same, but each in turn, 
 
 Dictating, yielding, melancholy, glad. 
 
 Merry, demure, coquettish, serious, 
 
 And yet, beneath these moods and curtainings 
 
 These vestitures which garbed to secrecy 
 
 Her under-mind, good as God's angels be. 
 
 And so she kept her sway, her journal change ; 
 
 To-day a deluge of unceasing rain ; 
 
 To-morrow all the blue and grey at odds 
 
 In push for mastery ; great transient rifts 
 
 Of sunshine beating 'twixt the weeping clouds, 
 
 And the prone earth kissed close by wet and warmth, 
 
 Wooed, won, and quickened to fecundity. 
 
 Next day perhaps spring's perfect gift, soft winds 
 
 Skies innocent of smirch out which the sun 
 
 Volumed its rich and high imperial lights 
 
 (Which made poor ancient thinkers after truth 
 
 Pevoid of revelation's certitude
 
 i85 
 
 Taking the creature for Creator, shrine 
 
 The blazing orb as god). Then as it sank 
 
 Beyond the ruddy boundaries of day 
 
 The earth came night-gowned out with silver hoar 
 
 Whose thrice investiture recalled the rain 
 
 To spell its turn and usher a false heat 
 
 Like middle summertide's. But grim incertitude 
 
 Dogs what is earthly with perfidious spite 
 
 And blasts the high peak of felicity 
 
 With its unreasoned bolt. So even now 
 
 From out beyond the hills great ominous clouds 
 
 Piled up in rounded and electric shapes, 
 
 And with slow cumulated majesty, 
 
 Rose up against the wind : deep mutterings 
 
 Rumbled in distance as the artillery 
 
 Of far-off battle and, with each discharge, 
 
 Came louder and more close : detested gloom 
 
 Spread with its throt to stifle voice and song, 
 
 Till in swift sharp premonitory squalls 
 
 That puffed the dust to clouds and made the leaves 
 
 Shiver as trees had sense, the laden storm — 
 
 First one that jarred the process of the year — 
 
 Burst over everything. Flash, sheeted fall. 
 
 Reverberant roll, the waters flush and sluice. 
 
 Held for a little hour and passed away, 
 
 Leaving great pools and drippings everywhere ; 
 
 And after this, as if it were last fight 
 
 'Twixt Winter gone and coming Summertide 
 
 A glorious settlement of sun and blue 
 
 That was unbroken heralded the way, 
 
 As April ended, for the step of May. 
 
 And now the river which a few months since
 
 i86 
 
 Save for the fisher's sohtary punt 
 
 Was tenantless and desert, mothered forth 
 
 Its brood of pleasure crafts ; for ere the pike 
 
 (Which winter long upon the falling floods 
 
 Had whilst they preyed fallen themselves the prey 
 
 To cunning covered barbs), ere these were left 
 
 To their closed peace, on a fair day had come, 
 
 To start the raw of scarce-skinned memories. 
 
 The rhythmic measure of ensinewed sculls 
 
 And the first boat (which as the swallow's self 
 
 Is summer's harbinger), swept up the stream 
 
 Prime herald of an ample following. 
 
 Again the yards took on their hands, again 
 
 Hammer and brush were plied unceasingly. 
 
 Till gig and skiff and punt were trimly found 
 
 And launched to meet the season's reckoning. 
 
 Again white sails like vagrant butterflies 
 
 Began to dot the tide, and stalwart youths 
 
 With sweep of oar and scull and the pole's prick 
 
 Invaded as their ancestors had done 
 
 In Bersak days the river as their own. 
 
 Once more the loud and iterant cry of lock 
 
 Re-rose to hail the keeper to his work, 
 
 Breaching his hibernation : once again 
 
 The lock-sluice rose and fell to full and void, 
 
 Whilst there were cornered in compact array 
 
 Craft laden with fair maidens and strong men, 
 
 Who now that winter's garb was folded by 
 
 And drawered away, were in the unfettered grace 
 
 Of costumed liberty : straws, flannels, skirts 
 
 Uncrooked by modes and garments which disdained 
 
 Fashion's upswaggering cranks left their loose limbs
 
 i87 
 
 To nature's ample scope and exercise, 
 And set in due proportion that fair grace 
 Which puts the body level with the face. 
 
 And launches now with hateful shriek and swirl 
 
 Started their rude mechanic robbery 
 
 Of nature's quietude, and harshly marred 
 
 The placid river's peace : for when 'twas sweet 
 
 Beneath some bordering chestnut's new-thrown shade 
 
 To lie in contemplation softly lulled 
 
 By lightest airs and gently ripple-rocked, 
 
 And to draw from the draughts of reverie 
 
 Heaven's worldless sermons, voices from the breeze 
 
 Language from birds, speech from the clouds, intent 
 
 From leaf, twig, blossom, insect, everything. 
 
 Learning by nature's imagery to trace 
 
 God's deep and communed meaning — then would come 
 
 With grating whir and whistle such gross wash 
 
 As jolted one into anathemas 
 
 On man's misplaced inventions. Still it is 
 
 Some little evil yet blurs greatest good 
 
 Roses have thorns, paths puddles, and one spot 
 
 Like the clipped plaster on a beauty's face 
 
 May have foiled use which almost gives it grace 
 
 So the loathed launch when it began to run 
 
 Was proof at least the river had begun.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 How Nell has watched for the coming of Spring, and how 
 Robert determines to live his week-ends in the country, 
 and how after Alfred's comment on this decision he takes 
 his rooms of last year and goes down to them. 
 
 BUT from the skein pick up once more the thread, 
 And wind it further towards finality. 
 Down at the village nature's old routine 
 Had come with its accustomed ordering 
 And (since our hourly thoughts do ever spur 
 To what is fresh, or if they glance behind 
 Do so to snatch some poor comparison 
 With what's afront, and since the tide of time 
 Rolls its old waters into waves that seem 
 Perpetually new) so Nell had watched 
 The changes of the months as though the months 
 Had never changed before. Daily she kept 
 Her simple journal from the notes of birds, 
 From wider creeping shadows on the lawn. 
 And from the flowers which broke the cottage beds, 
 Where (for we trust to what is nearest most 
 And our cramped comprehensions pin themselves 
 To hemmed particulars) each bloom became
 
 iSg 
 
 A record out of winter into spring 
 
 And every petal as it fell to ground 
 
 Was as the done leaf of a diary 
 
 Turned over for the new. The crocuses, 
 
 Pale snowdrops, hyacinths, and tulips passed 
 
 And bee-loved wall-flowers threw at last their red 
 
 Against the blue of the forget-me-nots. 
 
 And then as one, beneath whose hallowed eaves 
 
 The martins build, will only casually 
 
 Note winter through their mud memorials. 
 
 And yet upon their reckoned overflight 
 
 Will put each hour to inquisition 
 
 Until at last up-eyed expectancy 
 
 Meets its fulfilment ; so Nell who till now 
 
 Had taken time as a meandering stream 
 
 Which bore her onwards to a wished-for end 
 
 Yet now that this was sighted felt her heart 
 
 Halt at ideas and throb at images 
 
 Of what had verged to be. She had been sure 
 
 That Robert with the spring would come again. 
 
 So all her hope, like some slack sail was set 
 
 To catch the tiniest whispering breath of news 
 
 That might announce his advent ; and she loosed 
 
 Her fancy into dreams so vagabond 
 
 And let imagination trespass till 
 
 Sheer common sense like some blunt constable. 
 
 Plodding behind in slow and dogged suit. 
 
 Would in a moment shoulder-tap her thoughts 
 
 And bring them to reality ; on which 
 
 Grim duty as a chill-eyed monitor 
 
 Would lay the lessoned law of right and wrong, 
 
 And conscience magisterially kind
 
 I go 
 
 Would point advice — which we all listen to 
 
 With most resolved intention, but which oft 
 
 Leaves us alas, when that we come to act 
 
 More resolute in fancy than in fact. 
 
 Yet now that he was coming (for she heard 
 
 His rooms were taken), what ought she to do ? 
 
 Where would this lead to ? Was her secrecy 
 
 An argument of wrong or was it not ? 
 
 Should she break off when what she wished was 
 
 grasped ? 
 Or should she follow out her hopes to end ? 
 Enough, when he had come was ample space 
 To give these thoughts their settlement and grace. 
 
 But all this while, since first the year had turned 
 
 Robert in town had daily grown aware 
 
 Of lamps lit later, fireside cosiness 
 
 Growing less treasured with the lengthening days, 
 
 And winter's tediously foggy pall 
 
 Becoming rent with glimpses of the sun, 
 
 Which made what little show could penetrate 
 
 Five millions' reeking smoke. Yet Nature still, 
 
 Despite man's artificial vagaries. 
 
 Remains the same : and with this earliest warmth 
 
 The simple sparrows amorously fell 
 
 To quarrelsome and noisy reckonings 
 
 Till they had coupled ; and an olden pair 
 
 Which year on year had always built beneath 
 
 His study floor (their entering opert 
 
 Through a missed brick) took their last year's abode, 
 
 And with much fluttering and twittering built 
 
 Their mutual and procreative home ;
 
 IQI 
 
 A subtle satire on his bachelorhood. 
 
 And out within the gardens of the Inn 
 
 Beneath his windows grew the lawns more green ; 
 
 And then the lilacs and the privets broke, 
 
 And later on the buds of the high elms 
 
 Burst into tender emerald which stood 
 
 Against the occasionally cloudless blue 
 
 And spring, which even has the power to thrust 
 
 Its magic into towns, was fully come — 
 
 Spring which with sweetest witchcraft subtly casts 
 
 Its spell upon us till our bodies feel 
 
 A greater and a lighter happiness ; 
 
 Girls come the fairer, men more debonair, 
 
 The world more beautiful, the air more free, 
 
 The sky more glad, the sun more glorious, 
 
 As everything takes life and colouring 
 
 Beneath its rosy charm. It draws our brains 
 
 Into the weaving of a thousand dreams. 
 
 Some to be spun to new reality, 
 
 But most to fade into the air and die. 
 
 But Robert found his vagrant mind astray 
 
 For ever on the village of last year. 
 
 The fields, the woods, the hills, the river rose 
 
 Till town seemed like a sombre prison-house 
 
 From very contrast, and the face of Nell 
 
 Floated with iterant persistency 
 
 Before him always. Memory conjured up 
 
 Those sweet and happy months last summertide, 
 
 Till, as a plant works constant to the sun 
 
 No matter what the check, or as the moth 
 
 Will circle in its instinct to the light.
 
 192 
 
 So he worked lluttering to one idea, 
 And reason answering, as reason can 
 To folly's beck, condensed this into plan. 
 And thus it was he argued things to line — 
 That since his daily work was all with books. 
 And bound him by no settled tie to place, 
 It could be quite as easily performed 
 Away amidst the country's quietude 
 As up in the distracting din of town. 
 Therefore that night, on Alfred's coming round 
 (As was his frequent wont to sup with him) 
 He turned the conversation to this flow. 
 Saying the river had come round again 
 That the canoe must have its varnishing, 
 Defects repaired, and everything made sound ; 
 And from this stepping-stone went on to broach 
 His newly worked idea: how he should take 
 For good the rooms he had last year and live 
 The week's four middle days in town, the three 
 That gapped between in sweet rusticity. 
 
 But Alfred who had eyed him all the while 
 
 Cut this to short with breach. Ho, ho (he laughed). 
 
 How well it runs ; and at that girl again ; 
 
 I knew it would be so. No, if you must 
 
 Climb down from virtue's airy pinnacle. 
 
 And cast St. Simeon for St. Anthony, 
 
 If you in errant ardour must debruise 
 
 Your scutcheon with a woman's petticoat. 
 
 Why go so far afield ? Heaven ! London holds 
 
 Two million women — you can have your pick 
 
 From anywhere to the last limiting,
 
 193 
 
 Without this weekly pilgrimage from town. 
 
 Besides which innocent rusticity 
 
 To my poor mind is never worth a fig, 
 
 What does it wear ? A frowsy cotton gown : 
 
 Its figure's clumsy and ill-corseted, 
 
 Its walk a waddle, all its movements gauche, 
 
 Its speech uncouth and burred, its line of thought 
 
 Pegged down to chickens, cows, potatoes, things 
 
 That may be well enough for boorish minds 
 
 But not for those that have intelligence. 
 
 But Robert flushing to the roots shot out. 
 
 Half shamed, half angered — What you say rings false 
 
 With utter nonsense. It is not for girls 
 
 I think of country life, but for my books ; 
 
 I cannot read a scrap in town, my thoughts 
 
 Wander with these increasing days of spring 
 
 Away into the fields. Besides yourself 
 
 With all your jeers at country commons said : — 
 
 Besides which Carrie is a country girl. 
 
 That's true (said Alfred), with a difference. 
 
 She's country leather on a London last, 
 
 A country rose that taken at the shoot 
 
 Was brought to strike and throw its bloom in town ; 
 
 But as for Nell — (Yet here he checked himself 
 
 Noting the sinister light in Robert's eyes 
 
 And seeing with his quick habitual tact 
 
 That argument had drifted on to shoals. 
 
 And that the tiller should be thrust to catch 
 
 With a reversing sheet the opposite wind 
 
 And make a counter track.) She — after all 
 
 You are so different from other men, 
 
 And so indifferent to womanhood, 
 
 13
 
 194 
 
 That on the whole I really think you right, 
 
 And that this half and half of life if set 
 
 Into the balance of experiment 
 
 Might be a wisdom which would put to test 
 
 The ways and leanings that shall suit you best. 
 
 Still you will let me come and see the show, 
 
 And learn how law thrives under thatch, and how 
 
 Justinian fares in fields, and benefit 
 
 By all your rural hospitality, 
 
 When heated Sundays scorch the pleasure down 
 
 From frocked and hatted visits up in town. 
 
 And so their converse ended on this point 
 
 And wagged to other things. But that same night 
 
 Robert wrote down to fix his last year's rooms 
 
 And three days later caught at Paddington 
 
 (That trafficked centre whose iron arteries 
 
 Course through the river valley to the west) 
 
 The late day train ; and as swift chasing night 
 
 Closed on the fringes of escaping day 
 
 Making all grey in twilight and himself 
 
 Solemn in sober fancies — reached the place, 
 
 Portered his luggage and afoot went down 
 
 A short-cut way that missed the road and ran 
 
 Through an old timber yard — (where massive trunks, 
 
 That ages since had sprung from seed to leaf. 
 
 From leaf to sapling and had pushed until 
 
 The woodman's watchful eye had marked them down 
 
 For fruitful felling, now were barked and logged 
 
 To serve as great men's acts have mostly done 
 
 Less in their lives than after life is gone) — 
 
 And crossed the ferry, made the village street
 
 195 
 
 Conning with nervous eagerness each form 
 That passed him in the dusk, as all his blood 
 Stood halt in strained expectancy, to tell 
 If any shadowed form that came was Nell. 
 
 But at a turn he sighted suddenly 
 
 The lamplit casements of his olden rooms, 
 
 Across whose yellow lozenged blinds the ra5'S 
 
 Made just such dim escape as darkly marked 
 
 The reckoning of the lawn and gravel path 
 
 And pointed him the gate ; upon whose latch 
 
 His hand lagged idle that his eye might peer 
 
 Towards Nell's cottage in discovery. 
 
 And never seaman on some battered ship 
 
 Mastless and foodless, buffeted beyond 
 
 The possibility of reckoned course, 
 
 Peered through the grey accession of the dawn 
 
 In doubt and hope to the dull ocean's edge 
 
 More earnestly for land or hazard sail, 
 
 Than he through this new-fallen gloom of night 
 
 Set all his sense of eyes and ear in strain 
 
 To catch some sign of Nell, but all in vain. 
 
 Then slow he raised the iron of the gate. 
 Strode up the path and through the open door 
 Where the good landlady, whose waiting ear 
 Had caught his coming step, curtseyed him in 
 And with a garrulous welcome marshalled him 
 Into the prim and tidy little room 
 That he had held last summer. All men drift. 
 With altered circumstance from mood to mood, 
 And chop with every changing of idea
 
 ig6 
 
 Even from despair's most hopeless seeming straits 
 
 Into consummate joy, or back aj^aiii 
 
 From the smooth airs of cahn felicity 
 
 To battle in a hurricane of grief 
 
 Upon a passaged thought. So Robert now 
 
 Stepping from darkness into homely light 
 
 Felt all his disappointment steal away, 
 
 As he surveyed his comfortable room 
 
 And saw the snowy table deftly laid 
 
 With such good fare as keeps with cottages ; 
 
 Till when the frizzling ham and eggs came in 
 
 He took his seat and made such hearty meal 
 
 As mocked lovesickness to the very fine 
 
 And bond of its existence. And this done 
 
 He sank into an armed and cornered chair, 
 
 Fendered his feet before the evening fire, 
 
 And as a great contentment held his soul 
 
 Let all his thoughts go wandering awhile; 
 
 Then lightly fingered up a cigarette, 
 
 Strolled to the garden, watched Nell's cottage lights 
 
 Until they puffed, paced the deserted street 
 
 Turning such blithesome projects in his mind 
 
 As his imaginings with easy rein 
 
 Attuned to ambled licence ; then went in. 
 
 His luggage in the meantime having come, 
 
 Spent in its disposition some short while 
 
 And in the happiness of having kept 
 
 Truthful his trj'st went up to bed and slept.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 How Robert meets Nell the moyning after his a /rival in the 
 churchyard, and how she says that she has determined that 
 their acquaintanceship must end, and how in the evening 
 she changes her mind. 
 
 "XT EXT morn the blaze of sunlight through the blinds 
 
 -^ ^ That came full flood into his room dissolved 
 
 The dreamy spell of laggard weariness, 
 
 On which, intuitive to the tardy hour, 
 
 He cast the clothing off his bed and leapt 
 
 Straight to the window, baring it to find 
 
 Blue cloudless skies and leaves that lightly stirred 
 
 In concert on a gently streaming breeze. 
 
 Then, swifter than the lightning cuts the skies 
 
 From pregnant clouds to the collective earth, 
 
 His glance shot to the garden opposite, 
 
 And there his hopes prophetic still to fact 
 
 He saw as all his circling blood stopped still, 
 
 Nell standing, fairest flower herself, amidst 
 
 Those early flowers that touch the hyacinth, 
 
 And as the forefront of a regiment are 
 
 The garden's first procession — with her hat
 
 igS 
 
 Strung on her elbow by its ribboned band 
 And her free hair the frame to such a face 
 As only health and happiness could grace. 
 
 And she was vested in a simple gown 
 Which veiled yet could not hide her perfect shape 
 Arm, bosom, sinuous waist, a Milo's hips, 
 Each garbed in modesty, with modesty 
 Proclaimed its rightful but decorous place. 
 Within the compass of a whole to be 
 Harmonious to a splendid symmetry. 
 
 And Robert at a flash saw memory 
 
 Had played him lying traitor to the truth, 
 
 F'or she, whose minded portrait he had held 
 
 Shrined as a saint's remembrance, overtopped 
 
 All imperfections of similitude. 
 
 And reminiscence with its limning power 
 
 Had feebled into under-reckoning. 
 
 Then impulse-caught he raised his hand to loose 
 
 The iron casement's catch and open forth 
 
 The clanking window, fixing down its pin 
 
 With violent and unnecessary noise, 
 
 Whilst in response to this dictating sound 
 
 Nell with a sudden start lifted her eyes 
 
 And the next instant based them as the flush 
 
 Mounted hot-blooded to her face and neck. 
 
 More eloquent than a whole world of words ; 
 
 And ere this paled, she slowly turned to toy 
 
 In woman's half-apologetic way 
 
 With some odd bloom, and vanished out of sight. 
 
 On this he quickly dressed and breakfasted,
 
 igg 
 
 And catching any book or two to make 
 
 An evident excuse for sitting out, 
 
 Went to the church3^ard and possessed himself 
 
 Of that old loved and leafy shaded seat 
 
 Where he and she first met. Nor waited long 
 
 Ere following on the sound of rustled steps, 
 
 Nell with the dog and children as excuse 
 
 (For so it seemed to Robert) came and took 
 
 Just as of old her seat upon the tomb, 
 
 And waiting till the boy and girl had slipped 
 
 (They were the taller by an inch of months) 
 
 As children unsuspiciously to play, 
 
 She (and few women ever take the string 
 
 That threads the labyrinth of initiative) 
 
 Came straight across to where he sat, and stood 
 
 With downcast eyes before him and began 
 
 What seemed a hearted lesson as it ran. 
 
 I, and she faltered, I — well I have thought — 
 
 And you and I, what good can come of it ? 
 
 Is it not better now and once for all 
 
 To end a new day's welcome with farewell 
 
 Than drift we know not whither ? I have thought 
 
 And I have settled it. For even now, 
 
 Gossip which scents at village secrecies 
 
 And in a few brief hours disperses them 
 
 To be a common talk, already has. 
 
 And you but one short night within the place. 
 
 Bandied with random and suggestive words 
 
 Our either names together ; for last year 
 
 Did not slip all unnoted. This may be 
 
 Nothing for you — but let that go — and think —
 
 200 
 
 Our ways in life run at such difference, 
 
 Yours on those higher hills which you can climb 
 
 Till each new eminence surmounted brings 
 
 You nearer to your summit — mine to walk 
 
 Still in the lowlands of humility. 
 
 Position, education, intercourse, 
 
 Gives you a station clear above my own — 
 
 Nay do not stop me — and society 
 
 From tip to base is as the pyramids 
 
 Whose stones albeit that they seem the same, 
 
 As woman is to woman, man to man, 
 
 Yet hold their right and several altitudes. 
 
 What made the builder pick them for their place 
 
 One cannot say, they hold it none the less. 
 
 Each at its proper level from the which 
 
 To stir or move is wholly dangerous. 
 
 But drop all simile and pinch to facts, 
 
 No good can grow of it ; and therefore now 
 
 I came to say good morrow with good-bye. 
 
 You as a man can catch no injury 
 
 From what your very lightest mood dictates, 
 
 And being so your reputation 
 
 Is as some hard perennial that withstands 
 
 The keenest frosts of winter ; but a girl 
 
 Is as a tender summer blooming flower 
 
 Whose perilled sap is as her character 
 
 The which one little vagrant frost will nip 
 
 And blacken out of life. Therefore I came 
 
 Only to say I could not come again. 
 
 Think it well over, you will see me right — 
 
 There is my mother too — Believe me if 
 
 This, my determination, gives you pain
 
 201 
 
 'Tis harder on myself. Hold as you will, 
 Saved deeds than mended ones are better still. 
 
 On this she called the children to her side, 
 
 The dog without a notice following. 
 
 And never having lifted once her eyes 
 
 Lest in his own they should have found new light 
 
 Walked slowly through the wicket gate away. 
 
 And he — Rare men can face the shifts of chance 
 
 With every move pre-planned ; can, come what may, 
 
 Meet all things with a set alternative : 
 
 Argue, if this runs so, then so I act ; 
 
 And if in counter, this is then my line : 
 
 And so no loop uncalculated lets 
 
 The smallest fish slip through a broken mesh. 
 
 This is right wisdom, when it can be done, 
 
 To plan response no matter how the die 
 
 May hazard in its fall — but most of us, 
 
 Making our forecast only from desire, 
 
 Fix one wished course as certain and if this 
 
 Drops into failure all our bulk is gravelled 
 
 Like a north stranded whale ; and when the cue. 
 
 That is expected, never comes to mouth. 
 
 Stop like a half-bred actor on the stage. 
 
 Or, like a puzzled pointer missing scent, 
 
 Stay mute and helpless on impediment. 
 
 So Robert all aghast and stupefied 
 To find th' imagination of whole months 
 Which had been woven to a settled plan 
 Should like a house of cards whiff at a breath. 
 Sat motionless and speechless : watched her go
 
 202 
 
 And with new light upon him said to himself, 
 
 Fool ! fool ! and to forget that her accord 
 
 Might not meet my presumption. What was wrong ? 
 
 Was this not settled when I went away ? 
 
 Or is this but a woman's helpless trick 
 
 She plays the second time ? it was the same 
 
 Last year. Does this blank no mean only yea 
 
 To catch me keener after ? Never so, 
 
 It is God's innocence that gives her guard 
 
 And she is right ; my wrongful hopes ran vain 
 
 To end in disappointment and in pain. 
 
 With this he rose, forgetful of his books 
 
 Which stayed unopened on the seat, and strode 
 
 In the direction opposite to Nell's, 
 
 Taking the border pathway of the meads 
 
 That edged beside the river whose soft flow — 
 
 For movement has a solace of its own 
 
 When the maimed heart is numb, — comforted him. 
 
 There through the remnant morn with downcast head 
 
 And folded hands behind his back he walked 
 
 Sickened with baffled hope and broken aim 
 
 And in absorbing reverie — The past 
 
 Still holds (he thought) the greatest sweets of life, 
 
 What pleasures we have had cannot be marred 
 
 Nor rifted from us, but in recollection 
 
 Grow greater as they fade the farther off : 
 
 So is't old men in snowy dotages 
 
 Most prate their happy school days (letting slip 
 
 The more momentous actions of their lives) 
 
 With one foot in the grave and their best hand 
 
 Knocking the door of heaven. Present joys
 
 203 
 
 May in their consummation turn to gall. 
 
 And whilst they run before some easy wind 
 
 Are often squalled and toppled : those are wrong 
 
 Who hold anticipation pleases most, 
 
 For distant rosy tinted hills when reached 
 
 Prove often only arid stone. How few 
 
 Can see those cherished and ambitious aims 
 
 Crowned with success which they had planned in youth 
 
 And struggled at in lifetime. Therefore I, 
 
 Who built me up an edifice of joy 
 
 Upon a flimsy and quicksanded base 
 
 Am steeled to see it fall. To-morrow — nay 
 
 A few days hence at most, I will go back 
 
 To books and chambers, I will take with me 
 
 As salvage from this shipwreck of my hopes 
 
 A hallowed memory, a face, a form. 
 
 That I have loved, the mind of those soft lips 
 
 Whose impressed touch more eloquent than words 
 
 (And which like words may also frame but lies) 
 
 Took me in bond for ever. Gone ! yes, gone ! 
 
 She who I thought loved me as I loved her. 
 
 Is this humanity or only fraud ? 
 
 Does she but play a part or is she led 
 
 By nature's deeper instincts ? what the odds 
 
 One way or other it all ends the same : 
 
 I played with folly and have lost the game. 
 
 But, musing thus, he made his way to home. 
 Toyed with his lunch, took books and tried to read, 
 Threw them aside, and failing everything 
 At last (as some old Indian in the heat 
 And uselessness of any scorched-out day
 
 204 
 
 Will in bioLid daylight kill his time with rest) 
 
 So he disconsolate, went to his room 
 
 And, as he was, flung him upon his bed 
 
 And simply went to sleep — sweet sleep that still 
 
 Can smother sorrow when nought other will. 
 
 So the day waned, seven had struck and still 
 Robert slept on — his dinner ready for him ; 
 But when the quarter chimed, his ancient dame 
 Who with the tactful cognizance of women 
 Had seen already something worried him, 
 Went to his door and listened, heard his breath 
 Heavy in sleep, twisted the handle round 
 Most gently, opened out some inch of space. 
 And seeing him full clothed upon his bed 
 As gently closed the door again and knocked. 
 But he upstarting shouted out " Come in," 
 Whereat she opened for the second time 
 And with a fund of quick apologies 
 Said dinner waited : she could hold it back 
 Another quarter if his time was lack. 
 
 Dinner was done and cleared, but he sat on 
 Thinking the morning through in bitterness, 
 Till when the darkness fell, his lamp unlit 
 He turned into the garden to puff through 
 The remnant of his pipe and leant his arms 
 Upon the top and spiking of the gate, 
 Droning the hum of some sad minor air 
 And watching the tobacco glow to red 
 With every whiff against the black of night. 
 But even as he rested there, the click
 
 205 
 
 Struck on his ears of lifted latch, the step 
 
 Of some one coming towards him and a hand 
 
 Laid feeling on his shoulder, whilst Nell's voice 
 
 Whispered, Come out, I want to speak to you. 
 
 Then in a moment he was in the road 
 
 And they were up the avenue beyond 
 
 The ordinary roadster's listening. 
 
 Then Nell, who placed her hand on his and edged 
 
 Closer against him, at a moment's pause 
 
 Spoke — I was certain I should find you here. 
 
 Without the smouldering label of your pipe. 
 
 All that I said this morning wounded you, 
 
 Yet it was outcome of a winter's thought ; 
 
 For since last autumn when you left I felt 
 
 That with the spring you would come back again. 
 
 And in this foresight morrowed out my words 
 
 And acts as it should seem they ought to be. 
 
 One single day has made of no effect 
 
 The schooling of a hundred, right or wrong ; 
 
 For now as one who dabbles with the waves 
 
 Flicking them with her foot, till daring more 
 
 She ventures ankle, knee, and waist to depth, 
 
 And as the pleasant waters touch her chin 
 
 She on a sudden finds the buoyancy 
 
 That teaches her to swim, so even I 
 
 Venture in hoped-for safety from my depth. 
 
 I may do foolishly, and had it been 
 
 Anyone else beside you in the world 
 
 I should have stayed resolved. But you, you are 
 
 So kind, so gently unhke other men 
 
 (If I can hazard at their likelihood) 
 
 That to pain you is doubly pain to me ;
 
 206 
 
 Whilst you are here let us meet as you will 
 So that I keep my reputation still. 
 
 Then Robert caught her hand in his and pressed 
 Its back against his cheek. Ah, what a day 
 (He said) I have passed through of misery; 
 Why did we wait till night to settle up 
 What could have come to easy reckoning 
 Before the morning's turn ? Well, it is done. 
 As to yourself fair caution circumvents 
 The gaping curiosity of fools, 
 For there is nothing that one man designs, 
 Either in thought or substance, but a man 
 Can by his further thinking overdo 
 And stultify. Th' inquisitive pry of fools 
 Who have this yokel appetite for what 
 Concerns their neighbours only, can be mazed 
 By indirection or concealment : we 
 Can easy hood a boor's simplicity. 
 
 So closed in peace this struggle of two minds 
 
 Either unskilled and uninitiate ; 
 
 The man with quick aggression rushing in 
 
 Where woman's instinct-tutored flight had left 
 
 Nothing but blank and desolate defeat ; 
 
 Till she in pity that her victory 
 
 Should cause him anguish came again to bow 
 
 Of her free will beneath the yoke and pass 
 
 From victor into vanquished. Women be 
 
 Cold steel in hate, warm wax in sympathy.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 How Robert returns to town for the mid-week and tells Alfred 
 how beautiful the country is ; together with Alfred's com- 
 ments. 
 
 ROBERT had let the time to Tuesda}' slip, 
 Each evening caught for guarded interviews 
 And then went up to town. That very night 
 Alfred made jaunting entry to his rooms 
 With face half mocking, half inquisitive. 
 And after salutations changed, thrust home 
 Light questions on the country. Tell me how 
 Arcadia looks : the maiden, is she true ? 
 Or has the winter chilled her preference, 
 Which nipped to ground, has with the warming spring 
 Shot up again to twine some other prop 
 Than your good self? Say, surely you have found 
 Your place upfilled by some bucolic lad 
 With brawny shoulder and a tan-red face 
 And all his brains so crammed with beasts and crops 
 That nothing else can find an issuing ; 
 Who treats his lady-love like a bull pup 
 In clumsy play, but whose oppugnant strength 
 Like that o' the proven master of a herd
 
 208 
 
 Wares rival admiration. Tell mc all. 
 
 All (answered Robert) all is easy said, 
 
 And I as easily mip;ht let unleashed 
 
 A scampering run of words — but what are words ? 
 
 They are as pigments on an artist's palette 
 
 Ready enough to hand but valueless 
 
 Till canvassed in conjunction and displayed 
 
 With that fine skill which makes the opponent eye 
 
 Convict to second sense. I have no power 
 
 To conjure to the caverns of your ears 
 
 And make of them the feeble substitutes 
 
 For what the eye should look. Some things there are 
 
 To be appreciated must be seen, 
 
 And failing this slip in the go-between. 
 
 So you at second hand can scarcely know 
 
 How very beautiful tlic country was; 
 
 The faint pink blossoms on the apple trees 
 
 Blew in such rich profusion as to hide 
 
 What gnarled and twisted branches mothered them, 
 
 And every little wanton puff of wind 
 
 Fluttered a thousand petals to the ground 
 
 To dust the grass beneath ; by common roads 
 
 The lilacs reared their bunched and lordly blooms, 
 
 And gold laburnums flung their pendent sprays — 
 
 Sweet nature's coined and current wealth dispensed 
 
 Beyond exuberant generosity — 
 
 The chestnuts' giant spikes were opening out 
 
 To blanched display against the solemn groimd 
 
 Of their deep steadfast leaves, and hawthorns threw 
 
 Even some little pinking white to peep 
 
 The way for after masses ; and as if
 
 2og 
 
 To meet the inevitable fade of May, 
 Roses the promise of oncoming June 
 Were full with heavy bud. All has its way, 
 And ending night but leads to opening day. 
 
 But life, the past few days, has simply been 
 
 An idyll. Look at these four stuffed-in walls, 
 
 And think how different in ampler air, 
 
 The canopy for ceiling, the great trees 
 
 As circuits to the eye, the meads and flood 
 
 As a capacious floor and furniture : 
 
 Take in all this and then come back again 
 
 To hot hands clasped about a fevered head 
 
 At palm for wisdom, and put by the side 
 
 The cushioned comfort of a cradling boat 
 
 Rocked by the ripples to such peace and calm 
 
 That the soothed mind can effortless absorb 
 
 Whole tomes of lettered learning and can look 
 
 From book to nature, nature back to book. 
 
 And which is best, when one would ruminate 
 
 On caught ideas? To pace these cramped-up rooms 
 
 Or to roam free within the shady woods 
 
 Where bluebells make an azure carpeting, 
 
 Or to lie stretched amidst the long-grown grass 
 
 Watching the breezes with low level eye 
 
 As they wave through the tops and shake the heads 
 
 Of high moon-daisies and great buttercups. 
 
 And note the myriad dandelion balls 
 
 Break with the wind to seed, whose fluff floats off 
 
 Like man to destiny. The song of birds, 
 
 The cuckoo's call, the rustling silken stir 
 
 Of leaves innumerable, the waters' swirl, 
 
 14
 
 2IO 
 
 The drone of insects and the swallows' flash — 
 
 All these can lull one half the brain to leave 
 
 The remnant half more keen and capable. 
 
 For look you, most things rope men down to place, 
 
 Business is bonded, but there are pursuits 
 
 That can be followed anywhere ; the poet 
 
 Laughs at locality, the writer pens 
 
 His brained conceptions where he will, and so 
 
 The reader where he will can gather in 
 
 What has been written, which can be impressed 
 
 Where one may will and where one likes the best. 
 
 Therefore my days afield, my nights unjarred 
 
 By London's sullen roar and noisome cries ; 
 
 And in their place sweet silence marked and foiled 
 
 By the melodious song of nightingales, 
 
 Or fretted lightly by the brooding rooks 
 
 Who in their caresome watch chafe at the moon 
 
 And chide the winds that rough their nurseries — 
 
 And oh, the maiden as you call her, she 
 
 Looked just as fair as any girl could be, 
 
 Quite so, laughed Alfred, he who loves the bird 
 
 Knows how to paint the nest, unconsciously 
 
 You speak me lines between the which I read 
 
 Your welcome and reception ; you've picked up 
 
 The broken thread of last year's pleasantness, 
 
 And clue in hand have started to rewind 
 
 This amorous and sinuate labyrinth 
 
 Which leads to heaven knows where. Had it by chance 
 
 Been otherwise the country had been black, 
 
 Unpleasant, lonely, overrated, dull.
 
 211 
 
 And all the category of gloominess 
 Had served to blur it out. Why not be frank 
 And why not show what you so poorly hide ? 
 Give me a true account, there is no harm 
 In owning she gives all the place its charm. 
 
 So cornered, Robert started to detail 
 
 Whilst Alfred threw his constant comments in, 
 
 How womanlike it was to first cry off, 
 
 And almost at the instant on again. 
 
 Till when they parted both were pleased, the one 
 
 At having put his confidence to loan. 
 
 The other at amusement of his own.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 How Nell, whilst Robert is in town, plans to get freedom by 
 making a companion of Florence {Carrie's sister), and 
 how Nell's mother, noting her daughter's greater bright- 
 ness, encourages this ; and further how Nell thereby 
 manages to pass long evenings with Robert. 
 
 THROUGHOUT the week Nell cast about to find 
 Some reasonable stretch of later hours 
 Without the quick attachment of suspicion 
 Lighting upon her ; and, as often chance 
 Seems favour to our deeds or good or ill, 
 Her mind caught Carrie's sister. Yuletide past 
 Upon the limit of her seventeenth year 
 She had left school for good ; Florence her name, 
 Her nature lively as the mounting larks 
 That flutter carolling against the sun. 
 And she, as was the wont with farmers' girls 
 Came home to share the labours of the house 
 And bide till haply she might wed and be 
 A housewife to her like. Her Nell marked out 
 Part schemingly and part ingenuously 
 To be the go-between and stalking-horse 
 To her excuse. Now Carrie's father held
 
 213 
 
 A farm a short two miles away and set 
 
 'Midst meads, some sloping to the river's edge 
 
 And others mounting to the hill behind, 
 
 Which last the highway skirted up inland ; 
 
 But from the village to the farm direct 
 
 A by-path ran through woods (whose coverts held 
 
 The squire's best game), an unfrequented path 
 
 Used by the labourers to and from their work 
 
 And by the keepers of the wood and by 
 
 Stray tramps and strangers ; such a path indeed 
 
 As lovers chose, branched in and overshot 
 
 With deep thick verdure. All this circumstance 
 
 Flashed through Nell's mind at night, and the next morn 
 
 She tripped light-led by fond imaginings 
 
 To visit Florence, and as Carrie's friend 
 
 Quickened a half-born friendship to full life 
 
 Till she became the sister's. So these two 
 
 Within one week grew all in all to each 
 
 And quite inseparable. And from this Nell 
 
 Under the plea that she was at the farm 
 
 Could linger out till twilight dropped to night, 
 
 And urge the outdrawing days as reasoning 
 
 For her unwonted stay. Yet no pretence, 
 
 Excuse nor pleading were necessitate, 
 
 For all the dreary months of winter through 
 
 Nell had lacked life and spirit, and would fall 
 
 Day-dreaming or would start from reverie 
 
 Hot flushed at the most usual incidents, 
 
 Until her mother with observant eye, 
 
 In watch and gauge more subtly sensitive 
 
 Than the glassed column on the tenuate air. 
 
 Had noted this decline and fearfully
 
 214 
 
 Watched what she thought ill-health ; but now it seemed 
 Spring with some healing and beneficent power 
 Had played the doctor, and with medicine 
 Beyond prescription's pen restored once more 
 Her treasured girl to health she had before. 
 
 So when she saw how Nell and Florence ran 
 Companioned all day long, how light of heart 
 They were together, how the sicklied thought 
 That had sat tell-tale on her daughter's face, 
 Like sad reflections on some silent pool, 
 Was as the clouds in April lightly 'spersed 
 To leave her glad and sunny, she herself 
 Joyed with a mother's all unselfish joy 
 Which yet was tempered by the melancholy 
 Of other thoughts impressed. For to herself — 
 I grow (she thought) towards declining age. 
 And as mj' body so my mind grows dull, 
 Too stiff and set to be in hold and touch 
 With girlhood's rich exuberant pliancy. 
 The flowers that blaze with bloom show ill against 
 Those that are spent and browning to decay 
 And therefore it is meet my Nell should be 
 More neighboured to her like though less to me. 
 
 And thus it was if Nell proposed excuse 
 
 For too much time outspent away from home, 
 
 'Twas met with help and not with questioning ; 
 
 And further thus it was when Robert came 
 
 At the week's end, Nell told him with light glee 
 
 How simply things had fallen, and the ease 
 
 With which unwatched, unnoted, and unseen
 
 215 
 
 They now could meet together. You will take 
 Your boat, and if you like a book or rod 
 To while away the weary waiting time, 
 And when the sun begins to near the hills. 
 Be where the river meadows of the farm 
 Edge on the woods, along the footpath you 
 Can meet me coming and can land and walk 
 Beneath the friendly cover of the trees 
 Up to the very village bounds — and then 
 Your duty done, you can walk back again. 
 
 And with this picturing of gallantr}' 
 
 Dancing attendance on herself, as well 
 
 As at the tickling of simplicity, 
 
 She rang with merry laughter. So the plan 
 
 Passed from idea to practice and each night 
 
 They took sequestered rambles through the wood, 
 
 And if the tread of distant steps approached 
 
 Withdrew within the hiding of some tree 
 
 And so escaped observance. Walks like this 
 
 From their concealment have the greater bliss.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 How Nell manages also to pass the mornings with Robert, and 
 how he is introduced to the father of Florence, who is a 
 farmer close by, and how Robert is so frequently at the farm 
 that he is taken in the village for an old friend of the 
 farmer's. 
 
 ATTAINMENT in beginnings sharply prompts 
 Ambition's rising sense. The fledgling makes 
 With half-formed wings its strained accomplishment 
 . Of first intents, and rises with quick heart 
 To the dominion of the atmosphere. 
 The apprentice lucky in his earliest start 
 Sees on the spur high honoured mastership 
 As goal of his endeavours, and plans out 
 What steps shall bring him nearer — thus success 
 But whets the spur to greater happiness. 
 
 Hence Nell who found her evening interviews 
 So simply 'ranged, began to cast about 
 With hunting aim that day might be impressed 
 To the same service that the night had given, 
 And that which in the screen of sunlessness 
 Seemed only possible should now be done
 
 217 
 
 In broad and open daylight, and yet be 
 As safe as what was done in secrecy. 
 
 And since, like any woman, all her thoughts 
 Bubbled impulsive to take tongue and fall 
 Into the light-loaned ear of confidence. 
 She flew to Florence at the farm, and with 
 The ways of one who tells a perfect tale 
 Down to the merest detail all and all. 
 Told her just what was aptly pertinent 
 To model inclination to intent. 
 
 There is, (she said) but lately come to lodge 
 
 Right opposite our cottage one who is 
 
 A very nice and pleasant sort of man, 
 
 Whose time is split with reading and the rod 
 
 Out on the river. Curiously too 
 
 He was down here when Carrie came last year, 
 
 And with him also was a friend (how small 
 
 The world would seem) whom Carrie knew in town; 
 
 These two grew to a full acquaintanceship 
 
 With Carrie and myself, and once or twice 
 
 We casually met and took some walks 
 
 Along the downs or through the woods ; and since 
 
 Carrie and I were never separate 
 
 There was no harm and much enjoyment in't ; 
 
 And now this year that he is come again. 
 
 He spoke on meeting and recalled those walks, 
 
 In proposition to renew them, but 
 
 As Carrie was not with me it was clear 
 
 That acquiescence had been folly. Yet 
 
 It seemed to me if you and I were one,
 
 2l8 
 
 It might not be iininerry sport to lure 
 
 This vagrant gentleman into the woods 
 
 And get our laughter from him. There would be 
 
 But little chance of being seen and more, 
 
 E'en if we were, we two are free from aught 
 
 That to one single girl is scandal-fraught. 
 
 Thus currently and jestingly she put 
 With many a pictured pro and con the tale, 
 In which suggestiveness, like that sweet trap 
 Which boys set sugared on a branch to catch 
 The soft night-haunting moth, was honeyed so 
 That Florence let her fluttering fancy light 
 To be fast held and stuck. And hence it fell 
 That Robert would the mornings pull his boat 
 Up to the woods, and where some bordering tree 
 Drooped to make covered shelter, push and moor 
 And meet the girls that they might while away 
 In youth's light nothings the dull hours of day. 
 
 But more, (and chance, like the propitious wind 
 
 Which wafts the home-bound barque, still seemed to set 
 
 Benevolent to their ends) the farmer came 
 
 One morn at hazard by the woodland path, 
 
 And heard his daughter's voice ringing with Nell's, 
 
 On which inquisitive he turned aside 
 
 And found them, as they sat upon the bank 
 
 Opposite Robert lounging in his boat, 
 
 Deep in stray converse upon odds and ends, 
 
 And bent but on themselves. Abruptly he 
 
 Broke as a hawk upon a poultry yard 
 
 And froze the warmth of all their merriment
 
 219 
 
 Into an icy still. But Nell, whose eye 
 
 Caught with an instant and perceptive glance 
 
 The situation, brought with ready tact 
 
 An introduction as a remedy 
 
 To general surprise. This gentleman. 
 
 Neighbour (she said) to mother and myself. 
 
 Stayed at our village last year's summer end 
 
 And grew so bit and held by preference 
 
 That he has with the swallows come again 
 
 And hopes to overlast them. Books, you see, 
 
 (And here she pointed down into the boat. 
 
 Where gravely bound in keeping with intents, 
 
 If by externals judged as women be. 
 
 Some sombre volumes lay) have brought him here — 
 
 Books that both prompt and solace solitude. 
 
 Then on the pause for further flow of words 
 
 The farmer fell to the opportunity 
 
 And with a true though wary courtesy 
 
 Gave the good morn to Robert, who in turn 
 
 Made easy salutation, and the two 
 
 Dropped into converse, which the farmer led. 
 
 As one who speaks authoritatively, 
 
 Up to the countryside, the beasts, the land, 
 
 The prospect of the crops, the rising grass 
 
 Which should in three weeks' time be fair to make ; 
 
 But he eyed Robert whilst he spoke as one 
 
 Who in the market takes his stock of beasts 
 
 In balance if to purchase, and in fine, 
 
 His judgment being favourably formed, 
 
 He turned his talk more intimately home. 
 
 'Twas strange, (he said) that men, though London-bred, 
 
 Would sometimes break away and coop themselves
 
 220 
 
 Up in the country ; girls were otherwise, 
 They loved by hook or crook to get to town, 
 As instance his own girl ; London once seen 
 Bred such a longing in her that, although 
 A lass of parts and just the one to make 
 A sterling wife to any neighbouring lad, 
 She tipped her nose at all was countrified ; 
 And nothing in the world would suit her ends 
 But she must get to some establishment 
 (What we call simply shops about these parts) 
 As milliner in town ; when she came here. 
 As sometimes was her wont, eternally 
 Her clack was all of the metropolis 
 Till he was sick of it ; still there was this, 
 Who thinks him curst is very often blest, 
 And all things in the main run for the best. 
 
 On which delivery, with nothing left 
 
 Provident for a stranger, he took leave ; 
 
 Yet ere he went his native impulses 
 
 Rising to that old hospitality 
 
 Which still is English, prompted him to bid 
 
 Robert as guest to see his farm and home. 
 
 And spend what leisure time he had therein ; 
 
 With which bluff given invitation 
 
 He turned and tramped away, though not quite void 
 
 Some afterthought that he had overtopped 
 
 The high-tide mark of prudence; still the lad 
 
 Knew Nell and knew Nell's mother (as he took it) 
 
 And this alone was good enough for him. 
 
 For they were proper folk : so men will take 
 
 That pass for Gospel other people make.
 
 221 
 
 That night when Robert met her, Nell's light heart 
 Which saw life's outcome as a comedy 
 (And we all look through tinted spectacles 
 Rosy or green as nature gives us grace) 
 Laughed at the facile sliding of events, 
 And with a sweet but firm insistence fixed 
 That Robert should companioned by herself, 
 And taking the good farmer at his word. 
 Spend next day at the farm. For see, (she said) 
 How the ground clears, and every obstacle 
 Melts as great clouds before a solvent air 
 To vanish. Once be known these people's friends, 
 You put a muzzle on the neighbourhood 
 And burke the breathing of malevolence ; 
 For so it is that scandal always dies 
 Wherever explanation lyes or lies. 
 
 So to the farm they went, where Robert won 
 
 An easy friendly footing in the house ; 
 
 And the good farmer grew to welcome him 
 
 As one who with a gritty freshness rubs 
 
 The rust from off his thoughts. But what was more 
 
 This lucky anchorage outweathered him 
 
 From wrecking inquisition. Villagers 
 
 (Breach to Arcadian simplicity) 
 
 Loafing around their cottage doors con out. 
 
 With tittle-tattle over odds and ends, 
 
 Some history that holds to every one 
 
 As note and label. Hence it came to be 
 
 Robert was most profoundly ticketed 
 
 Friend to these people at the farm and thus 
 
 Quenched further mouthing. It is always so ;
 
 222 
 
 Give but the inquisitive world some settled thing 
 No odds how trashed to munch and ruminate, 
 And like the fretful baby with its ring 
 It lulls to sleep content. But let one be 
 Indifferent, mysterious, isolate, 
 Then the chafed Cerberus unsopped grunts out 
 False tales, which like the spider's web renew 
 As fast as swept away ; so that a man 
 Bearing an obvious hall-mark of alloy 
 And being branded with one infamy 
 Passes as sterling ; whilst the immaculate 
 And virgin metal having no such press 
 Is often damned with utter worthlessness : 
 The saint, on baseless nothings, is belied. 
 The sinner, casting dust, beatified.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 How May passes into Jime, and haytinic conies ; and how 
 Robert helps in the haymaking, and on the first day thinks 
 Nell would make him a sweet wife, and how the two stay 
 to supper at the farm, after which he rows her back home 
 by river — together with their conversation. 
 
 STRANGE that along the Thames in summer-time 
 The vagrant pleasure-seekers come and go 
 To make a holiday that never hits 
 The lightest knowledge of the countryside ! 
 For London, like a lady of the court 
 In dainty silks and fashioned furbelows, 
 Takes her contemptuous outing and ignores 
 The simple yokel, or at very best 
 Poises a pince-nez on her upturned nose 
 And shams the trick of seeing. Yet there are 
 Customs, traditions, followings, pursuits, 
 The drive of plough, the sowing of the seed, 
 The breeding and the pasturing of beasts, 
 The reap of harvest and the make of hay, 
 Which have been since the Saxons and which staunch 
 The spine-bone of the country. All of these 
 The townsman misses ; yet because he sweats
 
 224 
 
 In stuffy offices, trades on the mart, 
 Bargains on 'change or traffics with the world, 
 Decks out his wife in stuffs and diamonds 
 He thinks he sole makes England ; 'tis not so ; 
 What rears a country's glory or disgrace 
 Rests on the rustic bottom of its race. 
 
 Now May had passed and left the way to June ; 
 
 And all the trees grew crowding thick with leaf, 
 
 In every tint from tender emerald 
 
 Down to the sombreness of aging leaves, 
 
 Whilst in the woods herbage and undergrowth 
 
 Smothered away all remnant vestiges 
 
 Of last year's brown beneath. The chestnuts bloomed 
 
 And faded, whilst the hawthorn hid its leaves 
 
 To shape in mass of snowy blossoms whence 
 
 The passing breeze stole fragrance. Peonies 
 
 Came out as heralds of those cherished flowers 
 
 That bring their serviced treasures to the beds 
 
 And deck our homes until the biting frosts 
 
 Black them to end. The common briars broke, 
 
 Whilst the high-lineaged sisters of their race 
 
 Under rich nurture proudly blazoned out 
 
 The heraldry of aristocracy 
 
 In right and proper colouring, and dispensed 
 
 Their gracious scent upon the patroned air. 
 
 Down by the stream the yellow irises 
 
 Flaunted their golden flags, the comfreys hung 
 
 Their graceful pendants out, the lilies threw 
 
 Up-feeling stalks to catch the go-between 
 
 Of the opponent elements and be 
 
 'Twixt air and water just insinuate,
 
 225 
 
 Like perfect politicians triml}- faced 
 
 One aspect this way, one the other placed. 
 
 And myriads of may-flies burst the husk 
 Of early servitude to flutter forth 
 In mazy oscillations on the air, 
 There to be prey of bird or fish or else 
 Dead with the setting sun ; apt instances 
 Of spendthrift heirs to economic sires, 
 Who flit awhirl in pleasures' atmosphere, 
 And if they miss the welsher or avoid 
 The spider woman with her subtle webs 
 Still end by quick expense, and Timon-wise 
 Find wealth and favour have the same demise. 
 
 The birds as yet seemed still as musical, 
 Albeit the nightingale had ceased to throb, 
 And the blithe lark no longer soared to heaven 
 But with more humble and solicitous flight 
 Hovered about its fledglings. The quaint notes 
 Of cuckoos died, but quainter in their place 
 Grated the strident corncrakes' rasping call 
 As some rough broken jest on harmony. 
 Which to tell truth was sadder than in May ; 
 For springtide courtship rang with merrier tune 
 Than did the wed experience of June. 
 
 But now the meadows quickened by the sun 
 And timely fed by soft and generous rains, 
 Grew to such height and bottom as to be 
 Ready in rich ripe fulness for the scythe. 
 And Florence, when the mowing morn was fixed 
 
 15
 
 226 
 
 Had said to Robert — Come yon up with Nell 
 And aid us win this p;rassy wealth whereon 
 We hang; in part for living : every hand 
 That can stir rake and fork must be impressed 
 For a fair seasoning this year has brought 
 The grass all round to such ripe evenness 
 That labour being oversought is scant, 
 And every one about the place must be 
 Recruited as there's opportunity. 
 
 So on the morning set the two had gone, 
 Nell by the woods and Robert by the stream, 
 To get the meads betimes. The farmer there 
 Mastered amongst his men ; but when he spied 
 Robert and the two girls he called to him, 
 Young sir, I take it 'tis for exercise 
 Of thew and sinew that the countryside 
 Is debted for your presence ; we are here 
 Too closely handed, so be neighbourly 
 And do some share of work. The weather looks 
 Fair set for suns in an unclouded blue 
 But promise often fails — you know the line 
 Make quick your hay whilst yet the sun's ashine. 
 
 Agreed (said Robert) I will do my best 
 Under these maidens' happy tutoring, 
 While you as master must like all men else 
 Catching the present scan at opposites. 
 The glass is high, the sky is cloudless, yet 
 You stand in constant fear of coming wet ; 
 Whilst if it poured and skies were overcast 
 Hope still would whisper this can never last.
 
 227 , 
 
 Thus is misfortune tempered from despair 
 
 Whilst fear creeps as some poisonous snake to threat 
 
 Our vcr}- fullest joys : well, now to work. 
 
 Then down along the meads they went and here 
 
 Since first the sombre curtains of the night 
 
 Had from the east's far verge been lifted up 
 
 To window in the dawn, exuberant 
 
 With the fresh vigour new-set tasks provoke, 
 
 The sturdy mowers had sped, and as the sun 
 
 Stole towards its zenith of high making power, 
 
 They with their strong arms bare, loose vests, tight belts, 
 
 And brows deep-screened against the fervid blaze, 
 
 Stride after stride in echelon swept on, 
 
 Circling their balanced scythes with long dull swish 
 
 To bring the blade to ground. Now and again 
 
 (Since strength has tides, and restless labour slips 
 
 Its better force by being overstrained) 
 
 They paused, the clank of stone upon the steel 
 
 Or laughter at some incidental jest 
 
 Filling the gap, till with habitual train 
 
 They swung their rested scythes to work again. 
 
 But in the suite of these staunch labourers came 
 
 The lighter husbandry of fork and rake. 
 
 Which Robert and the girls took share in, he , 
 
 Catching at once the simple mysteries 
 
 Of toss and shake and spread to sun and wind 
 
 So that the wooing elements might turn 
 
 The blade to best fruition. Thus the morn 
 
 Sped till noon's ample twelve had belfried out 
 
 The midday cess from work, and all dispersed 
 
 In knots along the shady-sided hedge
 
 228 
 
 To take their rest and food. Then the three drew 
 
 Apart to where a great and covert oak 
 
 Cast its umbrageous circle, within which 
 
 (Their basket of provisions duly spread) 
 
 They fell to picnic. But as Robert gazed 
 
 Away across the still and restful held 
 
 Changed from activity to indolence, 
 
 And whence the first faint fragrance of new hay 
 
 Rose as a scented promise, all his thoughts 
 
 Ran into contemplation — The same thing 
 
 Done the same way in separate circumstance 
 
 Labels as right or wrong. See here the grass 
 
 Levelled in even patches by the scythe ; 
 
 If but this fiery sun gives countenance 
 
 Its harvest turns to gold — but were the rain. 
 
 Falling in drowsy and malignant spite 
 
 To sop at labour, then damp musty rot 
 
 Would blacken it to nought. So is it we 
 
 May have from deeds and acts identical 
 
 Constructions gathered wholly different. 
 
 The selfsame thing pursued the selfsame way 
 
 May prove the pass of snowy purity 
 
 Or be a black abominable crime. 
 
 One kills — a hero or a murderer : 
 
 One loves — a husband or deep infamous 
 
 Seducer: one becomes possessed of wealth, 
 
 Only the transference of other's good, 
 
 And is a clever trader or a thief: 
 
 A sermon that is here rank heresy 
 
 There passes as divine : politicals 
 
 Propounded in the selfsame form of words 
 
 Mark one a traitor or a patriot.
 
 229 
 
 So right and wrong are merely relative, 
 What now is right was awful yesterday 
 What yesterday was wrong is right to-day. 
 This is the satire of the new-mown hay. 
 
 Then as he turned and eyed Nell's face, its tints 
 
 Heightened with healthy exercise and lit 
 
 With girlish mirth, he thought — Are not these fields 
 
 A providential index in my life ? 
 
 It is most natural a man should wed : 
 
 Which best ? the helpmate who can at the pinch 
 
 Take up her share of labour and the while 
 
 Be happy with her consort, who can give 
 
 By own experience guidance to her home 
 
 As English matrons did in olden time, 
 
 The household keys in badge of mistress-ship 
 
 Slung at her girdle's loop ; or that new thing 
 
 Which modern made society propounds 
 
 As girlhood's ripe fulfilment, which is trained 
 
 To artificial points as horse or hound 
 
 Pot-hunting after stakes, and but to be 
 
 A show upon parade. A man had best 
 
 Put his affection upon real worth. 
 
 And seek in woman woman's holy use. 
 
 For as to manners, breeding, etiquette. 
 
 What are they but a curious veneer 
 
 Of tutored ways ? True breeding must depend 
 
 On natural grace not artificial airs ; 
 
 On truth, not on its spurious counterfeit 
 
 Which in the footlights of inspection flaunts 
 
 In gilded garb, but in reality 
 
 Lives slummed in ragged rubbish. Manners too —
 
 230 
 
 A simple ploughboy can demean himself 
 In his own state as rightly as an earl ; 
 The fair thing said, the proper act depends 
 More upon certain native charity, 
 And the commandment do as should be done, 
 Than on the cues of fifty Chesterfields. 
 Manners are good, accomplishments may shine, 
 But what stands whole above all tutored part 
 Is nature's actions springing from the heart. 
 
 But even as these day-dreams floated out, 
 The move was to the field which once again 
 Resumed its past activity ; and so 
 The hours ran through till night began to fall 
 And the felled grass was into wind-rows drawn 
 And these raked up to cocks in providence 
 Against the morrow's morn. But long ere this 
 Nell mindful of the drawing in had wished 
 To take her leave and speed her home : but no, 
 The farmer cried, you stay to sup, some lad 
 Who goes back to the village can take word 
 And tell your mother I can see you back. 
 Unless (and he eyed Robert as his mind 
 Went wandering back to his own courting days) 
 Some one as trusty as myself will do it : 
 So in the fine she stayed. Supper, ye gods ! 
 (For those old rogues of Romans had a god 
 For every vice and virtue and all acts) 
 Supper in town what is it but a thing 
 Where jaded youth wipes up a scalded day, 
 But in the country 'tis an honest meal
 
 231 
 
 That brings refreshment for fair labour done 
 And closes with right end a day that's gone. 
 
 Then hands were shaken, night's last greetings passed, 
 
 The lamplight shut behind the closing door, 
 
 And Nell and Robert were alone to seek 
 
 The pathway through the meadows to the wood 
 
 That led them home. But when the gravel ceased 
 
 To crunch beneath the going of their feet 
 
 Out earshot of the house, then Robert said — 
 
 Why speed we back afoot ? my boat lies tied 
 
 Against a pollard by the river's edge ; 
 
 A night like this the waters better earth, 
 
 And it is sweeter far to breathe beneath 
 
 These high and open star-pierced heavens than closed 
 
 Under the leafy woods' oppressiveness. 
 
 And Nell, her arm to his more closely bent. 
 
 By non-dissension gave a mute consent. 
 
 So they took boat, she in the stern, whilst he 
 
 Cleared with a few strong strokes the weed-bound bank 
 
 And made mid-stream, on which he let the sculls 
 
 Lie idle in the rowlocks and resumed. 
 
 Oh, does not on a night like this the world 
 
 Seem all our own indeed ; those curtained lights 
 
 Up at the farm, appointments to repose 
 
 Die even now and leave our senses lulled 
 
 By utter absence of all touch with man, 
 
 Whose footsteps, workings, evidence and voice 
 
 Are gone as though they never had a being. 
 
 That firmamental deep where endless lights 
 
 Uplead the thoughts into Infinity,
 
 232 
 
 Those woods and hills whose outline dim asky 
 
 Seem as the mellowed brink 'twixt earth and heaven, 
 
 This river in its ceaseless flow which bears 
 
 The bright reflection of the stars (great orbs 
 
 To which the sun is puny, just as men 
 
 Who in the darkness of adversity 
 
 Bear greater marks of virtue in less light) 
 
 All these, aye, all the universe seems now 
 
 To be for us alone ; — or is it, Nell, 
 
 (And here he changed his seat to sit by her) 
 
 That we grow to each other in such kind 
 
 That all things else are valueless, and I 
 
 Holding you thus can reck for nothing else 
 
 Finding in you my all. This day has been 
 
 A promise of what still might be through life. 
 
 For side by side we laboured through the morn's 
 
 High heat until the evening's task was done. 
 
 And now amidst this scent of new-mown hay. 
 
 Whose fragrance comes as the sweet cognizance 
 
 Of time well spent, we float when night draws on 
 
 Adown these gentle courses towards the seas 
 
 Of that great ocean whither late or soon 
 
 All that has life must come. This span of day 
 
 For us might character our span of life ; 
 
 Together we might share the burdened years. 
 
 Pursue the grooves of our allotted task, 
 
 And when death came, unparted, we might be 
 
 Together still through God's eternity. 
 
 But even then from God's own house there came 
 A breach upon the silence. Time who holds 
 Scheming humanity in utter scorn
 
 233 
 
 Broke with its iron music from the tower 
 
 Of some near village church and iterantly 
 
 Chimed out the lacking quarter of eleven, 
 
 While for some moments after, hence and thence, 
 
 Borne on the breeze, the tardier reckonings 
 
 That other bells like echoes of the first 
 
 Recorded, came unwelcome to their ears. 
 
 Then Nell upgathering from her dreams, said, — Late 
 
 It was when we made start and later still 
 
 These pleasant reveries have brought us : pull 
 
 Your best to make lost minutes less : before 
 
 Scarce have I ever been so long at night, 
 
 And mother's watch will breed anxiety 
 
 About my safe return : therefore pull, pull. 
 
 So Robert rose and took the sculls and clove 
 
 The water with such strokes the speeding bow 
 
 Swirled in its keen propulsion and anon 
 
 Grated against the stony landing-place 
 
 Up by the village road : on which she rose 
 
 And passing forward would not let him land 
 
 But with a firm prohibitive interdict 
 
 Leapt at the bidding of good-night ashore : 
 
 While he through haste incapable of words 
 
 Watched her light figure fading into gloom, 
 
 And heard the hurried cadence of her steps 
 
 And rhythmic rustle of her gown become 
 
 In distance gradually inaudible ; 
 
 And last, as carols on a Christmas night, 
 
 Cleaving the frosted and inviolate air, 
 
 Are sweet from loneliness, came faintly light 
 
 Upon the winds her long and sped good-night.
 
 234 
 
 But he sat on in thought while all the day 
 Rose and rewove itself within his mind 
 In every sweet and treasured incident, 
 Up-pictured by that weird mysterious power 
 Which makes the past our plaything, re-creates 
 Bygones with vital tangibility 
 And gives dead deeds such record in our lives 
 As lasts till we be done. But when the spell 
 Worked itself out he rose, hitched the boat's head 
 Clove-tethered to a stake, and went to bed.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 How the week uf haymaking corner to an end, and how Robert 
 having determined to marry Nell, writes to Alfred to tell 
 him so. 
 
 BY what is it a woman holds a man ? 
 There is pure love which is ethereal, 
 Yet oft as virgin gold too soft to stand 
 The rough and common usage of the world 
 And meet but under cover to enshrine 
 Or frame the holy images of saints ; 
 And there is filthy lust baser than dross 
 Which in its villanous user only leads 
 To loosed debauch and low iniquity ; 
 Yet blend these two together, love and lust 
 That which is purest with what is most base 
 And melt them in due portions to alloy 
 Making each borrow of each other's kind 
 And lo, comes sterling metal which will stay 
 The test of holding to life's latest day. 
 
 Next morn they were again afield and whilst 
 He worked along the windrows next to Nell 
 She told him of her faring yesternight.
 
 236 
 
 Oh, it was strange (she said), my heart amouth 
 At the lost hours, I tipped the tremulous latch 
 And all in broken breath prepared to make 
 What best excuse might shift ; but ere I spoke 
 Mother as nothing were amiss, caught up 
 My coming words and made th' excuse herself. 
 'Twas very good and neighbourly (she said) 
 For them to see me back and send her word 
 That I should come in late. Folks at these times 
 Of haying or of harvest stretch the day 
 Beyond its ordered customary bounds ; 
 And she with not so much as one least word 
 That had the tone of blame, kissed me good-night. 
 Oh, but it makes me sad and shamed to find 
 Deceit comes all so easy, and that trust 
 Which should itself be armour against fraud 
 Becomes the treacherous weapon of offence 
 And wounds its bearer, turning in the hand 
 Like some ill-governed knife. Had mother been 
 Other than what she is, had she made use 
 Of prying simulation or suspicion, 
 Lacked confidence and credit in my acts. 
 The task had been the easier. But 'tis like 
 Red butchery of a spotless lamb which comes 
 Confiding to the call that knifes it down. 
 My word to mother is as Holy Writ, 
 And if I said 'twas so, not all the oaths 
 Of all the world thrice registered would make 
 Her hold me false. Think therefore how it cuts 
 And rasps against my duty and my love 
 To act as I am doing : guile like this 
 Smacks with the taint of Judas and his kiss.
 
 237 
 
 But Robert on this seething of ideas 
 
 Let ghde the oil of several minutes' pause 
 
 Ere that he launched his answer. Secrecy 
 
 (He said) has ever since the Genesis 
 
 Been lovers' right prerogative : — and Nell, 
 
 In every courtship ancient or to-day's 
 
 If you look back you find it is excused, 
 
 Nay more, anticipated ; subterfuge, 
 
 Deceit, concealment, call it as you will 
 
 In all things else is most detestable 
 
 But here it is forgiven and absolved. 
 
 Think you your mother when your father wooed 
 
 Proclaimed each several meeting out abroad 
 
 To satisfy her conscience ? Openness 
 
 Is most unnatural and indelicate 
 
 In these respects, when even animals 
 
 As grosser and unthinking things will pair 
 
 And nest themselves in secret : it must be 
 
 That love is born and thrives in secrecy, 
 
 And being bred beneath the tempered moon, 
 
 Would scorch before the blazing sun of noon. 
 
 Then Nell albeit she felt the holding flawed, 
 Yet since it was accordant with desire, 
 Let it spread like an unguent on her soul 
 Where as a poisoned anodyne it lulled 
 To opiate rest her scrupled pricks of pain, 
 Making the tact of conscience void and vain. 
 
 All things must by — so passed the making time ; 
 The hay was forked to stack and cart, the meads 
 Robbed of their wealth and left as emerald
 
 f 
 
 238 
 
 As in prime spring — thus men shoot from green youth 
 Into the amplitiidr of fruit and drop 
 With garnered years again to childishness, 
 And Hke the snake its tail its mouth within 
 Start as they end and end as they begin. 
 
 But when the final load was laid to top 
 
 And carts and tools were cornered up afield — i 
 
 (For tools or human or mechanic drop 
 
 When done with into cornered reckonings) — 
 
 That night was revel at the farm, the men 
 
 Filled to the full with meat and drink dispensed 
 
 With that broad liberal hand whose palm had touched 
 
 The recent and the gilded orb of luck : j 
 
 Whilst he, the farmer, now his crop was homed 
 
 Stood in the eyeing of the now and then. 
 
 Between revision and prospectiveness, 
 
 Blessed Providence that it had riched his store. 
 
 But blessing still prayed Providence for more. 
 
 But each man to his business ; that same night 
 Robert, as custom, pulled Nell to the stage, 
 But when she was for home he held her tied 
 With upstart pleas and earnest argument 
 Deterrent to her going. Now (he said) 
 This finished haytime makes a breaching end 
 To our sweet week of nights ; to-morrow brings 
 A maze of risky and uncertain shifts 
 Wherein a thousand chances mock at us 
 And bar oar meetings ; our excuse is gone. 
 True there is Florence still, and still the farm 
 To give us reason for some tiny hours,
 
 239 
 
 But all this week it has been all day long 
 
 And part the night that we have been together, 
 
 And now to drop to driblet down again 
 
 To me is agony. I love you so 
 
 That every minute I am from your side, 
 
 After sweet usage has bred constancy, 
 
 Will be a prisonment where I shall pace 
 
 As convict in his yard — what shall we do ? 
 
 Our old excuse is lost without a new. 
 
 But she in laughter said, all nature points 
 
 Conclusions wholly opposite ; new moons 
 
 Wax only when the old have waned ; new flowers 
 
 Only enrich the garden on the fall 
 
 Of those that stood before ; the old year's death 
 
 Is but a new year's birth; and so the loss 
 
 Of one expedient makes a readier mind 
 
 The mother of new others, and baulked plans 
 
 Breed phcenix-like a nest of stronger brood 
 
 Which fledge to surer flights ; all would be wrong 
 
 Did not the future overdo the past. 
 
 Each fresh idea come better than the last. 
 
 With which philosophy she freed and fled. 
 
 Then Robert went and sat within the boat 
 
 His hands upon the idle sculls, and tried 
 
 To bring his thoughts to point. How oft do men 
 
 When things in life get elbowed into straits. 
 
 Sit down to sift their plans and try to pick 
 
 The tangled line to practicable ends 
 
 And roll it clean to ball ; and yet how rare 
 
 The one who taking this and that and all
 
 240 
 
 Can cast things in right balance and weigh up 
 
 Their proper issuings. Some seem 'tis true 
 
 To have a mastery of insight, set 
 
 By positive intuition every course 
 
 That it goes clear of ground, as if a god 
 
 Handled the wheel to guide and navigate 
 
 Them straight to harboured fortune. But we most 
 
 Fumble our way along from mess to mess, 
 
 And where we seek to see are visionless. 
 
 So Robert finding nothing came of thought. 
 
 And that in lieu of purpose there uprose 
 
 Soft trains of recollections (useless things 
 
 That do to play with only) stirred the sculls 
 
 And slowly paddled up the stream again 
 
 To draw abreast those meadows where by day 
 
 The busy throng had carted home the hay. 
 
 Deserted they and tenantless, albeit 
 
 Beneath the moon's white and mysterious light 
 
 They stood cut out and clear, and in their midst 
 
 He mapped and mirrored up each incident 
 
 Of all the past week's acts, and vivified 
 
 The fields with ghostly workers who once more 
 
 Made row and cock and carted as before. 
 
 Sweet night ! soft winds went rustling through the leaves 
 And voiced the air when all sounds else were mute, 
 Save that some watch-dog with his guardian bark 
 Broke in a distant call occasional ; 
 Above the fleecy clouds outchased the moon ; 
 Below the stream, reflection to the sky,
 
 241 
 
 Gleamed li^ht amidst its grim black edge of trees 
 Whose shadowed copy followed it along 
 Till both were lost the distant dark among. 
 
 Nature reacts on man, its mantle falls 
 
 In glad or sombre colours on his mind, 
 
 Which then is dressed into respondent mood, 
 
 And as an actor in his footlight garb. 
 
 Plays out its hour of gloom or merriment. 
 
 Let but the earth, the very ground which is 
 
 His instance of stability, go quake 
 
 And he is bowed with awe — the thunderbolt 
 
 With which high heaven makes battle upon earth. 
 
 The western rush and roar of ocean winds, 
 
 The blaze of comets, strange eclipses, all 
 
 Fill him with perturbation and amaze : 
 
 And though wise Science gives him reckoning 
 
 Of why things be, yet his unready limbs 
 
 Shiver in unhelped tremor. But let day 
 
 Come with the herald lark to blithely bring 
 
 Blue skies, soft airs, bright suns and genial warmth. 
 
 Making the children sing, men's faces glad. 
 
 And women pregnant of light gaiety, 
 
 Then will he draw his breath to force and cr}- 
 
 With quick vitality in every pore 
 
 Ah, life is pleasant — is worth living for. 
 
 So like the changeable chameleon 
 
 Which suits its colour to all circumstance 
 
 We most become infect and subjugate 
 
 To inner moods as outer things dictate. 
 
 Thus over Robert the soft lonesome rest 
 
 Of that sweet summer's night swept as a mist, 
 
 i6
 
 242 
 
 Wliich slowly mounts in autumn up to mcrpjc 
 Reeds, river, rushes, meads, woods, everj'thing, 
 Lulling his mind to such a gentle calm, 
 That thought on thought, intent upon intent 
 Rose with serene distinctness up thenccfrom, 
 And like wild swans which move in line on high 
 With port and consequences led and tailed 
 In absolute and even ordering 
 So did the outings of his mind display 
 Their marshalled and undeviating way. 
 
 Birth came unsought — therefore it is I am ; 
 And death will come to make it I am not ; 
 Before — I was not ; after — I shall be 
 What God but knows ; and so this vital gap 
 Which is interstice 'twixt such blank extremes 
 Is but mine estimable own to use 
 As may seem best in judgment. How to act 
 For right between one's birth and bur3'ing 
 Is and has been in all philosophies, 
 Religions, ethics, systems, schemes, ideas. 
 The peak-point of attainment. Come and go 
 We do at bid as children, but all else. 
 Which next to these are final, we must hit 
 By our conceived and practicable wit. 
 
 Yet some things seem of such fixed ordinance 
 And so set down to all humanity 
 That they must have their way. A man must wed 
 And in right time contract that partnership 
 Which makes life's heavy debiting grow light, 
 Must blend his self-willed nature to another's
 
 243 
 
 And in sweet concert with his complement 
 
 Kill half his griefs and double all his J03S. 
 
 Up to the nonce have I been out at nurse 
 
 And laid on learning's breast to suckle up 
 
 What's held as start for life ; but now I stand 
 
 On wisdom's beachy fine and view these seas 
 
 Where practice must be launched. Down to this time 
 
 I have been hived and celled, a larval grub, 
 
 But now with open and unpleated wings 
 
 Like the new ventured bee I lift in flight 
 
 To make the world mine own. W^hat's gone is gone ; 
 
 So will I balance up this present sheet, 
 
 Leaving the past on file where it may lie 
 
 Like packed and dusty records undisturbed 
 
 Save for some odd lacked reference. It may be 
 
 Marriage is cast, as some have said, in heaven. 
 
 Yet is the steel devoid that constancy 
 
 Which makes it serve as needle to the pole 
 
 Until it has been stroked ; so maids and men 
 
 Pass by each other in this anthill world, 
 
 Unheld and unattracted till the touch 
 
 Of this most gracious load. Have I not seen 
 
 A many thousand women in my time 
 
 Yet none has been my fate. But now soft joy 
 
 Precious beyond the richest things of earth. 
 
 Which are by siding simply trivial, 
 
 I love. Each minute ticks to conjure up 
 
 The face and eyes wherein I read return. 
 
 The die is cast, the dice have dropped to full, 
 
 And Nell shall be my wife. A day or two. 
 
 When we have set things into fixity, 
 
 I'll seek her mother, she shall be mine too ;
 
 244 
 
 And this same night that he may share my joys 
 I'll write to Alfred, tell him all about it ; 
 For he will see things with the selfsame eyes, 
 And own my life has touched its Paradise.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 How Alfred, whilst Carrie is sitting in his rootns, receives 
 Robert's letter, which he reads, and then hands to her ; 
 and how Alfred and Carrie, for separate reasons^ deter- 
 mine to prevent Robert's marrying Nell, and to go down 
 to the village for this purpose. 
 
 HOW many a day comes mothered from the east 
 Perfect with promise which, ere yet the sun 
 Has neighboured noon, grows dimmed and clouded out 
 To end in chill wet dreary misery. 
 How many a ship weighs anchor with fair winds 
 When every little wavelet seems to be 
 Tide-servant to its passage, and fond wives 
 Down-eyeing its propitious minuence 
 Go solaced home with hope : yet ere the voyage 
 Is but half outed, run such murderous seas 
 Lashed into frenzy by wild hurricanes, 
 That the poor hulk unmasted and irrupt 
 (Sad finial to so bright an exodus) 
 Sinks coffined down within great ocean's gulf 
 Not seen nor heard of more. How many a life 
 Has at its outset most fair presages, 
 Its childhood guardianed by a mother's love —
 
 246 
 
 (That love whose memory as a beacon shines 
 
 To recollection's end, or as the mark 
 
 Watered upon the paper of a book 
 
 Though over-mattered by the surface ink 
 
 Is still perpetual from front to fine) — 
 
 Its use pursued in calm serenity 
 
 Wherein the guided mind through bud to bloom 
 
 Warms in the rays of virtue, innocent 
 
 Of those foul guiles which like the blight or fly 
 
 Canker to rot the growings of the world 
 
 And make them mouldy. Then comes manhood and 
 
 Atop these foundings of felicity 
 
 Which should have based an edifice of joy, 
 
 As fame, fair deeds, high reputation, worth, 
 
 Rise in their stead from some vile circumstance 
 
 Temptation, sin, shame, profligacy, crime, 
 
 With all those villanies that damn and mar 
 
 God's image here on earth — A healthy plant 
 
 Knotted to bloom ; and then some threading worm 
 
 That saps it in a night — An orchard set 
 
 Fairly for fruit, as passing spring shakes hands 
 
 With coming summer ; then on a sudden turn 
 
 Black biting and unseasonable frosts 
 
 With hustling hail, sleet, and tempestuous winds; 
 
 And every little pip of future good 
 
 Falls grounded down and lost. The curtain rings 
 
 Up to what in its earliest act appears 
 
 As gentle and domestic pastoral, 
 
 Which ripples for its time in happiness, 
 
 Until the villain's staged, when it becomes 
 
 Curdled as thundered milk to vinegar,
 
 247 
 
 A galled and hideous tragedy wherein 
 Stalk the black ministers of filth and sin. 
 
 So life runs as the weavings of a mill, 
 Whose shuttles carrying our destinies 
 Convey them into form and colouring, 
 Making the web and woof with such swift whirl 
 That our dazed eyes are impotent to note 
 The passage of the threads : yet once the stuff 
 Is woven and the loom has ceased to throb 
 These come to place and record, though before 
 None in most curious watching could foresee 
 To what last use a picked and separate thread 
 Might be subservient. It may go to make 
 The sheets of Lais, or the cerements 
 Of Lazarus ; the shift that overlies 
 The gentle bosom of a guileless girl 
 Or the foul fetid slip imposed to hide 
 A beggar's ulcer. All's inscrutable, 
 To-morrow breaks the promise of to-day 
 And next day counters that ; till our last breath 
 Is done we are the toys of circumstance. 
 The living have no epitaph : one wise 
 Called no man living happy till he died. 
 But he had been the wiser had he said 
 Call no man living anything till dead. 
 
 Whilst Robert's letter passaged through the post 
 The skies grew grey for rain, and up in town 
 Clouds long enforced to droughty idleness 
 Poured now in free and floody exercise 
 Their sluicy drench on earth. Out in the streets
 
 248 
 
 Folks, saving those that plied for business, 
 
 Were driven close within their sheltering doors ; 
 
 And the poor homeless tramp alone trudged on 
 
 His sad mechanic solitary way 
 
 With coat upturned and head bowed to the storm 
 
 Unmindful of the railing elements: 
 
 The casual his sole goal, and hopelessness 
 
 All that was his wherewith to blunt distress. 
 
 But up in Alfred's comfortable rooms, 
 Seeming the more so from the medleyed sound 
 Of drop, leak, trickle, patter, splash, and rush 
 Which played in chilly concert out of doors, 
 Carrie within an armed and easy chair 
 Sat cosily ensconced, frittering the while 
 With him till time for home. But in the midst 
 Of their light chat and fooled frivolity 
 A knock jarred sharply at the door and he 
 Rose, took a tendered letter in, surveyed 
 The hand in query of the scribe, and then 
 Thumbed it to open reading : but as he read 
 His face grew grave and graver and his eyes 
 Gathered their knotted brows more close in frown 
 Whilst he re-read the letter thrice, each time 
 With more deliberate using ; and at last 
 Without a word of comment handed it 
 To Carrie for her sight. The letter ran : — 
 My Alfred, when the summer waned last year 
 And we in pastime paddled down the Thames, 
 I to seek lodgings, you to waste the days 
 Before you went abroad, you said in joke, 
 As being very opposite to thought,
 
 249 
 
 The country was Arcadia to me, 
 
 A sort of sweet Utopia in which 
 
 Fancy could make soft images : and more — 
 
 That at the meeting of some shepherdess 
 
 I should adventure fate. Your light-edged jest 
 
 Has turned to solemn truth, and your stray wit 
 
 Has killed its quarry with most hazard stone. 
 
 Nell, (and of her I write) when you were down 
 
 You saw last year ; this year although I hid it, 
 
 Or rather with ignoring reticence 
 
 Did not unfold my doings, she and I 
 
 Have met each day and I have grown to love her. 
 
 From the first instant that we met, and from 
 
 The very moment that I saw her face, 
 
 Heard the sweet music of her voice and felt 
 
 The winsome sunshine of her gentleness 
 
 I was enthralled ; but when in later days 
 
 Our eyes at last met in each other's depths, 
 
 Then (oh, how very strange must this thing seem 
 
 To those who have not known it) I was tied 
 
 With such immutable and close-forged bonds 
 
 As heaven nor hell could break ; aye, had the world 
 
 With one great single voicing then proclaimed 
 
 Her Satanella, fiend, vile, reprobate. 
 
 With such a pack of crimes upon her soul 
 
 As tongue should rot in record of, still I 
 
 Had backed the lie outright, and in her cause 
 
 Faced joyously a thousand hideous deaths 
 
 Ere shock to my fixed faith. But now I have 
 
 Day after day, nay, evening after eve. 
 
 Probed down into the limits of her soul. 
 
 And that in such discriminating course
 
 250 
 
 As you with all your perspicuity 
 
 Could not have done. She is a saint, oh why 
 
 In the encaustic glasses of the church 
 
 Do they set holy dead cxemplarics, 
 
 When even in the casual ways of life 
 
 She habits here in flesh, she whose pure ways 
 
 Would be as guides for angels — know in short 
 
 That I intend, so Heaven may speed my life. 
 
 To marry her and make her my sweet wife. 
 
 This startles you, I know it will ; for you 
 
 Hold in the common wisdom of the world 
 
 Position, money, and accomplishments, 
 
 As pertinent to a bride ; you still would have 
 
 Wealth, lucre, stocks, consols, percentages, 
 
 (The luck or studied labour of another) 
 
 Go up as bridesmaids to the altar rails. 
 
 Making good match the real substitute 
 
 For happy mating. But shall we affect 
 
 A wife or marry to cold minerals ? 
 
 Cupboard with dross or love ? shall we clutch up 
 
 That earth which at our sextoned terminal 
 
 Shall be our own unsought, or rather seek 
 
 A priceless heart to be our own for ever ? 
 
 Position ! What ? An ancient ordering 
 
 Good in old use, but now pervert to be 
 
 The hobby-horse of purse-proud parvenus, 
 
 Who in its trappings mount it like Tom Fool 
 
 And think them horsed in rank. Accomplishments ! 
 
 Recount a woman's of the present day ; 
 
 Not the good household virtues of the past 
 
 But artificiality, a veil
 
 251 
 
 Like some laced cerement upon a corpse 
 To make rank earth seem clean ; a set of tricks 
 Intended for allurement as the leaf 
 That gilds a pill : mere ornaments to flaunt 
 Like the Athenian harlots in men's eyes 
 To snare the body (which true women then 
 When thought was at its acme scorned as being 
 Bastard and meretricious) : — no, I take it 
 These are the hollow mockings of a mask 
 Which shaped and painted seem reality 
 Till haply plucked aside. But I run on : — 
 Take if you like all I have writ erased, 
 For speech shall tell it better than the pen, 
 And let me to yourself : — You feel perhaps 
 That I have lacked in confidence to you, 
 And held your friendship as a one-night ice 
 Which though it faces like a month of frosts 
 Gives at the least light touch : it is not so. 
 But I have feared your raillery : forget 
 That this has been and now put to the test 
 The substance of our fellowship, come down 
 Go with me to Nell's mother, help my suit 
 With such a referenced backing as may show 
 My purpose true. It was my first intent 
 To go alone, but first thoughts come unshaped 
 Like master's sketches to be limned again 
 More right in later casting. When we meet 
 I'll give th' account (which here is out of place) 
 Of all the history of my passion's growth ; 
 And until then believe me still to be 
 Yours ever, Robert. (And a postscript ran) 
 Your room is ready, come first day you can.
 
 252 
 
 So Carrie read till at the signature 
 She raised her eyes to Alfred's, and the two 
 Encountered in that swift intelligence 
 Engendered of attrition with the world, 
 Which reads in every face a written book. 
 Chapters in glances, volumes in a look. 
 
 This cannot be, thought Alfred, he must not 
 
 Marry the girl if I can help him from it ; 
 
 He with the world before him, means enough 
 
 To hold position without work, and brains 
 
 Enough with working to do anything, 
 
 To rise step after step to any height, 
 
 And rung on rung to scale the topmost stone 
 
 Ambition rears in pinnacle : shall he 
 
 New launching on life's flood blindly attach 
 
 This sinking millstone round his neck, singe up 
 
 His new-fledged pinions in a flame which will 
 
 Blaze like spilt spirit for a flick or two 
 
 And then die traceless out : shall he be linked 
 
 Like a Siberian beyond escape, 
 
 And with an idiot's blunder overpoise 
 
 The float of his success ? Heavens, no, as he 
 
 Is tied my friend, nay it would almost seem 
 
 My ward, for he is all too innocent, 
 
 Too guileless of the nettings of the world. 
 
 And yet for this perhaps more highly prized : — 
 
 I must persuade or lead him from this scrape, 
 
 Untwine from him these lowly woven bonds 
 
 And free him to himself. He is my friend, 
 
 I'll shape all friendship's service to this end.
 
 253 
 
 This shall not be, thought Carrie, she shall not 
 
 Marry the man, for I will break it off: 
 
 She who is nothing, not so good as I 
 
 By any count, but plays the common trick 
 
 Of lowered lids and with pinched breath calls up 
 
 The practised blush to calculated cheeks : 
 
 Shall she catch fortune like some numskull boy 
 
 Who with a withy and a bit of string 
 
 Tied to a bent-up pin for lack of hook 
 
 And with the very refuse of a bait 
 
 Tackles the trout which half a month of days 
 
 Has baulked the most skilled fisher. Shall she do it ? 
 
 Shall I stay nothing while she flaunts in worth ? 
 
 I be a mistress while she is a wife ? 
 
 No — if my woman's wit stands me in aught 
 
 Nipping the bud I'll bring this flower to nought. 
 
 Besides did she thus match, what dangers rise 
 
 And front myself : it is a thousand pounds 
 
 To one odd farthing they would live near home. 
 
 Robert perhaps would buy some property 
 
 'Tis certain he has means : then where am I 
 
 Whilst she, my lady, stalks immaculate ? 
 
 He knows from Alfred all about myself 
 
 Things that are sweetly harmless if unknown 
 
 And she would know from him. Then all the place 
 
 Which never yet put finger on my flaws, 
 
 Breathed out a whisper, made the merest shrug 
 
 Against my reputation, would outblaze 
 
 With women's cackling scandal and I should 
 
 (Preserve me from it) never dare to show 
 
 My face again. Their faces would be backs, 
 
 Smiles turned to jeers, fair words to open scorn,
 
 254 
 
 The children's jests to tutored contumely, 
 
 My home's own doors be then more doubly barred 
 
 Against me than a thief, whilst on my head 
 
 The imprecations of a father's curse 
 
 Would fall in dread and scathing blasphemy : 
 
 Till done, damned, ruined, I should leave a name 
 
 Pregnant of hate and vilified with shame. 
 
 Therefore I am resolved at any costs 
 
 By swift persuasion, scheming, subterfuge, 
 
 Or the lies people call diplomacy, 
 
 Or any lies more rank, or any act 
 
 That may subserve my purpose, to dissohe 
 
 These nearly fruited vows. Why should I care 
 
 For her when there's unsafety to myself? 
 
 It would not matter were she not my friend, 
 
 But being so, the thing must have its end. 
 
 Thus these two thought and came thereon to words ; 
 
 But, as is human, either found and took 
 
 The other's thoughts amouth in argument, 
 
 Keeping their own in veil. Alfred's gist 
 
 Was, — This, if 't be, is hazardous to you : 
 
 And Carrie's — You would scarcely care your friend 
 
 Should make this misalliance. So the two 
 
 Fenced with each other's weapons, handling them 
 
 According to their natures till the bout 
 
 Came to this even-scoring and accord: — 
 
 We are agreed upon frustration here 
 
 As urgent, let's quick shape the means that can 
 
 Give execution to some settled plan. 
 
 And Alfred took what seemed the likeliest 
 Which he deliberately ordered thus : —
 
 255 
 
 You Carrie have the right to ask and take 
 A fortnight's hoHday, and I am free 
 To use my time at will. Apply at once 
 For leave to be away from Saturday, 
 That is four days from this, and I myself 
 After dispatch of certain odds and ends 
 Will go to-morrow or the next day's morn. 
 Once there we each of us can be all day 
 Companioned to these love-birds who will coo 
 Their inmost secrets out in half an hour, 
 And lay their minds as maps to us, on which 
 We can work out as generals in campaigns 
 The pros and cons of action. Furthermore 
 'Tis certain that the four of us can meet 
 In daily ways we as have done before, 
 And then we two can hold intelligence 
 Of how our forces work. This principle 
 Need be the sole one we at first observe, 
 Not to disclose our hands nor yet unmask 
 Too soon the metal of our batteries, 
 But rather at the outset feel the way, 
 Letting suggestion coldly leak to damp 
 The heat of their intentions : later on 
 With an increasing frequency and flow, 
 (But still as sought not offered) indicate 
 What has been done in cases similar. 
 And sooner by analogy than point 
 Bring doubting to conviction ; last of all 
 When that their minds are apt for the receipt, 
 Assume the frank and dearest counsellor 
 Whose simple aim is for the other's good, 
 And pour so full a force of government
 
 256 
 
 On their dulled wills as shall for once and all 
 
 Drown the cowed embers out. Now will I write 
 
 A note to Robert, saying that I come, 
 
 Then find a hansom for your ladyship, 
 
 And go myself through all this slush and rain 
 
 To pillar-box these few light words which are 
 
 Unknown a declaration of grim war.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 How with the advent of July, Alfred goes down with Carrie 
 to the village, and how he fails to alter Robert's delermi' 
 nation to marry Nell. 
 
 "\ T OW came July to fill the interval 
 
 ^ ^ 'Twixt hay and harvest, servant to the months 
 
 Before and after ; like some minister 
 
 Who consummates his predecessor's acts, 
 
 Which in the residue had else been marred, 
 
 And plans perfection that his follower 
 
 Has but to keep the path : thus whilst himself, 
 
 No less a labourer than the other two, 
 
 Puts nothing to his name, they bushel up 
 
 Fame, adulation, honours — indices 
 
 To which he stands the cipher, and as nought 
 
 Tens all their deeds, whilst his escape a thought. 
 
 June had the making of the hay, and yet 
 Though many meads were bare and emerald 
 The mower still through earlier July 
 Scythed on, and still the fragrance of his work 
 Floated as perfumed record on the air, 
 
 17
 
 25^ 
 
 Till the last load, some halfway through the month 
 
 Was stacked, and kine and oxen once again 
 
 Ke-tenanted their ancient pasturings, 
 
 Where the new herb as spurred by robbery 
 
 Hasted recoupment, and the clover sprang 
 
 Inheriting the daisies' earlier right 
 
 And privilege to deck the fields with white. 
 
 Thus went the grass, and then the grain came on, 
 
 Nursed by July for August's harvesting : 
 
 The wheat, already spiked to car, outswelled 
 
 To gather with the wooing of the sun 
 
 Its golden dowry : — autumn's first sad touch 
 
 Which in the very blaze of summertide 
 
 Falls as a sombre forecast of events, 
 
 A crying text of time, a homily 
 
 On the immutability of change. 
 
 The shudder of success ; as when a man 
 
 Come to the full in ripe ability 
 
 And basking in the sun of high esteem 
 
 Catches the glassed and monitory grey 
 
 Which minds him snowy age, and sighs to think 
 
 That at the tip-top of maturity, 
 
 When obstacle on obstacle is gone, 
 
 And he has scaled life's proudest brink and fine, 
 
 'Tis but to view the valley of decay 
 
 W^hose rivulet is death. But let this pass. — 
 
 The ripening barley glistened in the sun. 
 
 Waving before the breezes as a sea, 
 
 The poppies at the fringes of the fields 
 
 And on odd places where the tilth was poor 
 
 (For poverty has graces of its own) 
 
 <l
 
 259 
 
 Made vermeil patchwork in earth's coverlet, 
 Whereto the golden blossoms of St. John, 
 The yellow toadflax, purple marjoram. 
 The ruddy sorrel and a hundred blooms, 
 Less noticed and from modesty more rare, 
 Conjoined as in some orient arabesque 
 Through which the river azured by the sky 
 Wound beauteous in its vagrant serpentry. 
 
 Then, with such days and sunny settlement 
 
 As makes a holiday the hit and pick 
 
 Of all the disposition of the year, 
 
 Alfred and Carrie came— she to the farm 
 
 And he to stay with Robert as his guest. 
 
 And so the old quartet had met once more 
 
 And spent a spotless fortnight of fair days 
 
 In what appeared as simple merriment. 
 
 Under the cloke of which the battle raged 
 
 As had been predetermined. But in vain : 
 
 Neither the frank and cheery worldliness 
 
 Used by the man in open fight, nor yet 
 
 The woman's jealous serpent treachery 
 
 (Which whilst it seemed to twine in friendship still 
 
 Fleshed deep the poisoned unsuspected tooth) 
 
 Seemed of the least avail. The fair-shot shafts. 
 
 The clear and straight assaults, the hidden lures, 
 
 The insidious strategy, all and alike 
 
 Missed utterly their mark or under-reached, 
 
 Leaving the fort untaken, nay, unbreached. 
 
 So Carrie went and left behind what seemed 
 Only frustrated aims : but Alfred stayed
 
 26o 
 
 His few days on, till when the evening came, 
 His last before return, Robert and he 
 Had dined (if such a simple country meal 
 A townsman would call dinner) and the two 
 Traversed the river to the valleyed side, 
 Where stretched the long and level river meads 
 Rich with new grass and full with feeding kine, 
 And where a-border to the river ran 
 Upon its winds the open towing-path. 
 This walk is one (said Alfred) of my choice, 
 Here can we talk at freedom and unheard. 
 Whereas what seems seclusion often masks 
 Eavesdropping and unwotted listeners ; 
 Let lovers seek the woods to get from sight, 
 Talkers more grave prefer the open light. 
 Leave Clout and Maudlin to their leafy screen, 
 I like a place where listeners can be seen. 
 
 For I would speak to you most seriously ; 
 
 Therefore without preamble to the point. 
 
 Robert, the step you mean to take will be 
 
 (If that it is your settled mind to take it) 
 
 The tixture of your life, the dominance 
 
 Of all your future being ; let me beg 
 
 As we have been companions, poise it well 
 
 On the most agate balance of your thoughts. 
 
 There are mistakes (and all men make mistakes) 
 
 To which discovery may be remedy, 
 
 Marches which may be met by countermarch, 
 
 And ill-set courses which by tack or run 
 
 May be all righted and inconsequent. 
 
 But marriage is not one of these. Bar death.
 
 26l 
 
 The act in consummation has such catch 
 
 That nothing can unclutch it. Yon and I 
 
 Have grown close bosomed to a comradeship 
 
 Which breeds the privilege and prerogative 
 
 Of bluntest speech. If this I over-use, 
 
 'Tis as the surgeon probing at a wound 
 
 Making a minute's agony to gain 
 
 The saving of a lifetime ; or as one 
 
 Who burns an eating cancer from the flesh, 
 
 Ransoming thus the body. I shall sear 
 
 What is most delicate and sensitive 
 
 Within your nature, I shall touch you where 
 
 Indignant anger pricked to friendship's breach 
 
 Would burst to more than words. May I do this ? 
 
 And will you listen through and underkeep, 
 
 If that I wound, your answer out of shout ; 
 
 Is this a compact, will you hear me out ? 
 
 Speak on, (said Robert) take no thought of me, 
 All that is said admits of argument, 
 And counsel rousing anger gains itself 
 The clearer answer — I am ears and mute, 
 And though you wring me to the very quick 
 I'll clench and choke expression from my lips 
 Till you have had your say. True wisdom lies 
 In reasoned, not in passionate replies. 
 
 All this (said Alfred) I have put before. 
 Let me be frank, in odds and ends of speech 
 Even as counsel ; but the time has come 
 For summing and decision ; be it mine 
 To bring the facts to some rough ordering
 
 262 
 
 With such brief comments as may best seem lit 
 
 Whilst \()U are silent as a listener. 
 
 Robert, we all lead not one life but three, 
 
 Domestic, social, and professional : 
 
 Each being as separate and particular 
 
 As if we had three personalities. 
 
 Some men are brutes at home, yet in tiie world 
 
 The paragons of cultured courtesy. 
 
 Whilst others very boors in drawing-rooms 
 
 Are whole exemplars on their proper hearths ; 
 
 And some there are whose rare abilities 
 
 Translate them angels intellectually 
 
 Yet in all else are beasts. Can you catch this ? 
 
 And if you do, can you not see me right 
 
 To trace your future in this triple light ? 
 
 In your profession more than any other 
 Your wife should be a lady, should be fit 
 As you may rise (and you are sure to rise) 
 To represent yourself. Position, posts, 
 Dignities, seats, distinctions, titled claims. 
 Are by a clever woman oftener won 
 Than by her husband's self, that is if she 
 Is still a lady and as such has breed, 
 Presence, refinement, tact, capacity 
 To help her husband on. The Bar itself 
 Is the most polished ladder of the state ; 
 Mount it alone : — if you mount country-paired 
 Think of yourself as one who tries to lead 
 A hobnailed hoyden up, of one who whilst 
 He should be eyeing at ambition's heights 
 Must pin his senses to the clumsy feet
 
 263 
 
 Of his oft-floundering partner. Be it far 
 
 From me to sa}' that Nell's unladylike, 
 
 Nay I admit her winsome, graceful, tau^^ht 
 
 And fairly middle-schooled, yet she is not 
 
 The woman one would picture as }our wife. 
 
 Still if I touch her too opposedly, 
 
 Remember that I have your licence for it. 
 
 Nay more, I know your answer ere 'tis spoken — 
 
 A man's profession is detachable 
 
 From her who is a man's own second self, 
 
 And is so held that every other thing 
 
 Can be put by as out of consequence ; 
 
 So if a man himself is strong enough 
 
 It needs no wife to swell his sails to puff. 
 
 I grant all this, I grant what you might say 
 About the social aspect of your life : 
 You scorn society, well so do I 
 Despise that large and flaunting worldliness 
 Which nurtured at pretension's watery breast 
 Grows puffed and swollen till it overlies 
 And chokes all healthier issue. 'Tis a child 
 Bred of the weakness of these later times 
 Which being yet last born holds pampered place 
 Above its proper due, and which when tried 
 Will prove to be a flimsy nothingness, 
 Pleasing the eye and tickling lowered tastes 
 But void of strength and bottom — yet I like it, 
 I love to watch — but this is from the point — 
 This rubbish is the simple froth that tops 
 The deeper streams of life, a thing of bubbles 
 Breaking as fashions to give place to new,
 
 264 
 
 A scum that's scoured by every surface wind, 
 A rotted spot within the solid wood 
 Which though it has the form of tixity 
 Crumbles beneath a touch. But think you that 
 This overwhelming rank and fetid breath 
 Which reeks within the nostrils of decay 
 Is what should rightly make a social life : 
 No, but that fragrant and exhaled perfume 
 Which, like the essence of a thousand flowers 
 Carried on gentle breezes after rain, 
 Scents all a lifetime, home's sweet amities, 
 The sacred circle of one's simpler friends, 
 The treasured few who make the truest link 
 Betwixt us and a general mankind. 
 A man — if married must have proper friends 
 (A bachelor may pick with reckless shift 
 In the sheer levity of his free will) 
 Chosen for worth and not for foolery ; 
 And as some little system in the stars 
 Though a constituent to the universe 
 Holds still its private and particular course, 
 So he although a factor in the world 
 And an iota 'midst its multitudes 
 Must still be held within some knot of friends 
 Who make his minor circle. As your wife, 
 As she whom you intend to make your wife. 
 So will your friendships be, their actual stamp 
 Struck with the standard of her qualities ; 
 And therefore one whd is refined, well bred, 
 High principled, a lady, dignified. 
 Makes the surroundings of her future home 
 To tally with herself. You own all this
 
 265 
 
 For you have held it piece by piece these weeks 
 
 I who am fast, unfettered, gadabout, 
 
 I also hold it too ; whilst I remain 
 
 A syrup-seeking butterfly I sip 
 
 The wilder flowers of life, associate 
 
 With girls of, let's say, Carrie's stamp, consort 
 
 With those without the pale ; but were I wed 
 
 This would go overboard that my fair ship 
 
 Should sail the truer trimmed, and on its course 
 
 Should let quod decet not quod placet be 
 
 The rightful rule of its fair buoyancy. 
 
 But I have missed the footing of the line ; 
 The man who marries marries to two things, 
 A woman and a future ; all his past 
 Even if smirched with odd mismanagements 
 Is as with penance so absolved from taint 
 That he can scorn it. But his future lies 
 Even as the fatal ring within his choice : 
 Is it not fearful then to cast the die 
 When as we make our beds so we must lie ? 
 
 Still you have settled to make Nell your wife. 
 
 And (though I say think well and balance up 
 
 An act which if once done has no redress) 
 
 I dare not make th' assertion that you're wrong. 
 
 She simple, innocent, ingenuous, 
 
 With comely face, poised head, and perfect limbs. 
 
 And such knit figure as one rarely sees, 
 
 Has the full attributes of human grace ; 
 
 Her beauty should in any rank of life 
 
 Mark her as an adorning acquisition ;
 
 266 
 
 Her mind althouj:::li untutored or unbred 
 
 To your own sphere is easy stock to ^rait, 
 
 And as the briar feeds the rarer rose 
 
 Which grows to blooming from the tiniest pip, 
 
 So she impregnate with ideals would come 
 
 To breed the essentials of ladyhood. 
 
 Her manners with the true simplicity 
 
 That underlies the formal modes of tone, 
 
 Would catch the social ways as a disease, 
 
 (Which those unless inoculate must have) 
 
 And all the fashionable twist and turns 
 
 Of speech and gesture would become her own 
 
 Within a month of marriage. She is one 
 
 So suited to these changes that the fear 
 
 Is she might change the further. Jest apart — 
 
 If jest could be upon so grave a theme — 
 
 I yield me on the social point outright. 
 
 And since the third and the domestic one — 
 
 The others ceded — is not worth a thought 
 
 I yield me on it too ; may mercy bless 
 
 Your match and crown its end with happiness. 
 
 And yet, (said Alfred on a minute's pause 
 Which Robert did not rise to breach) and yet, 
 A nature such as yours would keep you most 
 In the secluded privacy of home ; 
 You like a lion would only leave your lair 
 To thrust proud independence on the world 
 In search for fame, rather than to caress 
 Fair fortune for her favours — so your work 
 Would scarcely get the handling of your wife. 
 You have strong will and methods, and you have
 
 267 
 
 So full a fortune, are so amply pursed, 
 
 That failure makes no difference, nor nips 
 
 Luxury by necessity, nor stunts 
 
 Like starving springs an ecstasy of growth. 
 
 But to the point — the nature that you have 
 
 Will make your home and your domestic life 
 
 Your all in all — a blessing or a curse. 
 
 As it turns out : therefore on second thoughts 
 
 Before you trust to untried stepping-stones 
 
 Look well at likelihoods and issuings. 
 
 Come take them through ; just now I was inclined 
 
 To think this worthless, but I change my mind. 
 
 Proposal, sanction, ceremony, knot, 
 
 The altar's benediction, belfried peals 
 
 (Borne on the air to distant villages 
 
 To make maids stop in every-day affairs 
 
 And see another wedding) going off, 
 
 A journey to a soft sweet month of bliss, 
 
 And last, home's new and nested settlement : 
 
 All this complete, behold you with a wife 
 
 Turned like a Juliet at a single scene 
 
 From girl to womanhood. Where was before 
 
 A seeming timorous nature, sensitive, 
 
 Coyly retiring at your least advance 
 
 And hanging on your words as relative 
 
 To all her furtive hopes — in place of this 
 
 A woman with the confidence of spouse. 
 
 With even partnership in bed and board 
 
 And its assumptions of prerogative. 
 
 God took, 'tis said, a rib from Adam's side 
 
 Whencefrom to make a maid ; the thing's reversed,
 
 268 
 
 And now a man will take a maid to be 
 
 Perhaps a thorninf!^ in his side for ever, 
 
 Being as constantly a part of him 
 
 As is his very bone. Think well on this. 
 
 For inconsiderate love, like some rash herb 
 
 That takes a few soft days for actual spring, 
 
 Mistaking February for genial May, 
 
 Thrusts out its bud and bloom only to catch 
 
 A deathsome nip. Pause even at the gate 
 
 And hold your finger ere you lift the latch. 
 
 For look you, life is summed in years, the years 
 
 In days, and every day to its full hours, 
 
 And of the twenty-four that make it up 
 
 Half must be led in absolute company 
 
 With this one woman. What if she turn out 
 
 Most positively alien to all 
 
 Belief now paints ; what if her mind that seems 
 
 Now only innocent should be a bed 
 
 Where schemes grow thick as mushrooms ; what if now 
 
 She only holds your amorous phantasy 
 
 As pathway to position and to wealth. 
 
 And fools you with a footlight simulance 
 
 Of passion like your own : (Nay, stop me not) 
 
 What if her purity be but assumed 
 
 And she in fact is wanton. Or to drop 
 
 (For on my faith, 'tis not to wound but heal 
 
 I put suggestion in this chilly form) 
 
 Her own particular person, take the girls 
 
 That are the offspring of these villages. 
 
 Take Carrie for example — why down here 
 
 She walks unquestioned as an instance of 
 
 Respectability personified.
 
 26g 
 
 And yet you know the truth, and I myself 
 
 Am not her first adventure. Women are 
 
 As horses sold at auction, all their faults 
 
 Hid with a cozened cunning and their worth 
 
 Bolstered until the buyer finds the loss 
 
 Upon possession — and these girls (I know 
 
 How differently we look upon these points) 
 
 Their virtue is like an ill-forted town 
 
 That falls at first assault, or is unkeyed 
 
 By vanity or pleasure. For one chaste 
 
 And twenty branded with licentiousness 
 
 There are a thousand sin and wear the garb 
 
 And figuring of saints — well, I have done 
 
 My most unpleasant task. Look to it well, 
 
 You hope a heaven, pray heaven you find no hell. 
 
 Alfred, (said Robert) you have had your say 
 
 And I have held my peace. When that you weighed 
 
 The anchor of your drift to loosen sail 
 
 On hazard words, you feared fatality, 
 
 And like some superstitious mariner 
 
 Who goes to sea on Friday, stood in awe 
 
 That though your duty bound you to a course 
 
 It would be dogged with ill. You thought, I think, 
 
 My heated anger would have burst to spread 
 
 A skying magazine of blasting words 
 
 In violent opposition. 'Tis not so : 
 
 To meet your pointed thrusts with tacit buff 
 
 Has been a thing as easy as to breathe, 
 
 And not one single pulse has beat more close 
 
 The heel of its forerunner. What you say 
 
 Is as the babble of some heady boy,
 
 270 
 
 Its substance missing mark. The grosser world 
 And those of common cast may haply fit 
 The mould of your invection. It may be 
 That in the grooved and usual ways of life 
 Some are as you have pictured. But for me 
 I have weighed well the future : I am set 
 With such fixed certainty on what I do 
 That nothing can unbase it. Heavens above ! 
 'Tis positive you never were in love. 
 
 I not in love ! (said Alfred) I, what I ? 
 
 Why I have been in love a thousand times, 
 
 And what is more been wholly loved in turn. 
 
 Children may put their fingers to the fire 
 
 And if they touch the bars will scarcely dare 
 
 To near a flame again, yet they will bare 
 
 Their blistered tips to show what bravery 
 
 They have been through. There was a man long since 
 
 Stared at the sun through glass and scorched his orbs 
 
 Out into blindness : has this stopped the world 
 
 From peering at the sun's magnificence ? 
 
 Owls blink at light, whilst eagles soar aface 
 
 The very blaze of light's great origin, 
 
 And yet the owl would say I once have dared 
 
 To brazen out Apollo, which the other 
 
 Does daily and thinks nought of. I admit 
 
 It very pretty and poetical 
 
 That the first time a man may fall in love 
 
 He should be dazed to blindness : such a one 
 
 Can only stick along the common road 
 
 And can no longer find those shorter cuts 
 
 That might so easy lead him to possession.
 
 271 
 
 Whilst those who know the nearer ways look on him 
 
 As simply to be pitied, or if kind 
 
 Stretch out the hand to guide his idiot mind. 
 
 I, and that is supposing I were you, 
 
 Should (and here Alfred shot the final shaft 
 
 That had been kept as keenest in his quiver) 
 
 I say, if 1 had hit your luck and found 
 
 So fair a bloom to bosom as mine own, 
 
 (And still remember this is not advice 
 
 But simply picturing myself as you) 
 
 I should scorn all such hindrances as marriage. 
 
 'Tis like a stupid lock upon the door 
 
 Which any fool with easy fingering 
 
 Can pick or prise to open. Marriage! Stuff! 
 
 This age is grown unmarrying, and why ? 
 
 Girls now must start where last their mothers ceased, 
 
 Want thousands where the hundreds did before, 
 
 And will not look at early struggling men 
 
 With prospects and ability ; so those 
 
 Who make a simple honest start in life 
 
 With stalwart youth and good capacity 
 
 To use their brains for vantage, and who want 
 
 A wife as true companion, have become 
 
 But ciphers lacking a full twenty years 
 
 With its stored wealth to gild them. No I Men wed 
 
 With all the earnings of their middle age 
 
 Well stored, position fully won, and then 
 
 Buy in the mart some willing piece of flesh 
 
 And call it wife — for whom, if age should tell. 
 
 The name of daughter were more parallel. 
 
 True that our happier fathers at our years
 
 272 
 
 Mated our mothers, and the twain took life 
 
 As partners from the outset quite content 
 
 To nurse their fortunes as they did their babes 
 
 In mutual work and mutual thrift together. 
 
 But this is gone a generation since ; 
 
 Girls wed no more for domesticity 
 
 But for mere show. Hence man's necessity 
 
 And not his vice compels him to new ways ; 
 
 For that old love of which we read, and which 
 
 Once throve to flower in every English home, 
 
 Is now neglected and unwotted of. 
 
 And in its place (nursed hotbed lust upon) 
 
 Is forced this blossom of a liaison. 
 
 So since we all must bow beneath the yoke, 
 
 I therefore (still supposing I were you) 
 
 As one born under this new state of things. 
 
 And not an oathed Apostle of what's pure, 
 
 Am for a mistress and not for a wife ; 
 
 Hence were I to affect this country girl 
 
 And win affection from her in return 
 
 I'd make no bones about it but pursue 
 
 This line to understanding. Right or wrong. 
 
 It is at all events the common course. 
 
 And if it be a fault the reason then 
 
 Lies rather with the women than the men. 
 
 Enough (cried Robert), I was right to say 
 
 That you had never loved ; what you call love 
 
 Is only lust that is love's opposite, 
 
 A fiend that has its issuing from hell ; 
 
 What I call love is an angelic spirit 
 
 Who, when the gates of Paradise were closed,
 
 273 
 
 Was not shut in, but wanders down the earth 
 
 Like some sweet holy sister solacing 
 
 Amidst foul slums the hapless souls of men 
 
 With memories of heaven — but cease, enough, 
 
 Enough, enough, enough! — all things must end. 
 
 And let our conversation with the light 
 
 Come to its term whilst our safe friendship rests 
 
 Unshocked by nightly jarrings. You may mean 
 
 Well, but you cannot know how raspingly 
 
 Your words grate on my ears. The day is done 
 
 And night's soft peace comes stealing over all, 
 
 The sun has sunk behind the chalky hills 
 
 Carrying a morrow into other lands, 
 
 And yonder clouds which in its underglow 
 
 Were but just now all flamed and fiery 
 
 Have embered down to unobtrusive grey. 
 
 The remnant rooks in ones and twos have homed 
 
 To join the final vespers at the elms, 
 
 And now have settled them to silent rest ; 
 
 The martins which some minutes since were thick 
 
 In their last evening flight above the stream 
 
 Have vanished to repose ; the very wind 
 
 Has sunk to absolute and perfect calm ; 
 
 No tree-top stirs, nor even one dead leaf 
 
 Rustles along the ground ; and as the day 
 
 Draws in the lingering fringes of its vest 
 
 Below yon deepening edge, trees, earth, stream, all 
 
 Which only now stood at such difference 
 
 Of colour, contrast, and comparison. 
 
 Mellow and merge into accordancy 
 
 And harmonise to one. So nature points 
 
 Like some dumb preacher eloquent by signs 
 
 i8
 
 274 
 
 To peace, sweet rest, and holy quietude. 
 And shall wc mar this with our quarrelling ? 
 Look you from out the margin rush-beds creep 
 Faint mists which move as ghosts upon the flood 
 To haunt the night and vanish with the morn ; 
 Take these as phantoms of our differences 
 Whose reckoning is gone, and which shall be 
 Nought with the morrow's break. Look too above, 
 Those stars, unseen aface the jealous sun, 
 Peep to our sight and sympathy ; great worlds 
 Which circle round one point of fixity. 
 And as the northern star remains unstirred 
 While all else wanders round in shift and change 
 So am I fixed. Did every voice on earth 
 Persuade me from my holding, every tongue 
 Wag out opponent to my purposes 
 I should not alter ; and this being so 
 A truce to quarrel. — Let us homeward go.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 How Alfred tells Carrie on his return to town that they have 
 utterly failed to change Robert's mind; and how Carrie 
 laughs at this, and says she has managed it, and explains 
 why. 
 
 IF sin were never talked of, who would sin ? 
 ' It is the mouth that is the minister 
 To every evil, all the members else 
 Are but its subjects and its officers, 
 Doing what published bests the mouth may make. 
 For like the hidden germs of some disease 
 Foul voicing will invisibly go spread 
 Into a throng of black malignancy 
 Breeding a world of woes — if at the first 
 The serpent had been made without a tongue 
 Most surely Eve had never fallen wrong. 
 
 Alfred went back, and up in town that night 
 Met Carrie. All this thing is baulked, (he said) 
 Robert is caught beyond all hope of help. 
 And never was a man so overtopped 
 With love's inebriation. I have known 
 Most on the eve of marriage still to let
 
 276 
 
 Their common sense keep passion by the hand, 
 And cahnly view the standing of their loves 
 As matter of chill fact ; but he — good heavens, 
 For full three weeks I took each separate point 
 And argued it at odds and ends of time ; 
 And last night only, when the way was paved, 
 I overtrod in most sequential steps 
 The whole from start to hnish with such care 
 That not a stone was left unturned, and yet 
 All that I had to cap my counsel was 
 Indifference and a homily upon 
 The setting sun. I own that I have failed, 
 I wash my hands of him ; whate'er betide 
 The task is struck and I shall let it slide. 
 
 Oh ho, (laughed Carrie) gloves upon it ! I 
 
 Will bet the very opposite to you. 
 
 You went worst way to work ; all men are fools 
 
 Who bring such things to a judicial cramp, 
 
 And think that points and careful arguments. 
 
 Which may prevail in matters of the mind, 
 
 In calculations, or in business steps. 
 
 Or in most actions betwixt man and man 
 
 That hang on artificial usages. 
 
 Can catch in things of nature. Reason is 
 
 But bond to reason's offsprings ; had you moved 
 
 Like some stump orator who woos a mob 
 
 Holding attention with inflated puff 
 
 And interesting nothings into which 
 
 He grafts suggestions with a stealthy tongue 
 
 Which pass unnoted till their consequence 
 
 Is brought to issue — had you moved like this
 
 277 
 
 You might have won. But as to reason 'tis 
 
 An overrated power ; we women scorn 't, 
 
 And intuition, impulse, instinct, aught 
 
 That hangs on nature, not on artifice, 
 
 Stands us in better stead than reasoning. 
 
 And therefore you have failed, and therefore I 
 
 Who have not changed a word with him and few 
 
 With her upon this knotty business, 
 
 Shall spite of all things yet compel success. 
 
 Look you — the onh- thing I said direct 
 
 Was this, that Robert had not the intent 
 
 Nor would he ever have 't to marry her ; 
 
 And this I told as coming straight from you. 
 
 A lie say you, I own it was a lie, 
 
 But when you think what proper consequence 
 
 Has tail upon this impropriety, 
 
 And how results which otherwise were missed 
 
 Bring certain good from naughty premises. 
 
 The peccadillo's glozed. In one short breath 
 
 I showed her marriage was impossible. 
 
 That she must lose the man or be as I, 
 
 Then, ere the wound this made could have the time 
 
 (For it was deep and raw) I freely poured 
 
 That balsam which should act as remedy. 
 
 Taking good care the scar should still contract 
 
 To our set purpose. From henceforth I spoke 
 
 No more of her or him but of myself, 
 
 Making a text of '• I " to which I hung 
 
 The index of her course. This cutting struck 
 
 And shot, and leaved, and bloomed and set to fruit. 
 
 And will within an even month have borne 
 
 Its calculated seed. I set the yeast
 
 278 
 
 Like some good baker, and the dough will rise, 
 So that in mutual ferment all their blood 
 Must rush to follow my dictated flood. 
 
 I say I made myself the parable 
 
 On which to school her thoughts ; and (since in time 
 
 She must have known the truth) I bared outright 
 
 My self-willed looseness and withdrew the veil 
 
 From what most women strive to hold concealed. 
 
 I told her that I was a pleasured lie 
 
 Invest in simulated truth, a sham. 
 
 And that the precious virtue I was taught 
 
 To cherish as a jewel I had thrown 
 
 In merriment away : and yet for this 
 
 Felt no regrets, nay had my life to run 
 
 From its beginnings to its now again, 
 
 I should break loose the sooner. Secrecy 
 
 Was easy slave to pleasure, people's eyes 
 
 Which pried in malice were so simply gulled, 
 
 That all things else apart the inner jest 
 
 Of fooling idiots was a recompense 
 
 Against their laired ill-nature. Men, said I, 
 
 Were all and all alike, mere things of prey 
 
 Whose quarry still was woman ; subterfuge, 
 
 Deception, counterfeit, guile, trickery, 
 
 Were but their weapons used to strangle out 
 
 The lifetime of our continence, whilst we 
 
 (After some petty show of holding out, 
 
 The more to whet those passions whose display 
 
 We loved beyond themselves) gave all away. 
 
 Is this not right, and does not nature all 
 
 Point to the selfsame road ? Look you, (I said)
 
 279 
 
 When gentle spring dissolves the sleepy thrall 
 
 That bonds the hives and with a warming kiss 
 
 Awakes to life their dormant tenancy, 
 
 The blithe and active bees wing off in flight 
 
 To where the newly opening blossoms hang 
 
 Whom they would woo for honey. There each flower, 
 
 Loosing her coloured petals, opes her eye 
 
 In purely innocent unknowingness 
 
 Upon a new-found world. These gallants then 
 
 (You catch my drifting, for I mean the bees) 
 
 Settle like lover? on the maiden bloom 
 
 In airy grace and breezy gaiety 
 
 To make her sweetness theirs. She, could she speak, 
 
 Would in thin tones of fearful modesty, 
 
 And with half-felt reluctance and desire, 
 
 Beg very softly that inviolate 
 
 She should be spared from outrage, and perchance 
 
 Might shrink and draw her sensitiveness in ; 
 
 Yet when the theft is duly consummate, 
 
 She flings her petals like soft arms abroad, 
 
 Her passions rising with the strengthening sun. 
 
 And finding in it pleasure more than pain 
 
 She would be wooed and robbed and wooed again. 
 
 So men and women are as bees and flowers 
 The seekers and the sought. Women were made 
 To cleave to man : their thoughts when sole are halved 
 And whole when mated : they are like the vine 
 Which cannot mount except upon its prop. 
 Therefore the girl that comes to womanhood 
 Should fling aside all fear and modesty, 
 Nor like the salty flood's anemones
 
 28o 
 
 Shrink to a nothing at the Hghtcst touch ; 
 But rather seek to find, what way she can, 
 The thing she's born to want — that is a man. 
 
 What matter then the life so be it he 
 
 You cling to clings to you — what are the odds 
 
 Whether some sanctimonious mutterings 
 
 And vestried signatures shall make it good ? 
 
 To live is but to live — to love to love. 
 
 Plants many are that thrive on any soil 
 
 Which yet the cunning gardener arrogates 
 
 As lowering only on his own, till last 
 
 His neighbours think it so. Love is as these ; 
 
 Your cleric cultivator knows it pays 
 
 To claim the right as his — 'tis balderdash, 
 
 The man it is and not the way's the thing, 
 
 The proper partner, not the wedding ring. 
 
 And to lose him for scruples who when lost 
 
 Can never be regained : think the regrets. 
 
 There are some things that distance makes more faint. 
 
 Some memories that fade away with time, 
 
 Some vestiges that only go to blur 
 
 Beneath the drizzling tide of years; but Love 
 
 Is not of these ; and hence it is a girl 
 
 Who lets chance like an eel slip through her hands 
 
 When one sharp grip, with some abhorrence quenched. 
 
 May make a fat prize good, is but a fool. 
 
 (She shrunk at this, but as not noting it, 
 
 I overlaid assertion with excuse.) 
 
 There is a time in early life when things 
 
 Seem wrong which later seem no ill at all,
 
 28l 
 
 There is a time when tides at counterpoise 
 
 Hang on the slack and then rush opposite 
 
 In strength and stream to what they coursed before, 
 
 So it has been with me, and so at last 
 
 It is with all of us. You are (I said) 
 
 As I once was, may be as I have been : 
 
 At present you will pity me, despise 
 
 Abhor, detest my actions, aye and draw 
 
 In future from my fellowship, and hate 
 
 The very thing I am — your judgment blown 
 
 Like grass tops all one way. But as the wind 
 
 Comes quarter after quarter in its turn, 
 
 Now frosty north and now voluptuous south, 
 
 So do the currents of our thoughts make change 
 
 Belying what has been. I have confessed 
 
 Myself to you and opened out my ways 
 
 Like some clasped book that has been closely keyed 
 
 And held concealed till now. You know it all 
 
 As Robert does, as Alfred does, you know it : 
 
 But I have acted as I would and still 
 
 Would act again — think of me as you will. 
 
 I have done as I listed, I have kept 
 An unblurred reputation whilst I smirched 
 The nether surface of the card that shows 
 As label to the world : I have obeyed 
 Only great nature's changeless ordinance 
 Which from the first beginnings until now 
 Has been immutable, and I have laughed 
 At fickle man's ridiculous attempts 
 To fashion social suitings to himself,
 
 282 
 
 Only I huij^hed in secret : what's not seen 
 Is nuich the same as what has never been. 
 
 And now what have I lost ? Nothing at all. 
 
 What ha\e I gained ? All woman holds most dear, 
 
 Which out of carping question is my own. 
 
 For look you, nowadays the classes touch, 
 
 And girls in each are situate and grown 
 
 To scorn their own and seek the one above ; 
 
 Hence such as we no longer care to stay 
 
 The humdrum farmer's wife shut up and cooped 
 
 Within a village, now we know the charm 
 
 Of better breeding, tongue, wa}'s, modes, ideas, 
 
 And so at any cost associate 
 
 With their possessors. And the men above us 
 
 Finding some greater freedom with ourselves 
 
 And clubbed to look on marriage as a clog 
 
 Seek us as we seek them, until we girls 
 
 Are put to choice between a liaison 
 
 With one we love, or matrimony with 
 
 One we abominate, nay more, despise. 
 
 The times perhaps are all to blame for this. 
 
 But then who makes the times ? not we nor they : 
 
 So 'tis the times to which we now belong 
 
 And not ourselves that really do the wrong. 
 
 But more than this, I claim that we do right 
 In choosing as we choose. For which is best ? 
 To dutifully wed a boor and be 
 An all-unloving wife, acting a part 
 Which soon or late must falsify and breed 
 Absolute misery within the home ;
 
 283 
 
 Or to break duty — if it be a breach — 
 
 And cling to one we love where consequence 
 
 Harms neither him nor us. What I have done 
 
 I would not if I could undo again. 
 
 But seeing that we act before the times 
 
 (Abhorrent like all things that come too soon) 
 
 I keep it from the world. I give it you 
 
 To hold in secret and infallible trust ; 
 
 As for myself, I go to town again, 
 
 Happy in what most folk would reckon vain. 
 
 This was in rough the line I took with Nell 
 
 Until I left. I think it will compare 
 
 With how you handled Robert. Take the two — 
 
 You told him simply how he should not act, 
 
 I told her all that could be done in fact ; 
 
 You showed him what he wished he ought to shun, 
 
 I showed her how her pleasures might be won. 
 
 This seed will shoot to air ; cement is yet 
 
 But powder till the water makes it set.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 How Robert and Nell are relieved when Alfred and Carrie 
 have gone ; hut how the poison these latter left behind 
 begins to work. 
 
 POETS, artists, authors, sculptors, dramatists, 
 Have in imagination conjured up 
 Evil and good as bodied ; they have made 
 The devil walking in the flesh on earth 
 And brought the cursed spirit of wickedness 
 Into corporeality to trip 
 The beam of tottering humanity ; 
 Or have with higher flight sublimely drawn 
 God from His throne and angels from their place 
 That they in worldly and assumed garb 
 Might come to personed touching with ourselves, 
 And take our hands to guide us into grace. 
 That such has been religion teaches us 
 And that it still may be ; but yet this comes 
 So rarely that it only weaves to fit 
 An epic's glorious magnificence 
 And not the current of a simple tale ; 
 Whose record rather is that wc ourselves
 
 285 
 
 Carry a hell or a divinity 
 Towards our fellow and respondent men, 
 And in our common ways of every day 
 Make others' lives or mar them. Every man 
 And every woman is to those around 
 A blessed angel or infernal fiend, 
 And every act of ours done ill or well 
 Stands but as monitor to heaven or hell. 
 
 True that around us float the ministers 
 
 Of God and Satan, yet their hands are tied 
 
 By some immutable divine decree : 
 
 The interception of an angel's arm 
 
 Might stay a murder, incest, sacrilege ; 
 
 His voice might stop the fearfullest of crimes 
 
 Humanity can coop : yet hand and voice 
 
 Must even be withheld. Else why is it 
 
 That we have ever been allowed to sin, 
 
 That Paradise was fruited, that the snake 
 
 Was ever loosened ? Still had this not been, 
 
 Man richly paupered and unlibertied 
 
 Had stayed a slave in cycle as the stars, 
 
 A mere mechanical automaton, 
 
 A template of exceeding excellence, 
 
 A mass without a will : — but as it is, 
 
 Cast in his Maker's image he has power, 
 
 Whilst still his span of life is integrate. 
 
 To do what thing he lists, and thus it is, 
 
 His every act with others holding force 
 
 By its example or suggestiveness, 
 
 He (though he "scapes the fearful brand of Cain)
 
 286 
 
 Is yet his brother's keeper, and is still 
 To all around a spirit of good or ill. 
 
 Moreover in this good and ill alike 
 
 Those things that seem the least significant 
 
 Most have particular power. The ceaseless drops 
 
 Eat through the closest stone more certainly, 
 
 And cut a way a thousand times more sure, 
 
 Than if their gathered volume should be dashed 
 
 In one full instant rush. 'Tis tiny acts 
 
 And little iterant faults swell up to make 
 
 The gross of some inveterate devilishness, 
 
 'Gainst which one blazing inconsiderate crime 
 
 May count as petty in the balancing. 
 
 And so great sins, magnificent ill deeds, 
 
 Though they appal the senses at the time, 
 
 Yet fall without the pale of copying. 
 
 And do less evil than those dribbling noughts 
 
 Which scarce have note, but as fine crystal snows 
 
 Creep into crannies where the larger flakes 
 
 Are all inhibited. And as the dart 
 
 The southern savage puffs to puncturing 
 
 Can with its venomed pin-point through the skin 
 
 Do greater murder than a gaping gash. 
 
 So sign, suggestion, inuendo, phrase. 
 
 Unwholesome prompts and impudicities 
 
 Are more infective and more poisonous 
 
 (Albeit unnoticed and unthought upon) 
 
 Than some great hideous barbarous offence 
 
 That in its awfulness appals the sense. 
 
 Robert and Nell, when first the others brought 
 The making of their holiday, had been
 
 287 
 
 At blithest in anticipation : 
 
 The happy recollections of last year 
 
 Their rambles, rippling fun, spontaneous mirth, 
 
 Jests that made laughter an infection, 
 
 And each day spent in merriment more bright 
 
 Than every yesterday, all these returned 
 
 To make their spirits mount. But now before 
 
 A single sun had circled, everything 
 
 Seemed to go wrong and jostle out of joint ; 
 
 For as upon a fair and cloudless morn 
 
 Which breaks with rosy promise sometimes creeps 
 
 The trouble of a dull oppressiveness, 
 
 The air gets charged, the cattle restless, birds 
 
 Half-hearted in their notes till people say 
 
 A storm will brew before the day is out. 
 
 Judging this rather by their sense than signs ; 
 
 So though conjunction with the old quartet 
 
 Seemed prophet but to gaiety, still there came 
 
 A sombre something which day following day 
 
 Deepened to miserable irksomeness. 
 
 Nell whose whole spirit was buoyant as the air, 
 
 Who danced in laughter on the tide of life. 
 
 Grew sunk and merged in gloomy reverie ; 
 
 Sought cornerings with Carrie, and came back 
 
 With salted eyes and absent-mindedness. 
 
 Her native frankness choked by underthought. 
 
 And that clear look which stamped each word its die 
 
 Marred by the robbery of drooping eye. 
 
 Whilst Robert, who had hoped for liberty 
 
 To side day through with Nell, now found himself 
 
 Most closely leashed and tied and buttonholed
 
 288 
 
 By Alfred, who excused himself in saying — 
 
 Girls have so much to change in confidence 
 
 On odds and ends where we have no concern, 
 
 E'en Rome allowed her matrons mysteries, 
 
 Let us not play the Clodius ; then he passed 
 
 From level comrade to high monitor, 
 
 Piling such stacks of cumulate advice, 
 
 And that so counter to all reckonings, 
 
 That Robert scarcely knew him as himself: 
 
 But as to Carrie, Robert hated her 
 
 For cutting him from Nell. So when at last 
 
 She left and Alfred followed it was like 
 
 A great suspense joy-ended, or as when 
 
 Into the sunny full of summertide 
 
 There breaks a week of storm with leaden clouds, 
 
 The vivid flash and blue of blazing bolts, 
 
 The din of thunder and great floods of rain, 
 
 Which cleared, the summer is the same again. 
 
 The same ! Is anything again the same ? 
 
 Does not the merest minuting of time 
 
 Froth in its wake the swell and wash of change. 
 
 Whilst every atom in the universe 
 
 Is but a thing of eddies ? we ourselves 
 
 Are creatures of sheer shifts ; our opal minds 
 
 With each fresh light take other colourings 
 
 And never more flash with exactitude 
 
 Their rainbowed like again. Men be who seem 
 
 So constant and so fixed in character 
 
 That their pronouncement is immutable, 
 
 Yet as the level sands upon the shore 
 
 Which each tide leaves apparently alike
 
 28g 
 
 Though not a single grain is where it was, 
 So these set men beneath their seeming selves 
 Are daily alien. How then with those 
 Who have not even found their anchorage ? 
 But bob haphazard like stray little corks 
 To be the sport of puffs ? When years are few 
 Our old ideas keep dying with the new, 
 And only when our lives are just on past 
 We think we come to fixity at last. 
 
 But Nell and Robert in a day or two 
 
 (When the restraint those others left behind, 
 
 As slime and trail of their suggestiveness, 
 
 liad, like a one-night ice upon the pools. 
 
 Melted with warmth away) returned once more 
 
 Into the grooves and habitings of life 
 
 That they had held before ; nor ever touched 
 
 By any word of reference on those taints 
 
 That had been subtly set to shoot within them. 
 
 And which like layers of a creeper fell 
 
 To strike or wither as went ill or well. 
 
 For Nell, although she took as Gospel truth 
 
 At first what Carrie said, with later thoughts 
 
 Began to hold it trustless, and as bred 
 
 Out of some jealous underhand intent 
 
 Be-fashioned to an end : therefore she strove 
 
 To cast its substance off upon the winds 
 
 And beat it from her mind ; but though she drowned 
 
 By pointed will its figurement from thought, 
 
 Still would it rise like some puffed hideous corpse 
 
 In all its ghastly rot and deadliness 
 
 19
 
 2go 
 
 To float before her whether she would or not. 
 
 Robert by sweet companionship had twined 
 
 Himself as part and parcel of her bein^, 
 
 Had won her as a woman is but once 
 
 Won when her maiden fancy first winj^s flight 
 
 And nestles with an infinite trust and love 
 
 Upon one man as all and all alone. 
 
 And then to lose him ! What if autumn came 
 
 And with the red and falling of the leaves 
 
 He went as in the autumn of last year 
 
 And never came again ? Never again ! 
 
 What was life worth without him ? then what odds 
 
 What life was led so it was led with him. 
 
 And yet to hold him on such tenancy 
 
 As Carrie had prescribed : and yet — and yet 
 
 Was not all hazard better than all loss ? 
 
 What if this sin which seemed so gross and rank 
 
 And in cold contemplation horrible 
 
 Was after all only a common fault, 
 
 A thing done daily and as daily hid, 
 
 An unknown piecing in the usages 
 
 Of all and every one ? Were Carrie so 
 
 As she herself had openly confessed, 
 
 'Twas only by confession it was known. 
 
 And so unknown carried no consequence; 
 
 Yet was concealment absolution ? 
 
 Or could foul murder undetected be 
 
 No longer crime nor even infamy ? 
 
 So dazed she cast these problems out of thought 
 And overdrew their frettings with a veil 
 Tissued of hope, which yet the constant puffs
 
 291 
 
 Of chill anxiety would stir aside, 
 
 Making long gapes behind the which grinned forms 
 
 That goblined shudders. Ah, our minds are made 
 
 A suite of many chambers issuant 
 
 One from the other which our souls inhabit ; 
 
 Each has its furniture and parelling. 
 
 And every passion, tendency, desire. 
 
 As well as every virtuous intent, 
 
 Has there its dressing-room wherein to garb 
 
 And out itself to staging. Some there are 
 
 Set to the simple use of every day. 
 
 And some for rarer occupance, and some 
 
 Like Bluebeard's closet banned and interdict, 
 
 A-through whose portals we should never peep. 
 
 Much less make entry. But alas, we pry, 
 
 Toy with the lure that is prohibited, 
 
 Make our first tent and tremble, then again, 
 
 And so until the bait that scared at first 
 
 Becomes familiar, then delectable, 
 
 And hooks us in the maw, making us changed 
 
 From the pure liberty of innocence 
 
 To guilty struggling creatures, Nell was changed ; 
 
 Her innocence and simpleness were going, 
 
 Her modesty was marred and on the wane : 
 
 Now if she was with Robert she would hold 
 
 In thought and action to him as a thing 
 
 That might be lost ; when they had kissed before 
 
 She held aloof and so was kissed the more ; 
 
 Now if they kissed her arms were round him thrown 
 
 As if to keep him ever as her own. 
 
 And as to Robert, he when bv himself
 
 292 
 
 Would pace along like some caged animal 
 
 And think on Alfred's words with anger — then 
 
 Cool down, and cooled would think on them again 
 
 And view them second lighted, balancing 
 
 Against the pure ideal he had built 
 
 Their gross material drift. He too, like Nell, 
 
 Would crush this down, but he, like her, had changed 
 
 And found a guilty chamber in his soul. 
 
 For through their wooing time his holiest gaze 
 
 Had been into the fathoms of her eyes 
 
 In hunger after love ; but now there rose, 
 
 Like the miasmic vapours of a marsh, 
 
 The sense how beautiful her body was, 
 
 Whose every point and item had become 
 
 Altars for separate worship, fetiches 
 
 Enshrined for adoration, and to be 
 
 Gross objects of his new idolatry. 
 
 Her little ear which peeped from out a stream 
 
 Of flowing hair was as a precious shell 
 
 Cast from the reckless ocean to its marge 
 
 By Venus as a messenger ; her cheek 
 
 Bloomed with the beauty of an untouched peach 
 
 (Which to be tasted must be crushed and bitten) 
 
 Seemed a soft pillow made for fellowing ; 
 
 Her mouth an idyll of voluptuous lines 
 
 That Cupid bowed express for liberties ; 
 
 Her neck-nape a whole mystery which drew 
 
 Imagination down to ecstasy; 
 
 Her form a sphinx's riddle to be solved 
 
 By high imagination where through dress
 
 293 
 
 It moulded folds although itself scarce seen 
 (Like some fine master in the craft of rule 
 Who shapes a nation's whole exterior 
 Whilst he himself save by the piercing eye 
 Is scarce observed) ; her ankle when it stole 
 At hazard from the edges of her gown 
 Had such seduction and suggestiveness 
 It shook the straints of reason ; all her ways 
 Steps, actions, motions were rich testament 
 To hot reality. So would she seem 
 Sometimes to him, and sometimes all reversed : 
 Thus is it women have such different force 
 On drifting men, viewed with one eye they be 
 Houris that drag him down to infamy, 
 Or other eyed are saintly angels given 
 To lead his thoughts and actions up to heaven. 
 
 We change and change, yet never think it so ; 
 
 We dress and view our figures in the glass 
 
 According to the fashions of the times 
 
 Which then seem right ; yet what we were before 
 
 Is all forgotten and obliterate. 
 
 All's for the present, everything appears 
 
 According to the light that falls upon it ; 
 
 The gre}^ of dawn, the golden flash of noon, 
 
 The crimson flood of sunset, each of these 
 
 With their particular and especial ray 
 
 Invest the selfsame scenes whose landmarks hold 
 
 Shaping and form that are identical. 
 
 Yet these beneath the question of the eye 
 
 Seem wholly different. Could hills but speak
 
 294 
 
 Could streams give tongue, could heavens express their 
 
 thoughts, 
 They would proclaim themselves immutable, 
 So men by different lights and passions ranged 
 Vary and yet believe themselves unchanged.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 How hot August runs through, and Robert and Nell meet 
 openly to the scandal of the village. 
 
 NOW heated August came and with a parch 
 Of blazing skies and golden harvest-fields 
 Ran stifling through. The earth a second time 
 Gave up the ample fruiting of its womb, 
 And those who haytide swept the circling scythe 
 Now played the short-struck sickle. The grained crops 
 Under the scorch of oriental suns 
 
 Were cut, sheaved, carted, corner-ricked, and thatched 
 In treasured storage for the threshing time, 
 Till the bared land lay stripped and stretched away 
 Like some great chess-board squared in brown and green. 
 And evening after evening through the month 
 When the fierce heat and light of day had waned 
 The labourers with slung coats and bags aback 
 And open shirt to catch the lightest breeze, 
 Went plodding homewards to their cottages 
 Unvexed by toil which stretched from rise to set, 
 For their large labour brought them wages which 
 If thrifted made the worthless winter rich. 
 
 And all day long the boys, now school was up 
 Scampered below the pool to strip and splash
 
 296 
 
 Like minnows on the shallows, thoughtless they 
 Of all the future bears : true wisdom lies 
 More oft in folly than in being wise. 
 
 And yet with all its azure skies and sun 
 August was tinged with sadness, for the morns 
 Grew later and the evenings came too soon ; 
 Night mists uprose to mock the waning year 
 And shroud it ere its time ; the very birds, 
 As with a sense of summer's transience 
 And saddened with the memories of spring, 
 Of broken homes, of broods dispersed, of love 
 With sweet seclusion vanished, Hocked again 
 (For so society seems opiate 
 To the pained record of an old romance) 
 And in a melancholy muteness lost 
 The cunning of their song — or at the most 
 Twittered a few half-hearted broken notes. 
 Which if they held the ear seemed in their tune 
 But echoed fragments of a faded June. 
 
 The swifts with gathered broods had sped away, 
 
 And whilst the month was hottest sought the south, 
 
 (Lesson of prudence in prosperity 
 
 Which eyes the future even ere it comes. 
 
 And at the volumed height of opulence 
 
 Reckons the hazard risks of poverty 
 
 And scouts them) : in a mournful monotone 
 
 Dusk-hunting chafers swept in air to buzz 
 
 An evening's melancholy elegy. 
 
 And when day died the glowworms lit their light 
 
 To burn a requiem vigil through the night.
 
 297 
 
 There is an energy in exodus ; 
 
 The dying man, even in the very hours 
 
 That close the finished chapter of his life 
 
 Spurts to new force, and with a make-believe 
 
 (Except to those whose business is death) 
 
 Rewakens hope where hope was dead and gone, 
 
 And almost seems as he would hve again. 
 
 The trees threw topping sprigs of emerald 
 
 Amidst their deepest green — the roses thrust 
 
 A second bloom into luxuriance, 
 
 For were not all the glories of their June 
 
 Now nothing better than a memory ? 
 
 And so it is with us, all our high deeds 
 
 Are as the fiery flashing of a cannon 
 
 Which having boomed leaves but a puff of smoke 
 
 To hold the eye for some brief interval 
 
 And then melts off to nought. What is it lasts ? 
 
 The new ousts out the old and all things fade 
 
 From out the recollections of the world, 
 
 Kings, statesmen, politicians, warriors. 
 
 Catch records in their nation's history. 
 
 Yet nations live but for a summer-time. 
 
 After the which they wane and fritter out 
 
 To make a place for better. Those same men 
 
 Who in their cycle were such paragons 
 
 Are in the frittering of centuries 
 
 Wiped from all recollection. So we all 
 
 However eminent and excellent 
 
 Are in the vast and ceaseless flow of time 
 
 Mere unconsidered specks and molecules : 
 
 Ambition is a mist, all glory smoke, 
 
 And reputation from its chimney tops
 
 298 
 
 Disperses on the wind. And so those things 
 On which humanity sets such a store 
 Are trivial and nothing. Man's whole work 
 Is whilst he lives to do the good he can, 
 And whilst his life in this sole aim is spent 
 To live unfretted and to die content. 
 
 But on — all things are in their aspects twinned 
 
 And every object has a sunny side 
 
 As well as one in shadow. August's self 
 
 Although part touched with sombreness had yet, 
 
 Whilst this was background, its rich heraldry 
 
 Of sound and light and hue. The river now 
 
 Never had been so gay with boats before, 
 
 When time was tuned to rural holiday, 
 
 And laughter, melody of happiness, 
 
 Rang on the water till its notes became 
 
 Like the wind's whisper and the babbling weir 
 
 Nature's accompaniment. Light-hearted girls 
 
 And merry men passed up and down the stream. 
 
 The locks were filled and voided all day long. 
 
 The banks were dotted thick with picnickers, 
 
 And boys and girls in nature hit the fate 
 
 Of many a future marriage. What to them 
 
 Whether the loosestrife or the willow-herb 
 
 Was fading off to withered brown below ? 
 
 The tops still bloomed and verdured in the sun : 
 
 What if the lilies' blossom went ? the leaf 
 
 Still made its tesselation on the stream 
 
 The moorhens' playground and the water-voles' : 
 
 What if the thistles' monitory down 
 
 Fluffed on the versing dial of the year ?
 
 299 
 
 Were not the dahlias and the hollyhocks 
 
 Now mates to the continuance of July, 
 
 Making a double glory : did not fruit 
 
 Where flower had faded richly flush in place ? 
 
 The wayside bryony on ever}' hedge 
 
 Hung out its vermeil berry, thorns which erst 
 
 Were snowed in May were rubied now with haws, 
 
 Briars for roses changed the orange hip, 
 
 And burdened orchards bowed with weight of fruit 
 
 Which each day deepened blood. Nature indeed 
 
 Seemed in this acme to out-top herself; 
 
 And as a woman in her wane will don 
 
 The costliest ornament, as with the hope 
 
 That gorgeous 'parelling can overreach 
 
 The simple charm of primrose maidenhood, 
 
 (And oft as not will in her aim succeed) 
 
 So with voluptuously fervid dress 
 
 Was August tired. Oh, these were days to roam 
 
 Within the cool recesses of the woods ; 
 
 To lie beneath the shadow of some tree 
 
 Amidst the soft dry grass and gaze the blue 
 
 Until imagination lost itself 
 
 In endless depth and dreams : to wander paired 
 
 With some sweet girl in blithesome holiday, 
 
 And when night came beneath the lowly moon 
 
 (Whose cold mysterious light breeds reverie 
 
 And makes one catch the breath of happiness) 
 
 To drift upon the waters, deep imbued 
 
 With drawn delicious insolicitude. 
 
 With these hot provocations of the month 
 Robert and Nell fell in. Usage had now
 
 300 
 
 Bred in them such contempt of secrecy 
 
 That they would meet as open as the day 
 
 Absorbed in Httlc other than themselves, 
 
 And in the summertide of wilfulness, 
 
 Cast by all cloak of caution. Nell, 'tis true, 
 
 Still for her mother had the old excuse 
 
 Of being at the farm, although the farm 
 
 Was a closed earth, — Carrie had seen to that : 
 
 Still all excuse or true or false holds good 
 
 Like parchments rightly or obscurely drawn 
 
 Up to the thresh and winnowing of trial. 
 
 So everybody in the village saw 
 
 (For villagers are Argus-eyed where town 
 
 Is simply Polyphemus) how things ran. 
 
 The elders held their tongues but loosed their thoughts. 
 
 For age keeps silence by experience ; 
 
 But most the girls with less than thought strung up 
 
 The tuning of their tongues to scandal pitch 
 
 And let them play with harsh malignity. 
 
 They saw Nell married to a gentleman 
 
 Or else dishonoured ; either rankly stirred 
 
 Their jealousy or their self-righteousness, 
 
 And choosing out the viler likelihood 
 
 They mouthed it out as an accomplishment ; 
 
 Though this behind her back ; but to her face. 
 Lest the more honourable end should chance, 
 
 They were as smooth as ever. Thus as clouds 
 Brew lading out of sight beyond the hills 
 Unthought of till they mount to burst in storm 
 So did dishonour's withering report 
 From misty speculation gather stress 
 Whilst Nell herself was all unconsciousness.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 How Robert during a thunderstorm on the last day of A ugmt 
 reviews everything, and determines absolutely to tell Nell 
 that evening that he will marry her ; and how they meet 
 and how Nell comes to shame. 
 
 I 
 
 S Life a game of chance ? — a thing of dice 
 
 Which rattled may throw aces or may cast 
 The double six, a lottery wherein 
 All is confusion and uncertainty, 
 Is it but luck, or is it fate, or is't 
 Controlled by Providence or predestinate ? 
 Or is one tittle altered by ourselves ? 
 Think this all over, pick back sequences, 
 Work out the touch of origin to ends, 
 Read, be a bookworm, eat up libraries. 
 Pluck to the brain a living of research ; 
 Ask all these questions wholly through — and then 
 Seek out some simple child and ask again. 
 
 August had eked, until its final morn 
 
 Ushered the fiercest tempest of the year : 
 
 The leaden sky cracked up like porcelain 
 
 To shivered fragments 'twixt whose breaches swept
 
 302 
 
 The blaze of titter heaven, whilst blasting tongues 
 
 Lapped at the earth and all the spiteful vault 
 
 Roared in abominable iterance. 
 
 Now Robert in an old gone summertide, 
 
 Once bathing where the gentle Avon winds 
 
 In its sweet way past Lawrence Sherift"'s school, 
 
 Was quick caught by a storm, a little storm 
 
 That shot its brace or so of bolts and sped ; 
 
 But in the topping of its vivid spurt 
 
 There fell a ball crash on the nearest elm 
 
 Of those around the pool, ripping its bark 
 
 And leaving it a steaming remnant — dead. 
 
 Then day by day its sap-reft foliage 
 
 Faded and fell, until a barren trunk 
 
 Stood gaunt and blear beside the bathing-place, 
 
 A naked emblem of fatality. 
 
 And from that day Robert had quaked at storms ; 
 
 They seemed to him the lively ministers 
 
 Of the Omnipotent sent out to blast 
 
 Some sinner hot in his iniquity. 
 
 So this same morning whilst the lightning forked, 
 
 And flashed the darkest corners of the room, 
 
 The very darkest corners of his soul 
 
 Lit as with revelation. All this crime, 
 
 This evil netting after innocence 
 
 Which he had thought on, stood out hideously : 
 
 And as confession clears the soul and makes 
 
 The way to absolution, so whilst still 
 
 The storm drew sullenly and feebled off, 
 
 (Like some thrashed army whose artillery 
 
 Hangs on the toiling verges of retreat 
 
 And booms the car less frequent and more faint
 
 303 
 
 Till lost at last in silence) so himself 
 
 Grew gradually void of villan}', 
 
 Till when the scattering clouds made rift to loose 
 
 The light advances of the welcome sun 
 
 And the hushed birds broke once again to note, 
 
 He had his minding clear : he would clench down 
 
 A barrier on this lust — marriage should bring 
 
 Its instant ending to this fearful thing. 
 
 Now once again the skies were blue, the winds 
 Fallen to zephyrs, and from writhing throes 
 Nature came mother to a gentle noon ; 
 Wherein relief, peace, sunlight, carolling 
 Were as the solace of an infant's voice 
 Upon an ended labour. Robert rose 
 And, absolute in the serenity 
 Of his new fixed resolves, went up to watch 
 Till Nell was in the garden, coughed and signed 
 With seven raised fingers and post-verted thumb 
 Their hour and place of meeting, to the which 
 He had the nodding of her blithe consent : 
 And after, filled the vacant tedious hours 
 With thoughts that made the future parcelling 
 To his last set determination, — 
 As though a man can possibly rely 
 For one next instant on his destiny. 
 
 Then seven tolled, and ere its cadences 
 
 Died from the air there was the clank of latch. 
 
 And Nell, with all that careless casualty 
 
 Wherein a woman covers up intent, 
 
 Tripped down the path and up the village street
 
 304 
 
 Till she was lost beyond its turn from view. 
 
 But Robert, after proper time and law, 
 
 Strolled with sheer nonchalance the other way, 
 
 Made for the pool, unloosed his boat and pushed 
 
 Into the open stream whose sluggish help 
 
 With an occasional and measured stroke 
 
 He forced, still cornering a querent eye 
 
 Till from the skirting of the village elms 
 
 He saw Nell merge and take the path whose way 
 
 Struck through the meadows to their place of tryst. 
 
 And never man grown great in statecraft's rule 
 
 Could with a pace more e\'en and precise 
 
 Have stolen towards some great climacteric 
 
 Than he, his mind fixed only on a girl. 
 
 Held his synchronic way that both of them 
 
 Might on the rushy margin of the stream 
 
 At the same moment meet. Yet so it was 
 
 That even as the bow grated the bank 
 
 She stepped unstopping in, and passed astern 
 
 To take the cushioned seat, on which he backed 
 
 Till the boat's head was pointing down the tide, 
 
 Shipped in the sculls, and settled by her side. 
 
 Now evening fell whilst thieving night began 
 To creep with stealthy shadows up the east 
 Usurping morning's birthplace, and the day 
 Blushing deep red at wanton night's advance 
 Caught in her skirts of light and slowly drew 
 Within the sheltering hollows of the west ; 
 Eternal symbol of that chastity 
 Which holds no counter with the ravisher,
 
 305 
 
 But ere he comes retires, ere he can call 
 Leaves a chill nothing to be spoke withal. 
 
 But they nor noted day nor night nor aught, 
 Floating along in utter heedlessness 
 Of way, of hour, of earth, of everything. 
 Of whither the waters drifted them, of how 
 The ceaseless flood and currency of time 
 Falling again in its diurnal wave 
 Might merge them, of the scene around, of meads. 
 Of hills, of woods (mothers of mystery). 
 Of the vast deepening canopy above 
 'Yond which a holy speculation fits 
 The very home of God, of these, of all 
 To which th' illimitable universe 
 With its unprobed recess is continent 
 They sat oblivious, all their feelings now 
 Set in one single circlet " I and thou : " 
 Which (like the precept of some great physician 
 Given for a final straw to one whom Death 
 Close-fingers at the last faint clutch of hope) 
 So bound and fettered up their mutual minds 
 That had perdition's red gulf open yawned 
 Fiery beneath them, they had sunk within it, 
 Even as extinction choked their cindered lips 
 In one deep last-drawn and absorbing sigh 
 That made the tongue to utter " Thou and I." 
 
 But from this dream — whose only figure is 
 (For love lives solely in hyperbole) 
 The consummated happiness of heaven 
 Condensed through all eternity to make 
 
 20
 
 ^.o6 
 
 J 
 
 One deep extracted and possessing essence, 
 
 Dream which tlirouf^hout Dur carthl}' pilgrimage 
 
 Up to the h'mi tings of life is stored 
 
 As memory's choicest relic, or the jewel 
 
 Of all the hoarded wealth the past can pile 
 
 And lock for overlooking, or the scent 
 
 Of some most rare and only once found flower 
 
 Whose faded leaves still hold their fragrancy 
 
 When it alas, is dead — they were soft roused 
 
 By the light whisper of the nnguided bow 
 
 Which swept into the rushes of the bank 
 
 And brought their boat to stop even where the shore 
 
 Was shelved insinuate to the rowlock's edge, 
 
 Making it seem as though the envious earth 
 
 Jealous that so much haj)piness should rest 
 
 Upon its sister element now craved 
 
 Its proper share of burdening, and planned 
 
 The due suggestion that should lure them land. 
 
 Then as a silent and light-fingered touch, 
 Laid on the shoulder of a musing man. 
 Draws him unstartled from his reverie, 
 So did this almost imperceptible stop 
 Draw Robert back again to usual things; 
 And when, from under slowly lifted lids, 
 He eyed the sloped enticement of the bank, 
 ^ Turning to Nell whose nestled head reposed 
 Within the shoulder hollow of his chest 
 He said : Here chance has set a landing-place ; 
 These late day breezes and the sun have dried 
 After this morning's storm what remnant wet 
 Was by the scorched and thirsty earth undrunk,
 
 307 
 
 Nor yet have pearly dews distilled, whose drops 
 
 Could on your footsteps shower chill interdict. 
 
 Here let us land, tie up the boat, and roam 
 
 In perfect solitude along the bank 
 
 Of these sequestered meads, where skulking eyes 
 
 In scandal's inquisition will not peer 
 
 And where the world will seem entire to stand 
 
 To our own lordship ; for possession is 
 
 Whether it touch a tiny cottage plot 
 
 Or half a county of estates, or realms. 
 
 Nothing but freedom from obtrusiveness, 
 
 And without this not worth its very name, 
 
 But having this wants neither settled deeds 
 
 Nor skinned engrossments parchmented to be 
 
 The unneeded titles of reality. 
 
 Then as facility will fix our acts. 
 
 And opportunity pins fluttering doubts 
 
 As boys do tangled butterflies, so she, 
 
 Without the dispensation of a thought. 
 
 Stepped, as he tethered up the boat, ashore. 
 
 Behold along the borders of the bank 
 
 They thread their leisured way amidst the trees, 
 
 Sometimes beneath high elms and sometimes through 
 
 The modest willows and low undergrowth. 
 
 Till by most casual chance they came to where 
 
 An elm, ere half its growth was consummate, 
 
 Had by the rage of some hyemal gale 
 
 Been blown, its weakly hold to mother earth 
 
 Absolved, uprooted down ; whereon good man, 
 
 Who twists all nature to his selfish ends 
 
 And brings creation to his servitude,
 
 3o8 
 
 Had loppod and sawn and drawn wood, branch, and twig. 
 
 Leaving alone a cracked and useless l)iitt 
 
 With tortuous radicles for rodent time 
 
 To rot and to dissolve : the ivy crept 
 
 (Ivy that sweetly hides th' affronts of years 
 
 Even as forgiveness and forgetfulness 
 
 Cover the wrongs that have been done to us) 
 
 Already mounting over it, and round 
 
 The bushes grew in circling coverture, 
 
 Making a hemmed seclusion with one breach 
 
 As entry towards the river : this they saw 
 
 Almost in passing it, and with accord. 
 
 Its aptness hitting them harmoniously 
 
 As a sweet place of rest, they drew within it 
 
 (That fated circle which was starred to be 
 
 The Eden of their serpent destiny). 
 
 There side by side on the wrecked log they sat. 
 
 His arm within the hollow of her waist 
 
 To cling them closer bound, and softly mused 
 
 Till Robert broke with whispered utterances 
 
 The charm of wandering thought. See how (said he) 
 
 That servant light behind the fallen sun 
 
 Has slipped the sky and yond faint afterglow 
 
 Lying along the ridges of the hills 
 
 Makes these more black in contrast, whilst above 
 
 Clean cold grey lines of calm unangry cloud 
 
 Float as last barriers to those western gates 
 
 Whencefrom, as through the chinks of closing doors 
 
 Shine the last gleams of light ; thus night has stolen 
 
 All but this tiny remnant of the day, 
 
 And yet our eyes in their discernment grow
 
 309 
 
 Practised to loss of those essentials 
 
 Which taught to them their use ; ingratitude 
 
 As common as all time. Look how the moon, 
 
 Having a planet mate within its arms, 
 
 Waits on this htful gap of interlight 
 
 (The blank between a dead king and a new) 
 
 And mounts towards dominion ; the great stars 
 
 Have silvered now from out the firmament, 
 
 Putting high shame upon those orange dots 
 
 Which mark alone the lowly homes of men. 
 
 Listen how every soft and separate sound 
 
 Has its own lull and is indicative 
 
 Of treasured loneliness. From distant folds 
 
 Some final restless bleat wafts muffled down ; 
 
 The voices of the villagers from far 
 
 When that they hit a grosser overtone 
 
 Just reach in mellow dimness to our ears ; 
 
 The breeze stirs softly through the seeding grass 
 
 Silks in the sheaves and rustles on the leaf; 
 
 Whilst as a top and greater sound than all. 
 
 Being the living note most near to us 
 
 And yet not interdict to solitude, 
 
 Some cricket insect pipes its tardy mate 
 
 With tones that vaguely mock its whereabouts ; 
 
 The moorhen breaks its unmelodious cry, 
 
 And now and then a great fish makes a splash. 
 
 Yet does this jar ? No, the sole thing that can 
 
 Disturb the peace and rest of man, — is man. 
 
 Oh, is not all celestial and divine ! 
 
 Yet see upon the edge of this full peace, 
 
 As fiends that trespass to the gates of heaven
 
 310 
 
 Making tliciii foiled and more beatified, 
 
 There hangs the touch of misery. The bat 
 
 With flight more crooked than men's evil deeds 
 
 Flits on its insect and unconscious prey, 
 
 Whilst in most grim retaliation 
 
 The swift night-haunting hawk from shade to shade 
 
 Shoots sharp across the sky just visible 
 
 And preys upon the predatory bat. 
 
 But what are they to us ? Extremes must touch, 
 
 The palace still holds squalor on its fringe, 
 
 The damask gown of wealth must trail the mud 
 
 To be bemired : yet gown and palace both 
 
 Are none the less themselves. Where then the need 
 
 That gives to mud and squalor any heed ? 
 
 Still they sat on until the mounting moon 
 
 With greater darkness gathered greater light. 
 
 And shot within the foliaged recess 
 
 That nested them ; still they sat heedless on 
 
 A head bowed down to meet a face upturned, 
 
 Eyes that were glasses of the very soul 
 
 Reflecting love's sublime intensity. 
 
 Lips that disused the commonplace of speech, 
 
 And stole with delicate voluptuousness 
 
 To meet, and having met blent as 'twere 
 
 In one close solvent ardent unison, 
 
 Wherein two souls were fused to one, wherein 
 
 The grosser dross of life seemed melted down 
 
 And fell away to leave an absolute gold 
 
 Clean of alloy : wherein the universe 
 
 Was as a bauble, aye, and God Himself
 
 311 
 
 Even in the passion of His clay create 
 Was by that very clay obliviate. 
 
 Then in these moments Robert summoned up 
 
 His purpose of the morning, aye, and saw, 
 
 As one who sets a picture ere he speaks, 
 
 The whole long visioned future of his life 
 
 From that night onward. — Nell's joyed ecstasy. 
 
 The next day's Httle trivial odds and ends 
 
 Of settlement, the clang of marriage bells. 
 
 She and her mother in some sweet new home 
 
 Which a third generation should fill up 
 
 Till every room and every corridor. 
 
 The garden and the fields about the house. 
 
 Should ring with children's voices. Then he drew 
 
 To gentle disengagement and began 
 
 The ordered tenor of his speech, which ran — 
 
 But the first words had scarcely left his lips 
 
 When (and say still is life a thing of chance ?) 
 
 Nell made a sudden motion to the ground, 
 
 Spread out her feeling fingers on the grass 
 
 And laughed. The lacing of her shoe had loosed 
 
 And it had fallen off. He from the stump 
 
 Slipped down upon his knees, felt out the shoe 
 
 And took her tiny ankle in his hand 
 
 To place it on. An ankle ! Heavens above us ! 
 
 The fiend that tampered with St. Anthony 
 
 Stole with her fragrant breath and blossomed cheek 
 
 Against the dry and shrivelled jowl of age 
 
 And he but looked — a simple sin enough 
 
 And very poor temptation. But to hold
 
 312 
 
 The ankle of the woman one adores 
 
 Palmed in possession — nothing or else all — 
 
 Fleshed bone felt with the chill indifference 
 
 Of an anatomist, or the hot start 
 
 That leads to anything. He toyed the shoe 
 
 Whilst she leant with straight arms upon the trunk 
 
 And held her foot in air. Iniquity, 
 
 When it has been the playmate of the thoughts 
 
 And fouled imagination, writes out drafts 
 
 Which only want one second's signature ; 
 
 Lays tinder for the spark, and sets the stone 
 
 Upon the very brinking of the hill 
 
 Whence the least touch will shoot it, till it seems 
 
 Initials are but ends, starts but extremes. 
 
 For now as Robert felt that little foot. 
 
 The force of passion which till then was pent. 
 
 Curbed in by conscience, and restrained by sense, 
 
 Burst out of all control. The solitude, 
 
 The lonely hour, dread interruption's bar. 
 
 Herself turned to a temptress on the trunk, 
 
 All these flashed on him as the opening guns 
 
 That break an action : for one instant's while 
 
 All that was good within him held last ground. 
 
 And then beneath the fearful whirl of lust 
 
 Was overwhelmed and blotted : and a cloud 
 
 Veiling the chaste chill aspect of the moon 
 
 Left them in darkness. — Haply none too soon — 
 
 Here all description ends and words must fail. 
 But as a woman with some piteous sin 
 Hidden within her bosom unconfessed, 
 And which each sun instead of salving blows 
 
 I 
 
 I
 
 313 
 
 More to the poignant maggot of remorse 
 
 Till, when the toss of fever and unrest 
 
 Has made each hour of hfe intolerable, 
 
 She seeks her holy Father and a-knee 
 
 Would pour unbosomed every item bare 
 
 In penitent contrition, asking only 
 
 For solace, peace, and absolution, 
 
 And nerves thereon her forces to the ordeal 
 
 Of blunt rehearsal. Then she makes beginning 
 
 With calm, slow, even, and unhalting speech. 
 
 And so preambles till at last she nears 
 
 That grievous flaw which gnaws and shames her life 
 
 On which incapable of utterance 
 
 She stammers out some broken sentences, 
 
 Clenches her hands into her streaming eyes 
 
 And writhes upon the ground. And yet to him 
 
 The holy listener that hears no more 
 
 All that is left unsaid stands out as clear 
 
 As if it were recorded. Consequence 
 
 Is but the pendant to what goes before 
 
 And is its orator, whilst grievous falls 
 
 Misfortunes, ruin, shame, dishonour, all 
 
 Are their precursors known, as well conceived 
 
 As if a press of words embodied them. 
 
 So be it now to those who understand 
 
 (And saintlier those who understand it not). 
 
 The silver cord was loosed, the golden bowl 
 
 Stolen, the pitcher broken at the fount, 
 
 The very spring of sanctity defiled, 
 
 Purity gone, virtue deposed from seat — 
 
 The serpent tempted them and they did eat.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 How Nell and Robert ^o hack to the village, and their 
 
 thoughts. 
 
 A MAIDEN at first wooing is a thing 
 As timid as a fawn, as fugitive 
 As any sliadow, draws her taken hand 
 In all the flush of modesty away, 
 And the least lip-touch on her damask cheek 
 Frights her as wrong ; but time and usage break 
 This coyness out of custom, and she learns 
 Love wants response : yet though she learns all this 
 A maiden's kiss is still a maiden's kiss. 
 But make her woman, she like Juliet 
 Is on the moment changed, whether the church 
 Gives holy benediction or alas — 
 She is a woman : daughterhood's long tie 
 Melts as an icicle before new heat, 
 And in its place is forged that fervid link 
 Which binds her for the future to a man, 
 To whom next kiss bears this intelligence, 
 Let all the powers do what they can to sever, 
 I am bound yours for ever and for ever.
 
 315 
 
 But on — Once more the moon was clear of clouds 
 
 And they had left their leafed recess to take 
 
 The way along the bank back to the boat, 
 
 And once again were floating on the stream, 
 
 Nell in the stern, and Robert at the sculls 
 
 Pulling in silence to the landing-place 
 
 With thoughts too full to get the cramp of words. 
 
 Once there, as she had never kissed before 
 
 She kissed him. What the tenor of her thoughts 
 
 High heaven but knows ; yet acts be vehicles 
 
 To things beyond. She hurried blithely home 
 
 Gave to her mother every night's embrace, 
 
 Sped to her chamber, eyed the glass, sat down 
 
 Long while in vacant thought, then quick disrobed, 
 
 Leapt into bed, her prayers unuttered, hid 
 
 Her head beneath the clothes caught close and tight 
 
 To muffle sound, and sobbed throughout the night. 
 
 But he, when she was gone, still sat the boat, 
 
 A prey to awful thoughts, clenching his hands 
 
 In the mute agony of blank despair. 
 
 This sin at once so sweet and damnable. 
 
 Those resolutions fairly born with morn 
 
 And ere the night like rainbowed bubbles burst, 
 
 All these made tempest in his mind, till when 
 
 He raised his face and eyed the calm deep sky 
 
 Broken with prying lights he thought of God 
 
 And shuddered prayerless. Oh, what prayers could 
 
 wing 
 Maimed upon such commission into heaven ? 
 What penitence, what penance could atone ? 
 And yet (as hope in sunshine after storm)
 
 3i6 
 
 He could atone : damned as the deed might be, 
 
 It did not coop so instant with results 
 
 That remedy was strangled : after all 
 
 This gaping wound had still its sovereign salve — 
 
 Marriage — and then it was no wound at all ; 
 
 Merely an ante-matrimonial slip 
 
 That sued to-morrow's righting. Ah, but she, 
 
 She who had only just now rendered up 
 
 Herself, her honour, everything in life 
 
 Wholly to him. Was it dishonour? no; 
 
 Nor even sacrifice, but a rich gift 
 
 Which like some fragrant incense burnt to ash 
 
 Fills all the air with a divine perfume 
 
 Even at its own extinction, or the bird 
 
 That sheds its blood to nurse futurity. 
 
 Did not, when Eden had the blazing sword 
 
 Set barrier to its gates, the fated pair 
 
 Forth from the favour of the Almighty go 
 
 Blessed in each other's solace ? Did not love 
 
 However white in stainless holiness 
 
 Mount at its blot of sin's adversity 
 
 To doubly double ? Therefore love is born 
 
 Regenerate by misfortune, shines in the dark 
 
 Like the most precious diamond, is distilled 
 
 From that plucked blossom whose dead remnants are 
 
 Flung to the dustheap as unfurtherable. 
 
 This being so, his love did but begin 
 
 Where the fooled world had set the pale of sin. 
 
 And thus with much more human sophistry 
 He ousted out conviction from his soul 
 Till from dishonour honour seemed to grow,
 
 317 
 
 And from disgrace what was most gracious, 
 
 Quiet from turbulent disquietude, 
 
 And from dark chaos that great single sun 
 
 Of love which when all else was gone remained 
 
 To show in a lost heaven a heaven regained. 
 
 Then he hitched up the boat and in his turn 
 
 Went home to bed, his dreams throughout the night 
 
 Continuous images of soft delight.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 How Nell fares on the following day, and how she meets Robert 
 in the same place, and all things are the same again. 
 
 SEPTEMBER, summer's soft continuance, 
 The front of autumn and climacteric 
 Of the now waning year, stole to its place ; 
 And, as a guest amidst the motley crowd 
 That throngs my lady's stairway, it had been 
 Almost unnoted and unheralded, 
 Save that the twin reverberance of guns 
 Sounded its salutation. Who is there 
 That has his breeding by the countryside 
 Holds this fixed day unmemoried ? cherished guns 
 Nursed for a month before, with antique tales 
 Told in the whiskeycd after-dinner hours 
 When wonderment lags slipshod and surprise 
 Winks at imagination's rhapsodies. 
 Then on old August's very latest night 
 An early bed to greet the coming morn. 
 Assemblage with the keepers and the dogs. 
 The chatty tramp to field, the range of place, 
 The stealthy lined advance, and (whilst the heart
 
 319 
 
 Halts stopped with thrill) the quick and fluttering whir 
 
 Of the first covey — first sharp shot — first bird. 
 
 And after — through uneasy roots, through grass, 
 
 Through new left stubble and late standing corn, 
 
 The long unlaboured tramp with hand and eye 
 
 And ear at tension till this sweltering zest 
 
 Brings parched-up throats and giant appetites 
 
 To the great goal of lunch. Then on again 
 
 To violate the remnant hours of day. 
 
 Until the sun lies low and light gives out 
 
 And cry is made for home. Last thing of all 
 
 The counted bag shot rough upon the floor, 
 
 Where what was life at morn lies death at night 
 
 To grace the dainty damask's spotless white. 
 
 But Nell, on this first morning of the month, 
 Came from her bedroom down with scalded eyes 
 Whose swollen lids she did not dare to raise, 
 Lest her bared orbs (for so new conscious guilt 
 Breeds an infinity of threading fears) 
 Should like the mystic crystals of the East 
 Give secrets substance. Breakfast silently 
 Went by, the things were cleared away, and she 
 Drew to a corner of the couch and sat 
 Handling in listless way some hazard book 
 Whose opened pages never came to sight — 
 For all her mind was out on yesternight. 
 
 And then her Mother, who kept Mother's watch, 
 (And what a sentinel a Mother is) 
 Rose, sat beside her, twined her hand, close laid 
 Her cheek against the daughter's, and with words
 
 320 
 
 Thronj:;;h which sweet consolntion mclodicd 
 
 Said, Oh, dear child, the cherished legacy 
 
 And darhng solace of my widowhood, 
 
 Why should you keep these secrets to yourself ? 
 
 Give all your griefs to mc, nay shrink not from it, 
 
 For all this tell-tale sobbing through the night 
 
 Has made them mine already. And as Nell 
 
 Turned deathly white and clenched with either hand, 
 
 Her mother, never noting this, ran on : 
 
 I had your uncle's letter yesterday, 
 
 You must have had one too. See how he harps 
 
 On that worn string he struck some months ago ; 
 
 He pleads that men of business must forecast 
 
 Against all coming ; my annuity 
 
 Ceases upon my death ; once this is gone 
 
 You are an absolute beggar ; hence he hits 
 
 The chill necessity that you should get 
 
 Some providential means of livelihood, 
 
 And with a dower at your fingers' ends 
 
 Snap them against the future. He has found 
 
 This place, a simple thing of keeping books, 
 
 A very golden opportunity 
 
 At which most girls left in the world as you 
 
 Would simply jump. Still grant all this, grant this ; 
 
 Yet in the answer you will have to write 
 
 Say that you stay with me and nought on earth 
 
 Shall ever sunder us. Necessity — 
 
 (Who first sharp forged this word ?) — necessity 
 
 Cuts with cold dictates nature to the core, 
 
 And worldly wisdom jostles out of way 
 
 Affection's finest faith. Why should you go ? 
 
 If for each day its evil can suffice
 
 321 
 
 How more sufficient is its proper good ; 
 
 If 'twas God's will your father ere your birth 
 
 Left me a widow and you fatherless, 
 
 And with this union of adversity 
 
 Bonded us so together, how can 't be 
 
 That by some cogitated human flaw 
 
 Which lies prospective in futurity 
 
 We should be severed, parted, separate ? 
 
 Why should to-morrow fret and gall to-day ? 
 
 When what's to come is servant to what is 
 
 And still should bide in waiting : be what ma}' 
 
 Cling we together till death gives the nay. 
 
 But Nell, on whose blurred senses flashed new light. 
 
 Woke as from anaesthesia to life. 
 
 And like some luckless woman who has slipped 
 
 Walking too near a loose and treacherous bank 
 
 Into the swirling waters of a weir, 
 
 And who, caught by the sucking understream. 
 
 Feels, in despite the buoyance of her clothes, 
 
 Herself drawn horribly and slowly down 
 
 Till with the coming loss of consciousness. 
 
 The rush and whir of waters in her ears 
 
 She gives herself for lost. Yet then, strange chance, 
 
 Even as the world and light are vanishing. 
 
 Her terrored knees strike at the gravelled shoal 
 
 That tails the pool, and she with sudden hope 
 
 Crawls on an easy scramble safe ashore 
 
 And sits in drenched fatigue, eyeing 'scaped death 
 
 And holding life as something newly given, 
 
 Till in the frantic puzzle of extremes 
 
 She cries in laughter, and laughs out in screams. 
 
 21
 
 322 
 
 So Nell one instant sunk in agony, 
 
 And buoyed the next with infinite relief, 
 
 Was strained beyond her overtaxed control 
 
 And, letting go all tutorship of sense, 
 
 Flung herself straight into her mother's arms 
 
 To burst into a wild hysteric storm 
 
 Which wore from agonising shriek to wail, 
 
 From wail to sob, from sob to whimpering. 
 
 Until the fit was spent and she was led 
 
 Childlike upstairs and gently put to bed. 
 
 There sleep quenched her afflictions ; gentle sleep 
 
 That softly steals its third of life away 
 
 With pilfering so light and contraband 
 
 The theft goes by uncaught : kind usurer 
 
 Who for the blessing of refreshment takes 
 
 Our consciousness to pawn, and nightly robs 
 
 The beggared hours of their activity 
 
 Whilst we poor spendthrifts of our proper suns 
 
 Loving the broker for his thievery 
 
 Do even bless him. Sleep — diurnal boon. 
 
 The lull of wounded souls, the oblivion 
 
 Of terrible despair, the good man's space 
 
 Wherein with a benignant pleasantness 
 
 Swell dreams of peace and benediction 
 
 And to the wicked broken interlude 
 
 Upon their play of crime — sleep gently fell 
 
 To drown Nell's sorrow with its simple spell. 
 
 When she awoke the sun had halfway sunk 
 
 Down its declining arc and yet it seemed 
 
 Only as morn, so light her senses were ; 
 
 Whilst as she dressed, those sorrows which had wrought
 
 323 
 
 Such recent agony seemed but still-born, 
 Or to have lived at most a breath or two 
 Beyond their little birth — strange ill or good 
 Are so dependent on especial mood. 
 
 She dressed, tripped lightly down the stairs, quick kissed 
 
 Her mother on the cheek, said casually 
 
 That she should spend her evening at the farm ; 
 
 Then aproned took the garden, there to weave 
 
 The waiting hours away ; a spray to tie, 
 
 A faded bloom to pinch from off its stalk, 
 
 Or with a tiny stake to safely buoy 
 
 Some perilous wealth of roses which save this 
 
 Had fallen shattered from the very twig 
 
 That gave them nurture — like some starving poet 
 
 Who lets ambition outweigh sustenance 
 
 And as a Chatterton upon the hour 
 
 That gives him glory dies. But all this while 
 
 The mother joyed to see how freely youth 
 
 Could shed away its sorrows, till when Nell 
 
 Sped through the garden gate into the road 
 
 Dancing almost with bubbling gaiety, 
 
 She watched her through the window diamonds 
 
 And in the chair her husband used to sit 
 
 Sank thankful down to thought. Then there arose 
 
 Her own passed girlhood and its sequent years. 
 
 Her wooing and her wedding, those few months 
 
 Of over absolute felicity 
 
 Cut by that hideous chasm of the earth 
 
 Within whose everlasting maw was laid 
 
 Her husband's dust to its long churchyard sleep, 
 
 And then as blunting to this agony
 
 324 
 
 The wailing of her new-born daughter's voice 
 
 Making such melody upon her ears 
 
 All music else was inharmonious ; 
 
 Then the long anxious hours of cradled watch, 
 
 The blessed pattering of tiny feet, 
 
 The pranking schoolgirl's romps around the house, 
 
 The maiden with her new-found modesty 
 
 Which like the violet in spring appears 
 
 We know not why, and last full womanhood 
 
 Wherein her daughter now had grown to be 
 
 Home's ward no longer but its entity. 
 
 And therefore, when week after week she took 
 
 Fresh garden flowers to lay upon the grave, 
 
 And saw her husband as she saw him last 
 
 And felt the waters well within her eyes, 
 
 The very thought of Nell changed flow to ebb 
 
 As summer's droughts will dry a feeble spring ; 
 
 And as a generous antidote will quell 
 
 Some biting poison with its opposite. 
 
 So did Nell's face and laughter bring to term 
 
 All touch of sorrow, and her solaced heart 
 
 Poured forth in prayer to bless God day by day 
 
 Who gave a life for a life reft away. 
 
 But Nell herself — without one other thought 
 
 That was not Robert's took the selfsame path 
 
 She took the night before, met him and told 
 
 The morning's circumstance, how she had been 
 
 Hysteric, whilst her mother put it down 
 
 To some odd letter which she never had — 
 
 A letter about London and the work 
 
 Her uncle wished her do. This trifled on, fl
 
 325 
 
 They took the boat and pushed the selfsame course 
 Landed the selfsame place, threaded along 
 The edges of the bank the selfsame way. 
 All was the selfsame and that all being past 
 This evening was a second to the last 
 Till they had fixed beneath the faded light 
 To-morrow's meeting in to-day's good night. 
 
 Dangers twice met are halved, each novel trial 
 
 Brings its diminuent fraction of alarm, 
 
 Until at last familiarity 
 
 Breeds such a fine contempt of accident 
 
 That courage frets for use. In his first fire, 
 
 Upon the virgin brush of a campaign, 
 
 The soldier bobs at bullets, wills himself 
 
 In any other foothold of the sphere 
 
 Than that in which he is ; but in a space, 
 
 Grown hardy with the usages of war, 
 
 He vaunts himself a veteran. So these two 
 
 Finding how facile was forbidden fruit 
 
 Gave it full plucking till it seemed to be 
 
 No longer what it was — iniquity.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 Huw September passes, and how whilst all things go on the 
 same, Nell comes to think less of her mother and more of 
 Robert. 
 
 OEPTEMBER journeyed through, its lowlier suns 
 
 ^ Bringing such cooler nights upon hot days 
 
 That lirst chill breezes blew as harbingers 
 
 Of autumn's coming, which like spring itself 
 
 Encroaches but in visitations. 
 
 And on occasional evenings there were lit 
 
 At sunfall little and most grateful tires 
 
 Whilst house-dogs from their summer corners drew 
 
 To take their basking places by the hearth 
 
 And dinner came to lamp ; our fixtures note 
 
 How nature's change goes vagabond by rote. 
 
 Now were the latest sheaves all set to rick 
 
 And now the barren stubble, with new growth 
 
 Turning to green, was ruffled by the share 
 
 To long deep breadths of brown on which were cast 
 
 The seed for winter's wheat. The orchard's wealth 
 
 Rubied for picking, and the roots alone 
 
 Out of the ample produce of the past 
 
 Were left behind to garner at the last.
 
 327 
 
 Then (since to God be thanks) the village church 
 
 Was decked with fruit and flower, and gathered in 
 
 Its fullest flock for harvest festival ; 
 
 And the good parson, leaving for the nonce 
 
 His drowsy drone of classic homily, 
 
 Took nature as his text, and gratitude 
 
 To God as his whole lesson. Man, he said. 
 
 Lived as the worms upon the very soil. 
 
 And blessings were a superstructure built 
 
 Out of the produce of the ground and reared 
 
 Like some great pyramid from off the land 
 
 To proudly peak to heaven. Therefore it was 
 
 The ploughman, sower, reaper, labourer, 
 
 Were in the main God's primest ministers ; 
 
 Whilst all possessions, riches, opulence. 
 
 Exchanges, dealings, barters, business, 
 
 The flock of merchants, the railed rush of goods, 
 
 Ships, navies, and those attributes of power 
 
 Wherewith a giant commerce nets the globe 
 
 And nations grow to be superlative — 
 
 All these looked through and through would but be 
 
 found 
 God's gentle blessing on the simple ground. 
 
 Now too the harvest moon had come to full 
 
 (As if the satellite should have a share 
 
 Of gladness in its planet's plenitude,) 
 
 Whose silver disc the cottager up-eyed 
 
 To sigh this brings the close of summertide. 
 
 So summer fell into its tether-end, 
 
 The starlings flocked, the swallows fled, the owls 
 
 Hooted their ghostly rhythm on the wing,
 
 328 
 
 The redbreast with strange trustful confidence — 
 As though the blessed legend of the cross 
 Gave it a guardianship — took closer place 
 About the cottages and broke once more 
 Into its olden notes, whose sample soon 
 Others in turn of nature's feathered choir 
 Followed, as though these waiting songsters sing 
 Welcome to winter as the way to spring. 
 
 But what are ends to those who think not of them ? 
 Robert and Nell, oblivious of change, 
 Still dallied tlirough the evenings of the month, 
 Scarce noting that a quota of the day 
 In two small minutes stolen out of light 
 Mulcted a quarter from each waning week 
 And robbed each month an hour, until at last 
 Reality stood bared. Boating was done. 
 The long vacation dwindled to its close, 
 October loomed and the grim term beyond 
 (Whose incidence the hungry lawyer loves) 
 Grew uglier and nearer. Fields were now 
 At sunset damp, the grasses all bedewed 
 To drench and barrier footing, every leaf — 
 So intimate the wooing of the mists — 
 Trickled and dripped until the trees became, 
 Like April's clouds, air's watery ministers. 
 Hence when the two went out abroad at dark. 
 They had to keep perforce to open ways 
 Where every passer by caught note of them ; 
 And so if they went rambling to the woods 
 'Twas certain they were seen ; and then as Nell 
 Stole from the village out into the dusk.
 
 329 
 
 Suspicion which was mute a month ago 
 When heated nights seemed some excuse for air, 
 Mouthed now the thought, what girl will out in mist 
 Except to meet her lover and be — kissed. 
 
 Thus damp obstruction grew upon their ways 
 
 And chilly difficulties seemed to rise 
 
 To mar each meeting. Therefore when the trees 
 
 Came near the time of turn, there touched Nell's mind 
 
 Like the first yellowing that tips the leaves 
 
 This thought of London. What her uncle wrote, 
 
 Seemed but a month ago insanity, 
 
 But now it took a reasonable bent 
 
 And if things hidden threatened now to gape, 
 
 Here was her simple method of escape.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 How Oclobey passes through, and how Nell, feeling that all the 
 village guesses at her shame, determines to get away to 
 town and writes to her Uncle to arrange this, and further 
 tells Robert of this intention. 
 
 THERE is a time when young birds fledge to flee 
 The very nests that made their nurseries, 
 When whelps grown stalwart on their mother's milk 
 Forsake the very dams that gave them suck, 
 When leaves drop from the trees that fostered them 
 Leaving their parents naked to the blasts. 
 There is a time when maidenhood will snap 
 The long and deeply woven tie of home, 
 And when the daughter passing girlhood's span 
 Blithely forsakes the mother for the man : 
 Autumn to one chill winter's nip will bring 
 And to the other sunshine ways to spring. 
 
 October came ; its nights bleared thick in mists, 
 And then the frosts, which as a chasing scourge 
 Of charging cavalry upon the rear 
 Of some disordered army in retreat,
 
 55^ 
 
 Cut with a grim and icy mercilessness 
 All that was helpless down ; the dahlias 
 Next morn were black and low, geraniums 
 Pinched wounded to their death and all the rest 
 Of those unhardy things, whose pageantry 
 Had gloried summer, were sap-stifled out — 
 As weakly men who broken drop to wall 
 At the first nip of bleak adversity 
 And yet had seemed in fortune's sun to be, 
 The flourished types of stout stability. 
 
 But nature is so provident her blanks 
 
 Come but by slow degress : the roses still 
 
 Straggled some buds to bloom ; the clematis 
 
 Threw second blossom ; the chrysanthemums, 
 
 Of such blunt kind as rough the untempered air, 
 
 Massed white and yellow ; whilst in red and blue 
 
 The daisies dedicate to Michaelmas 
 
 Flaunted their honeyed wealth ; and last of all, 
 
 As if to set a sober terminal 
 
 Upon the broken blazon of the year, 
 
 The ivy wealthed to inconspicuous bloom 
 
 On whose rich nectar myriads of bees, 
 
 Swarming beneath the lower midday suns 
 
 And buzzing so their monotone was like 
 
 The after resonance of some great bell, 
 
 Made their last honey — even as misers grip 
 
 Right at the ebb of a long searching life 
 
 Their last instinctive desperate chance to save 
 
 And cupboard on the yawning of the grave. 
 
 The river now was desert as a street 
 
 In the small hours of London's summer morns,
 
 332 
 
 When jaded dancers hie them home to bed — 
 
 The tags of waltzes ringing in their ears 
 
 Harped by voluptuous memory. Alone 
 
 Occasional barges swept in traffic by, 
 
 Helmed by some creature of that strange hatched race 
 
 That breeds and lives and dies upon the tlood, — 
 
 The gipsies of the river. Save for these 
 
 The reaches were a dreary wilderness 
 
 Edged brown with dead and dying reeds and flowers 
 
 Sad minders of sweet summer's vanished hours. 
 
 But what these rhythmic changes of the year ? 
 
 They were but casually corner-eyed 
 
 And sideways noted in comparison 
 
 With that great autumn flush which overrides 
 
 The waiting face of nature. Every tree 
 
 Was at September's outing absolute 
 
 In deepest green, but now there came the turn ; 
 
 The chestnuts changed to gold, the sycamores 
 
 Tipped out their fronds in saffron, beeches flushed 
 
 Each day more ruddy, and the towering elms 
 
 Blanched into tenderness their utmost tops, 
 
 Oaks (the stern symbol of a dogged race) 
 
 Dropped grade by grade to brown, and pollards hung 
 
 Their yellow arrowheads, till every tree 
 
 (Except the evergeens which now had rule) 
 
 Came to that fade which is fall's precedent ; 
 
 And everywhere sad nature took the face 
 
 That gives October such prophetic grace. 
 
 Then came the fall o' the leaf — in start so slight 
 It was but slur to neat and scrupulous lawns,
 
 333 
 
 Yet with a frost or so and as those buds 
 That wombed the foHage of another year 
 Swelled in twigged pregnancy to push aside 
 The hamper of the past, (as women do 
 Who eyeing marriage scorn maids' fooleries) 
 The fall came fuller with each separate breath ; 
 Transience its text, and its sad lesson death. 
 Now swept the air with easy thievery 
 Athwart the boughs and in its passage stirred 
 Like the soft rustle of a silken gown, 
 Floating the leaves as feathers to the ground 
 Until the woods were tesselate with red, 
 And every isolate tree within trim parks 
 Was fairy-circled round about its trunk 
 With its own shedding ; but as waned the month, 
 Rude winds rose roaring angry from the hills, 
 Storming against the woods as in revenge 
 That they held shelter, and the stalwart rook 
 Alone with laboured wing could ride the gale 
 Whilst lesser birds took bush ; the giant trees 
 Waved to the very roots, their faded dress 
 Stripped mercilessly scrap by scrap away ; 
 The teeming air was thick with whirring leaves 
 That tossed as snowflakes and from open spots 
 Were scoured and cleared to drift in sheltered ways 
 Where there was lull and rest. Now, stir or calm 
 Amidst the elements, the fall went on 
 Till it was ankle-deep upon the paths 
 Crunching beneath the tread and from the feet 
 Swishing as nothing can beside itself. 
 Whilst overhead the beggared boughs grew bare 
 To net their naked twigs against the sky.
 
 334 
 
 And as n maid disrobinp^ for the night 
 
 Frees out her arms and lets her loosened ^own 
 
 Slide slowly to the ground, so did the trees 
 
 Free their high branches whilst their vesture sank 
 
 Daily more low and low, and so kept way 
 
 To meet the saying of St. Martin's day. 
 
 Rut back once more to poor humanity — 
 
 Robert and Nell with each succeeding day 
 
 Found themselves fretted more and more by watch. 
 
 That close inquisitorial scrutiny 
 
 Which in a village dogs down privacy 
 
 Ran full scent at their heels ; that impudence 
 
 Which peeps the curtains' edge and larking stuff 
 
 Invents some fabric woven to outdo 
 
 A neighbour's news, pinned at their slightest act. 
 
 Nay more the very pothouse gossipers 
 
 Made them a nightly item in their talk. 
 
 Mixing with trifles they themselves had seen 
 
 Whole volumes that they had not, till this rolled 
 
 Like a boy's handful of crunched snow to swell 
 
 To something monstrous : and as foulness mounts 
 
 Though bred below, buoyed up with its own gas, 
 
 To top the stream and be discernible ; 
 
 So did the beery labourers' ribald talk 
 
 And undercurrent mouthings come to be 
 
 Accepted as a Gospel certaint}'; 
 
 Like many certainties that have their rise 
 
 And manufacture from uncertainties. 
 
 And they both felt it : aye and now and then 
 Caught a snatch slurring. Not that Robert cared
 
 335 
 
 One jot himself for frowsj' villagers 
 
 With all their ribaldry, nor they for him, 
 
 But it nipped Nell. Now when she went about 
 
 She found all people in their manner changed ; 
 
 Perhaps but little, still it was a change. 
 
 Those who talked genially with her still 
 
 Looked to the very bottom of her eyes 
 
 As seeking something hidden, and she dropped 
 
 Her lids perforce with shame ; others there were 
 
 Whose tenderer acquaintanceship shrunk up 
 
 Like summer flowers upon an early frost ; 
 
 And some who erst scarce eyed her as she passed 
 
 Now shot low-lidded surreptitious flights 
 
 Against her face and turned to watch her go, 
 
 Whilst she half backwards noting that they turned 
 
 Felt, as the blood flushed helpless to her face 
 
 Their action as the label of disgrace. 
 
 Then she would cast away the whole idea 
 And set it down to imagination, 
 And then again could see 't so palpably 
 That it lacked any doubt. Till at the last 
 This held and bit so to her very brain 
 That desperation mothered into shape 
 The only way that tendered for escape. 
 
 Men as a whole, perhaps because their wits 
 Run in the rut of educated grooves. 
 Are slow to action ; set their issues out 
 To pros and cons, and balance Cecil-wise 
 The cancelled fractions till their headed deeds 
 Come reckoned forth. Women are otherwise
 
 336 
 
 Their intuition cuts with half a Hash 
 
 A double week of thoughts; all balancing 
 
 Is spurned, deliberation is despised, 
 
 And instinct (if you like it) hits the gold 
 
 Where men clean miss the butt ; their arrows lift 
 
 Feathered by something manhood wholly lacks 
 
 And their decision, in an instant set, 
 
 Clears more than men will in a month beget. 
 
 So Nell rushed to conclusion : infamy 
 
 Was either known, or if not known was guessed. 
 
 Her mother at the slightest breath of slur 
 
 Would sink in shame to death. Robert would go ; 
 
 (Go — hideous mock-word of mortality 
 
 Bleak syllable of sorrow). And yet she 
 
 Could also go. Did not her uncle wish it ? 
 
 And then in town they two could be together. 
 
 The thing was done, the course was formed, the riddle 
 
 Solved, the oracle was graven down. 
 
 Nothing should stop it, she would get to town. 
 
 This then no sooner settled but she wrote 
 
 Straight to her uncle : said she held him wise ; 
 
 That her necessities and future shifts 
 
 Pointed a livelihood as right for her. 
 
 That he with his clear head had seen all this 
 
 And written to her mother several times 
 
 To bring things down to clench, but that till now 
 
 So fearful seemed the unnatural breach of home 
 
 (And here she laid her hurried pen aside 
 
 To quench the tears from splashing on her words) 
 
 Neither her mother nor herself would yield ;
 
 337 
 
 Yet now she saw him right and they both wrong, 
 
 And therefore if he would but write again 
 
 She for her part would back what he might say 
 
 And be subservient to his providence ; 
 
 Yet she was sure it needed management 
 
 And strong persuasion, since her mother shrank 
 
 With a deep-rooted horror from all change, 
 
 And yet the change must come, and better now 
 
 Than dragged until it was inevitable ; 
 
 Nay more, and this perhaps was asking much 
 
 If he by any possibility 
 
 Could spare a Sunday, could come down himself 
 
 And put things in their clear and proper light. 
 
 This deftly done might set the matter right. 
 
 This written, enveloped, and duly sealed 
 
 (Lest any handler might have leisured gaps 
 
 Beyond St, Martin's knowledge) it was boxed ; 
 
 And Robert heard that evening her intent 
 
 Whilst she strove clinging to him for assent. 
 
 ' Tis strange in nature all things saving man 
 Keep the same attributes from start to end ; 
 The cat still prowls with cold unpupilled eyes 
 Amongst the bushes hunting down its prey, 
 The weasel sneaks the tangles of the hedge 
 And sucks its blooded victim into drought, 
 The hawk whilst it can wing still marks the air 
 Above its quarry till it has it clutched, 
 All these and every other murderer 
 In nature's bloody category stay 
 The same for ever. Man, aye only he 
 The lordling of creation, paramount 
 
 22
 
 55^ 
 
 Above the mere unreasonable brutes 
 
 Hunts down a woman, wins her as he can, 
 
 Yet she when caught turns huntress of the man. 
 
 But peace to cynic ethics, let the years 
 
 That bred them be forgot, and youth once more 
 
 Live in its haloed memories again, 
 
 Lest age should sneer that youth has been in vain. 
 
 Nell clung to Robert, told her letter through 
 And without leaving time for argument 
 Ran out her wishes to outskip his own 
 Lest haply hers by his were overthrown. 
 Have I (she said) not rendered up myself 
 To you for ever ? This last sacrifice, 
 This giving up of Mother and of home, 
 Is the strained offering of poverty, 
 For I have nothing else to give to you. 
 You go — and where you go I must come too. 
 See how my uncle gives us subterfuge 
 And leaves me free to vanish with excuse ; 
 And yet had this not been, when you had gone 
 I still had followed though the slur of shame 
 Dogged after on my footsteps. This had been 
 Horrible ; think of mother, think of me. 
 But now all things run glibly to our ends 
 And like a feather rounded on the stream 
 Which the concordant breezes lift and drop 
 So that in part it floats, in part it flies 
 As though the elements in partnership 
 Fostered its going — so this whole event 
 Runs as we will by happy accident.
 
 339 
 
 And Robert saw it all and acquiesced, 
 
 For it ran even with his every thought ; 
 
 And though first hesitation made him cast 
 
 Upon the suddenness of the idea 
 
 Some dribbhng counter, this was beaten back 
 
 Like new-raised levies before veterans, 
 
 And the new compact was soft sealed by both 
 
 As in a second plighting of their troth. 
 
 The villain, libertine and debauchee, 
 
 With finished art and fell accomplishment 
 
 Baits forth his acts to catch a maiden's heart 
 
 And breaks it : trains it gently to his hand 
 
 Till like a puppy it has grown to be 
 
 Beyond all wording faithful, and this done 
 
 Kills it with poison : woos her so she clings 
 
 As close as ivy twines the ready elm, 
 
 And with desertion or diplomacy 
 
 Cuts love across the root. Even cautious men, 
 
 Still young in worldly wisdom, when they see 
 
 Involvement tangling round their future ways, 
 
 Learn their first lesson in low treachery 
 
 And slowly wind them free. But Robert was 
 
 As Nell in the first flushing of first love, 
 
 Which ever is a flood of ecstasv, 
 
 And, like some swollen river, bursts its bounds 
 
 To sweep beyond all proper continent ; 
 
 And therefore they were blind : for who can cast 
 
 The future save from records of the past.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 Huw Nell's Uncle cones down and arranges that Nell should 
 lake a place in town, and how Robert leaves the village for 
 London, on the understanding that Nell is to follow in a 
 fortnight. 
 
 HERE check. As one who races in a mile 
 And through three laps puts out to husbandry 
 The nursing of his strength, until at last 
 He comes into the straight and sees afront 
 Upholden high the tape that is to be 
 The breasted end of his accomplishment, 
 And with strained hope and strenuous striding spurts 
 Right up the hnish to tne winning post ; 
 So now with mended speed and quickened pace 
 On to the reckoned goal that stares aface. 
 
 Nell's uncle came on Sunday, blared the thing 
 
 In his blunt rugged way of business, 
 
 And then a scene : the midday meal passed through 
 
 In solemn silence, each one's inner thoughts 
 
 Nursed up a-hcart : and after this a walk 
 
 Amidst the rustle of the fallen leaves 
 
 Where at due distance from all listening 
 
 Once more it was discussed. The mother faint
 
 o 
 
 41 
 
 To see life's second separation, Nell 
 
 Balanced betwixt what should be and what must, 
 
 And he outsiding in his interests 
 
 Catching from words the currency of thought, 
 
 Until at last with sudden clearance he 
 
 Summed all things up something like this to be. 
 
 Listen to me, and what I have to say, 
 
 Nell has no very present need to go 
 
 And yet in foresight she has every need. 
 
 Pending your life your daughter's sustenance 
 
 Is ample in its small sufficiency, 
 
 But at your death it's nothing ; will you then 
 
 Let your affection or \-our selfishness 
 
 (Pardon the word which after all runs true) 
 
 Nip out the hazard of her future life, 
 
 And make her very destitution hang 
 
 Upon a threaded chance. Think — she herself 
 
 With younger eyes and therefore the more clear 
 
 Discerns the proper course. Aye, it is hard 
 
 To reft a mother from her only child. 
 
 But life — is it not made of hardnesses ? 
 
 We cannot stop its issues any more 
 
 Than ships can hinder waves, but we like ships 
 
 Can set our courses to extremities 
 
 And rather take advantage of all gales 
 
 Than seek to oppose them. Still I have a wa}- 
 
 That with a trial solves the knotty point. 
 
 Let her at mid-November come to town 
 
 And stop till Christmas : this half quarter's stay 
 
 Is but a little visit to myself; 
 
 Although since relatives in business
 
 342 
 
 Are better sundered than concomitant, 
 
 She shall go clerk to one of my best friends, 
 
 A giant draper, who will see her through 
 
 As she were his own daughter. Six short weeks 
 
 Can then put yea or nay to settlement ; 
 
 And if you both, or if more really you 
 
 Like at the turning of the year to say 
 
 This shall go on or this shall terminate, 
 
 'Tis in your easy power. I am a man 
 
 Has had to weigh my pros and cons in life, 
 
 And in the main my judgments have held good ; 
 
 This is my advice. London, what is it? Nought, 
 
 A sixty minutes cramps its forty miles 
 
 Into the timing of a morning's walk ; 
 
 She is as near you in reality, 
 
 Only the walk is railed. Leave this to me 
 
 And take my simple word as guarantee. 
 
 Where is the need to trace step after step 
 
 The drifts that wove to issue from debate ? 
 
 The thing was settled, two fixed, wills prevailed 
 
 Against affection's gentlest barriers 
 
 And bore them down. And he, as he whirled back 
 
 Again to London by the night express, 
 
 Sat with a self-complacent flattery, 
 
 Gazing the carriage top as though his thoughts 
 
 Must needs be reading words from vacancy 
 
 Which spelt out thus— do women what they can 
 
 They still are overmastered by a man. 
 
 Nor is there need to fill the picture in 
 
 With intercurrent casual events 
 
 Till Robert's time to go. Suffice it came
 
 343 
 
 And like the incongruous piecing of a dream 
 
 (For everything to Nell was as a dream) 
 
 She saw him go. Time-used experience 
 
 Meets what is customed in its threadbare garb 
 
 And lets it trampwise pass without a note, 
 
 Hanging in heedlessness on what repeats 
 
 Like some tricked puppy. There are farther things 
 
 That ripple on the coursing of events 
 
 And pin the inquiring mind to interest, 
 
 Which in their passage hold us with light pause 
 
 And make our occupations. But beyond 
 
 Events more big come quaking into life, 
 
 Like storms of passion, or the lightning flash 
 
 That blazes warning from another world, 
 
 And these, astounding us with awfulness. 
 
 Turn living to a dream. Who that has felt 
 
 For the first time the ghastly breach of death, 
 
 Has seen life's stiff and waxen effigy 
 
 Laid with closed lids that shall not lift again. 
 
 Known the hushed house, the stealthy underling 
 
 Porting that final casement down the stairs, 
 
 The last inevitable leave of home, 
 
 That horrible and spaded tenement. 
 
 The scattered earth that clatters to a text, 
 
 The absence of a long familiar face, 
 
 The missing voice, the broken circle, wa}S 
 
 That lack their roundness and the vacant chair 
 
 Disused, and (God that chastens) memories 
 
 Welling with tears ? who that has known these things 
 
 And staring at the stony barrier 
 
 That blocks out vision from the things to come 
 
 (Unless the eye of faith can carry us)
 
 344 
 
 Not been as in a dream i^ Or who is there 
 
 (For life still mocks us with antithesis) 
 
 Who for the first time has not also felt 
 
 The sweet pure spell of love ? A chance met face 
 
 When the heart's canvas is unhandled white, 
 
 The turning of a figure, even a gown 
 
 That clings in swaying folds most lovingly, 
 
 A smile that nets the soul, eyes in whose deeps 
 
 Lie an unfathomed wealth of sympathy, 
 
 A voice that thrills the bodily fibres through, 
 
 Doubts, hesitation, hopes, small boldnesses, 
 
 That like the tender horning of a snail 
 
 Shrink at the very shudder of a touch, 
 
 And so till shivering trepidation brings 
 
 The comfortable glow of certainty 
 
 And life is all " I love " — who has felt this. 
 
 And if his recollection serves him still, 
 
 (And can it else, for love but ends with life) 
 
 Who has felt this and not found all things seem 
 
 To turn his whole existence to a dream ? 
 
 So Robert left, and as he whirled away 
 
 Along the river valley back to town, 
 
 With tree and field and farm and leafless hedge 
 
 Fleeing behind him, he too was adream 
 
 His mind still at the village, whilst the months 
 
 Unrolled them from this time of drifting leaves 
 
 Back to soft spring. He seemed to see again 
 
 The children wandering through new flowered meads 
 
 Splitting the daisy stalks to weave them chains, 
 
 And bunching posies of marsh-marigolds 
 
 And on from this, step after stop each act
 
 345 
 
 In his sweet sojourn even up till now ; 
 
 Nell growing dearer to him day by day, 
 
 And being won more closely to himself 
 
 Till now— Well, Alfred had foretold it all ; 
 
 And in this fade and falling of the year 
 
 His words had come to truth. Still how could he, 
 
 Unless such lapses were a common thing, 
 
 Have mouthed them as by book ? Did all men drop 
 
 From simple nature into villany ? 
 
 And could seduction be so predicate ? 
 
 This robbery of home ; this infamy 
 
 Of stealing chasteness ? Then as the problem paled 
 
 He sickly closed the Bible of the past 
 
 And opened glittering futurity 
 
 With its new printed promise. So we slide 
 
 With easy drift on vice's willing tide. 
 
 And Nell — a little fortnight stayed as gap 
 Before her time to go : and each new day 
 Came as the agate pivot of a scale 
 On which her balanced thoughts were oscillate 
 In trembling hesitation. If she walked 
 Abroad along the pathways of the fields 
 (And the paths were a-throb with memories) 
 Or threaded through the rustle of the woods. 
 She, with soft sighs whose passage on the lips 
 Had worded Robert if articulate. 
 Would in the midst of peaceful solitude 
 Build London only as a paradise 
 (London with all its hideous vice and filth) 
 And let imagination from afar 
 Hang at it as the needle to the star.
 
 346 
 
 Yet when she turned to home and cauo^ht in sight 
 
 The ncstHng village — its red chimney-pots 
 
 And antique gables, old memorials 
 
 From very infancy — those tenderer chords 
 
 Which vibrate with home's recollections 
 
 (And make the waif in some lone tropic land 
 
 Long for the little nook that gave him breath) 
 
 Thrilled over all things else ; whilst fearful doubt 
 
 (Even as the tiny worm that leafy breeds 
 
 Instinctive overhead the breaking bud 
 
 And ere the rose can blossom cankers it) 
 
 Hung with its cloudy menace on her heart, 
 
 Till at the sight of her own garden gate. 
 
 Her mother's bedroom window and her own, 
 
 The links that bound her Londonwards were loosed 
 
 And with a pause she wavered. Oh, but love 
 
 What would it be if these were wavering? 
 
 And as she raised the latch-lock of the door 
 
 Her sigh still whispered Robert as before. 
 
 We are mere pendulums in ceaseless swing 
 
 ' Twixt right and wrong ; our ways are as a road 
 
 Which should be clean and single, and which yet 
 
 Comes into forks where twin divergencies 
 
 Halt us upon blank doubts : — forks at whose cleft 
 
 The old and customary sign-post stands. 
 
 One finger freshly painted by the fiend 
 
 With new seductive promise luring us 
 
 Into a pleased and lulled complacency, 
 
 And the other so antique and dulled by time 
 
 That at least wish it is unreadable : 
 
 And there we stand knowing what's right, yet long 
 
 To take (which most we do) the road that's wrong.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 How NelVs last evening in the village comes, and how it is 
 passed with her Mother ; and hoia the next morning she 
 leaves and is met by Robert at Paddington ; and how the 
 Mother returns in grief to her vacant home. 
 
 PARTINGS are overdrawn ; the last farewells 
 Of those who know they never meet again 
 This hither side the grave are worked to be 
 Footlight hysterics and booked rhapsodies. 
 Yet in reality how different ! 
 A father on his death-bed, and a son 
 Ordered to India with his regiment, 
 Loving each other as two men can love 
 Beyond the love of women. Early morn 
 With its grey light through quarter-lifted blinds 
 Making a mystery round the sick man's bed 
 (Whose night-thoughts rest unknown), an opening door, 
 The fading rustle of a nurse's gown, 
 A sturdy step, a young man's hand outstretched 
 With " Good-bye, father," and a thin wan hand 
 Reached out to meet it with " My boy, good-bye," 
 A grip whose fingerings are fiery tongues — 
 And these two men whose orbs can never more
 
 348 
 
 Hold the image of each other's face again, 
 
 And know it, separate without a sign 
 
 More than a morning's greeting : grip their palms 
 
 And say farewell for ever. Is't we are 
 
 Mere sotted actors in life's tragedies 
 
 Like drunken sailors on a breaking ship ? 
 
 Or is it not, no agony in life 
 
 But courage meets and throats it with her knife ? 
 
 The time had sped down to Nell's final night 
 
 Which tailed a day of monosyllables 
 
 And phrases that were pauper to the point, 
 
 For converse pines bereft of liberty 
 
 When thoughts lie numbed in grief, and poignant pain 
 
 Mocks the tongue's function, making mouthing vain. 
 
 At last when it had come the hour for bed, 
 
 Nell lit her candle and prepared to take 
 
 The kiss that every night had been till now 
 
 Sleep's tender seal of benediction. 
 
 But at that instant all the mother's grief 
 
 Which had till then been cooped and bravely quenched 
 
 Burst outright into flood— A mother's grief! 
 
 A mother's tears ! A mother's anguish ! God 
 
 What desperate, what criminal dissent 
 
 From every moral sense, malignity 
 
 Built out of pride, what yearning for revenge, 
 
 What hideous revolts from rectitude, 
 
 What purpose of abominable intent. 
 
 What plan, decision, resolution, mood 
 
 Or passionate yielding into villany 
 
 But melts away to lamb-like innocence 
 
 Before a mother's tears ? Murderers have cried
 
 349 
 
 Like children in their weeping mother's arms 
 
 Whom neither Justice nor God's ministers 
 
 Could leastly awe or touch. If this be so 
 
 What with a simple girl, whose only sin 
 
 Was love ; whose poor affections split and halved 
 
 Swung sundered 'twixt her lover and her mother, 
 
 Whose little heart which could but beat one rhythm 
 
 Hung inco-ordinate and irresolute 
 
 Betwixt two ties. Her startled hand let fall 
 
 The loosed unheeded candle to the floor 
 
 And in an instant these two women were 
 
 Locked in each other's arms : the mother's face 
 
 Deep in her daughter's bosom ; — who first time 
 
 In all her living years since infancy 
 
 Now from consoled consoler turned to be. 
 
 But Nell aghast stared wildly round the room, 
 
 (That room which bound her memories as a book) 
 
 And on the moment (for emotion's rush 
 
 Outstrips discretion's pace) had worded all — 
 
 Her meeting Robert, the inexplicable 
 
 Twined bond which clung them closer, all his ways, 
 
 His kindness, gentleness, sweet sympathy, 
 
 And the whole picture of his character 
 
 Given from point to point, the summer's lapse 
 
 And at the fine her shame : — her shame — this sting 
 
 More awful to her mother than herself 
 
 Jerked her to halt, and things re-grouped again 
 
 Within the flashing turmoil of her brain. 
 
 Till but one sole idea rose dominant 
 
 Mother, she cried, mother, I will not go. 
 
 I have been wrong, you cannot tell how wrong ;
 
 350 
 
 One thing upon another has so come 
 That we have slipped to this; I will not go 
 Why should — Oh, if you only knew how vile — 
 I will not go. I have no other love 
 Beyond your own. Until the very end 
 Mother, dear mother, we will be together 
 And everlastingly inseparate. 
 Why should I ever go ? 'twill be the same ; 
 This cannot part us. Uncle is all wrong. 
 All things are wrong. Oh, do not, do not cry, 
 I promise before God that come what may 
 Without your will I will not stir away. 
 
 But then (strange life) the mother, as her tears 
 
 Checked in their issue, turned to opposites, 
 
 And as her sobs let interjection by 
 
 Came convert as her own antagonist, 
 
 Putting to use the very arguments 
 
 Herself had fought before. And as in courts 
 
 A Counsel pleads in thought the other side 
 
 'Gainst which he firmly Hghts, so she in words 
 
 Argued against herself. Thus 'twas the two, 
 
 In an infinity of charity 
 
 Which strengthened even as their sorrow calmed, 
 
 Argued against themselves, till judgment fell 
 
 Exactly into leaving as before, 
 
 Only there was this holier difference, 
 
 That sorrow brought two hearts into assent 
 
 More fully than a world of argument. 
 
 Then Nell picked up her candle from the floor 
 
 Replaced it, lit her mother's and her own 
 
 Went up, her arm around her mother's waist.
 
 351 
 
 And with their final kiss and closing doors — 
 The book was shut for good, the knot drawn fast 
 The balance needled, and the die was cast. 
 
 Next morning broke in sweetness ; what are signs 
 
 What omens, what are presages, what aught ? 
 
 The sunniest day may hang a criminal 
 
 Or whilst the leaden storm breaks on the spire 
 
 To smite the roof and flash the altar forth 
 
 A bride whose after life shows predict wrong 
 
 Bearing a volumed wealth of happiness 
 
 May word her scared " I will." Nature tells lies 
 
 And in a multiplied inconsequence 
 
 Would fool humanity by sheer pretence. 
 
 Next morning broke ; the time for parting neared, 
 
 Nell's harrowed luggage was sent on before. 
 
 And they with ample minutes left in hand, 
 
 Followed at leisure through an air so crisp. 
 
 And underneath an autumn sun so bright. 
 
 That nature seemed by pure infection 
 
 To turn all creatures to light-heartedness. 
 
 And even the mother's conversation ran 
 
 Brightly bespersed with trivialities. 
 
 Is anything forgotten in your box 
 
 By chance? (she said). If so I'll send it on. 
 
 Wear winter through some flannel next your chest. 
 
 Six weeks, what are six weeks ? Christmas is now 
 
 Almost upon us and it brings you back 
 
 Yet for six weeks ! Be very circumspect 
 
 How you make friendships and acquaintanceships, 
 
 London they say is full of treachery. 
 
 I think your gowns will do although I know
 
 352 
 
 That town has antic fashions of its own 
 
 Which sneer at simpleness. Do not forget 
 
 To kneel in prajcr at night, and, oh, may God, 
 
 Who guards the widow and the orphan keep 
 
 Your ways from every harm. Don't speak to men. 
 
 But this is needless warning ; nor forget 
 
 To change at once your shoes if they get damp, 
 
 Neglected colds are doorways to disease, 
 
 The papers say so and I know it's true ; 
 
 Only the other day I saw a balm 
 
 That was most sovereign in advertisement 
 
 I'll cut the slip and post it ; if by chance 
 
 You cannot get a bottle up in town 
 
 'Tis sold at Reading, I can send one up. 
 
 So with a mixed garrulity she ran, 
 
 Forgetting broadened sorrow in detail. 
 
 For even in the deepest grief we mix 
 
 The commonplaces of our daily life. 
 
 Turn housekeeper at husbands' funerals, 
 
 And blow our noses almost with the breath 
 
 That stifled wafts us to eternity. 
 
 Then came the station and its little crowd ; 
 
 Noddings and wordings to acquaintances ; 
 
 My daughter goes to town, the widow said, 
 
 Oh not for long, only a six weeeks' stay 
 
 On visit to her uncle, the first time 
 
 (This with a tremulous quaver in her voice) 
 
 That ever she left home. Then ticket taken. 
 
 The muffled rumble of the approaching train 
 
 Which turned the cutting in an open roar. 
 
 And with the skid of brakes and gaping doors 
 
 Pulled stopped. The chosen carriage, rolling trucks, 
 
 I
 
 353 
 
 Bustle, raised voices, jostlings, slams and clicks, 
 
 The station-master's " Right ! " the read}- guard 
 
 Trilling his whistle with a wave of hand, 
 
 The engine's answer, one last clinging kiss 
 
 Even as the ponderous vehicle strained to move 
 
 And with a sundered pressure Nell was gone, 
 
 Leaving her mother for first time alone. 
 
 But Nell craned from the carriage window forth, 
 
 Waving her handerchief in stretched good-bye, 
 
 Until the curve flung out the hinder train 
 
 And cut the lessening platform with its crowd 
 
 From off all further sight. Then she sat down 
 
 Gazing across the river and the meads 
 
 To where amidst the almost leafless trees 
 
 The eaves and chimneys of her home peeped out. 
 
 And as they say a man in drowning sees 
 
 In panorama, ere his senses go, 
 
 All his past life down to the last detail. 
 
 So Nell who but a moment earlier felt 
 
 The pinch of parting as an awfulness 
 
 Of the then moment, now found all her mind 
 
 Spurred by the sighting of familiar spots 
 
 Racing the years 'twixt now and infancy, 
 
 In incidents as many as the flowers 
 
 That line a May-day path or are outlaid 
 
 In throng upon a meadow, and through these 
 
 Always her mother. So how strange it is 
 
 We cling to persons whilst they still are seen. 
 
 When gone, to places where they once have been. 
 
 At last as breach upon her reveries 
 
 And cutting from the country which had hung 
 
 23
 
 354 
 
 As text before the current of her thouf];hts, 
 
 Came Reading station with its bustled ways 
 
 And noisy commonplace to stifle down 
 
 Home's memories with images of town, 
 
 Till by the time that the collector came 
 
 (This morning's train expressed for business men 
 
 And here penultimate to Paddington) 
 
 To take her ticket, as she gave it up 
 
 She snapped all final tie and backw-ard bonds 
 
 And from thenceforward as the train whirled on 
 
 Dreamt Robert till it stopped at Paddington. 
 
 Here, as the carriage passed, amidst the crowd 
 She saw him, loosed the door before the stop. 
 Sprang to the platform and was at his side ; 
 Whilst he, their greetings done, pointed to her 
 A date was but a date, and all the day 
 Was theirs to pass together, seeing none 
 Had fixed what hour she was expected at, 
 And therefore night would do as well as morn ; 
 On which he saw her luggage safely sought 
 Hailed up a hansom, and these two swept on 
 Into the whirl of modern Babylon. 
 So let us leave them for the nonce, nor now 
 Trace out one drop amidst an ocean's whole — 
 Take them as vanished : they had gone to mix 
 And vortex where five millions still surk in 
 Such trifling tributes to the sink of sin. 
 
 But — and the final picture — back once more 
 To where the widow watched the lessening train 
 Tail townwards out of sight — her daughter gone, 
 
 I 
 
 n
 
 355 
 
 She stood some little instants motionless 
 
 Then tottered backwards to a station seat 
 
 And as the platform gradually cleared 
 
 Sat in a da;?e, until at last she rose 
 
 To take her solitary way to home. 
 
 Home ! What was home to her ? \\'hat was it 
 
 now ? 
 When the one voice that made it sweet was mute, 
 When the one face that gladdened it was gone, 
 When all she loved was bluntly reft from her. 
 Was it her fault their means had dwindled down 
 To beggared separation 'i Look the past ; 
 What had she done to jar it ? Had they not 
 Their freehold house with such an amplitude 
 As went beyond all wants ? And was not Nell 
 In all futurity provided for ? 
 And yet upon her husband's father's death 
 W'hilst still her husband's brother had foretold 
 Their greater wealth, in the assa3'ed division 
 And in the rearrangement of affairs 
 All that he took had crucibled to gold 
 And theirs gone waste to ashes. Had she not 
 Eked out their lessening means with carefulness 
 As to meet their inadequacy, tried 
 The fresh-used ways of new economies 
 One on another till the little shell 
 That husbanded the kernel of her hopes 
 Was cast and squirrelled, and bleak exigence 
 With its abominable bareness stared 
 Her thinly in the face ? And had she not 
 With her own proper fingers tried to make 
 The two ends meet ? Was there a God above
 
 5f> 
 
 To so tear daui^htcr from a mother's love ? 
 But by this time she reached the cottage gate, 
 Lifted the latch, looked round those faded flowers 
 That now no more should have their tending hand, 
 Passed onwards through the porch, unloosed the dog 
 (All that it seemed at last was left to her) 
 And went into the sitting-room to sink 
 In her dead husband's chair ; then with a start 
 After long eyeing into vacancy 
 Mounted the stairs into her daughter's room 
 Looked at the bed which should that night be void 
 For the first time in all remembering, 
 Its sheets turned neatly on the coverlet, 
 And, as the tears welled sobless from her eyes. 
 Went slowly down again into the road, 
 (The dog step after step still following) 
 And up the avenue to the churchyard, 
 And through the wicket gate and on until 
 She reached the simple mound under the which 
 He slept who first had won her maiden love 
 And left to her their baby legacy. 
 There on the hallowed turf withered and done 
 Lay the twined blossoms Nell herself had plucked 
 And wrought to wreath, and onh- Sunda}- gone 
 Had knelt to set with loving hands in place. 
 Then death above symbol of death below, 
 And this new separation flooded to 
 The separation of long years ago. 
 Broke all her sense as she sank to ground 
 And grasped the earth where him she loved was laid 
 And prayed and sobbed and cried and sobbed and 
 prayed,
 
 357 
 
 There let us leave her too. That very night 
 The north belched forth a driving biting gale 
 Which struck the trees and screeched above the hills, 
 Like a great sea that shakes a shingled shore 
 With long uneven intermissions, 
 Making the dead leaves bite against the ground 
 As clattering hail. For half a week this blew 
 Shrieked through the hard-leaved briars and whipped 
 
 to bend 
 The trees as they were fly-rods, casting down 
 Huge branches in its sporting, wrecked great oaks, 
 Uprooted elms, and flung tall poplars down. 
 Snapping them off as tinder by the root, 
 Laid uptorn willows low beside the streams. 
 Till its malignant spite and passion done 
 It lulled in moans away. Then weeping mists, 
 With sullen and impenetrable clouds. 
 Not separate but woven to one gre}-. 
 Poured with unceasing sluicing over all. 
 And so the year (for what are months) was done 
 And on its ruin came bitter gnawing cold, 
 (Not that clean frost that honest winter brings 
 To spur the blood to wholesome merriment, 
 But dank sheer penetrating mournful cold) 
 Chill as a gravestone, shivering to shake 
 Even the very grass. The year was done. 
 The river swollen from its continent 
 Rolled in a dirty flood, where but some weeks 
 Before it was as crystal. Purity 
 Was gone, and in its place gross muddy filth 
 Swept (and the symbol is as it should be) 
 Down to disgorgement in the eternal sea.
 
 PRINTEr) BY AHLARI" \N'1> <:<)N", 
 LONDON: HARTU'iLOMEW CLOSE, B.C., AM) 30 I1ASU\ ER !-'JL'ARE, W.
 
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