Chilverstone
had already lit his study-lamp.
Fletcher - Lucian the Dreamer
once,' she answered, ' There is one thing to be done at
without hesitation. ' You must get out of debt to Dar- lington; you must pay him every penny that you owe him as quickly as possible. You say you owe him
nearly nine thousand pounds: very good. have you got towards paying that off? '
Lucian sighed deeply.
'That's just it! ' he exclaimed.
How much
'I don't exactly know. Let me see, now; well, look here, Sprats—^you won't tell, of course — Mr. Pepperdine owes me a
thousand—at least I mean to say I lent him a thousand, but then, don't you know, he has always been so good
'
to me, that
' I think you had better chuck sentiment,' she said.
' Mr. Pepperdine has a thousand of yours. Very well—
go ' on. ' continued, ' that I might I've been thinking,' he
now ask him for the money which my father left me. He has had full charge of that, you know. I've never known what it was. I dare say it was rather heavily dipped into during the time I was at Oxford, but there may be something left. '
* Has he never told you anything about it? ' asked
Sprats.
' Very little.
Indeed, I have never asked him any- thing — I could trust him with everything. It's quite
possible there may not be a penny; he may have spent
it all on me before I came of age,' said Lucian.
if there is anything, it would go towards making up the nine thousand, wouldn't it ? '
' Well, leave it out of the question at present,' she answered. ' What else have you coming in soon? '
' Harcourt has two hundred of mine, and Robertson
about three hundred. '
' That's another five hundred.
Well, and the rest? '
' Still,
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 189
' I think that's the lot,' he said.
she said. ' Come, now, Lucian, you know there are. '
' There are people who owe you money,'
Lucian began to wriggle and to study the pattern of
the hearthrug.
' Oh ! ah ! well ! ' he said, ' I—I dare say I have
lent other men a little now and then. '
' Better say given,' she interrupted.
wondering if there was any considerable
' I was only sum that you
could get in. '
* No, really,' he answered.
* Very well; then you've got fifteen hundred towards
your nine thousand. That's all, eh? ' she asked.
' All that I know of,' he said. remarked, with
' Well, there are other things,' she
some emphasis. ' There are your copyrights and your furniture, pictures, books, and curiosities. '
Lucian 's mouth opened and he uttered a sort of groan.
' You don't mean that I should— sell any of these? ' he said, looking at her entreatingly.
'I'd sell the very clothes off my back before I'd owe a penny to Darlington ! ' she repHed. ' Don't be a senti- mental ass, Lucian; books in vellum bindings, and pic-
tures by old masters, and unique pots and pans and platters, don't make life! Sell every blessed thing you've got rather than owe Darlington money. Pay him off, get out of that house, Hve in simpler fashion, and you'll be a happier man. '
Lucian sat for some moments in silence, staring at the hearthrug. At last he looked up. Sprats saw some- thing new in his face—or was it something old? some- thing that she had not seen there for years? He looked
at her for an instant, and then he looked away.
' I should be very glad to live a simpler life,' he said.
' I dare say it seems rather sentimental and all that, you know, but of late I've had an awfully strong desire— sort of home-sickness, you know —for Simonstower.
I've caught myself thinking of the old days, and—' he paused, laughed in rather a forced way, and sitting
190
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
straight up in the easy-chair in which he had been lounging, began to drum on its arms with his fingers.
' What you say,' he continued presently, ' is quite right. I must not be in debt to Darlington —it has been a most kind and generous thing on his part to act as one's banker in this fashion, but one mustn't trespass on a friend's kindness. '
' Yes,' he went on meditatively, ' I'm sure you are right. Sprats, quite right. I'll act on your advice. I'll go down to Simonstower to-morrow and see if Uncle Pepperdine can let me have that thousand, and if there is any money of my own, and when I come back I'll see if Robertson will buy my copyrights—I may be able to clear the debt off with all that. If not, I shall sell the furniture, books, pictures, everything, and Haidee and
Sprats flashed a swift, half-puzzled look upon him— he was looking another way, and did not see her.
I will go to Italy, to Florence, and live cheaply. Ah
! I know the loveliest palazzo on the Lung' Arno —I wish
we were there already. I'm sick of England. '
' It will make a difference to Haidee, Lucian,' said
Sprats. ' She likes England —and English society. '
' Yes,' he answered thoughtfully, ' it will make a great difference. But she gave up a great deal for me
when we married, and she'll give up a great deal now. A woman will do anything for the 'man she loves,' he added, with the air of a wiseacre. It's a sort of fixed law. '
Then he went away, and Sprats, after spending five minutes in deep thought, remembered her other children and hastened to them, wondering whether the most juvenile of the whole brood were quite so childish as
Lucian. ' It will go hard with him if his disillusion comes suddenly,' she thought, and for the rest of the day she felt inclined to sadness.
Lucian went home in a good humour and a brighter flow of spirits. He was always thus when a new course of action suggested itself to him, and on this occasion he felt impelled to cheerfulness because he was meditat-
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
191
ing a virtuous deed. He wrote some letters, and then went to his club, and knowing that his wife had an engagement of her own that night, he dined with an old college friend whom he happened to meet in the smok- ing-room, and to whom before and after dinner he talked in lively fashion. It was late when he reached home, and he was then more cheerful than ever; the picture of the old palazzo on the Lung' Amo had fastened itself upon the wall of his consciousness and compelled him to look at it. Haidee had just come in; he persuaded her to go with him into his study while he smoked a final cigarette, and there, full of his new projects, he told her what he intended to do. Haidee listened with- out saying a word in reply. Lucian took no notice of her silence : he was one of those people who imagine that they are addressing other people when they are in reality talking to themselves and require neither Yea
nor Nay; he went on expatiating upon his scheme, and the final cigarette was succeeded by others, and Haidee still listened in silence.
' You mean to do all that? ' she said at last. ' To sell everything and go to Florence? And to Hve there? ' ' Certainly,' he repHed tranquilly; ' it will be so
cheap. '
'Cheap? ' she exclaimed. 'Yes— and dull!
Besides, why this sudden fuss about owing Darlington money? It's been owing for months, and you didn't say anything. '
' I expected to be able to put the account straight out of the money coming from the book and the play,' he replied. ' As they are not exactly gold-mines, I must do what I can. I can't remain in Darlington's debt in that way—it wouldn't be fair to him. '
' I don't see that you need upset everything just for that,' she said. ' He has not asked you to put the
account straight, has he? '
* Of course not! ' exclaimed Lucian.
* He never would; he's much too good a fellow to do that sort of thing. But that's just why I must get out of his debt—
192
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
it's taking a mean advantage of his kindness. I'm quite certain nobody else would have been so very generous/ Haidee glanced at her husband out of the comers
of her eyes: the glance was something like that with which Sprats had regarded him in the afternoon. He had not caught Sprats's glance, and he did not catch his wife's.
Haidee,' he said, after a short silence, * I called at Darlington's to-day to find out just how we stand there, and the manager gave me the exact figures. You've rather gone it, you know, during the past half-year, you've gone through seven thousand
* By the bye,
pounds. '
Haidee looked at him wonderingly.
' But I paid for the diamonds out of that, you know,' she said. ' They cost over six thousand. '
'Good heavens! —did they? ' said Lucian. *I thought it was an affair of fifty pounds or so. ' —
' How ridiculous 1 ' she exclaimed. ' Diamonds
like these— for fifty pounds ! I ever knew. '
You are the simplest child
Lucian was endeavouring to recall the episode of the buying of the diamonds. He remembered at last that Haidee had told him that she had the opportunity of buying some diamonds for a much less sum than they were worth. He had thought it some small transaction, and had bidden her to consult somebody who knew something about that sort of thing.
' I remember now,' he said. ' I told you to ask
advice of some one who knew something about
diamonds. '
' And so I did,' she answered. ' I asked Darlington's
advice —he's an authority —and he said I should be fooUsh to miss the chance. And then I said I didn't know whether I dare draw a cheque for such an amount, and he laughed and said of course I might, and that he would arange it with you. ' *
that's just another proof of what I've been saying all along.
* There you are! ' said Lucian triumphantly;
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
193
Darlington's such a kind-hearted sort of chap that he never said anything about it to me. Well, there's no harm done there, any way, Haidee; in fact, it's rather a rehef to know that you've locked up six thousand in that way, because you can sell the diamonds and the money will go towards putting the account straight. '
Haidlee looked at him narrowly: Lucian's eyes were fixed on the curling smoke of his cigarette.
' Sell my diamonds? ' she said in a low voice.
* Yes, of course,' said Lucian; * it'll be rather jolly if there's a profit on them. Oh yes, we must sell them. I can't afford to lock up six thousand in precious stones, you know, and of course we can't let Darlington pay for them. I wonder what they really are worth? What a lark if we got, say, ten thousand for them ! '
Then he wandered into an account of how a friend of his had once picked up a ring at one of the stalls on the Ponte Vecchio in Florence, and had subsequently sold it for just ten times as much as he had given for it. He laughed very much in telling his wife this story, for it had certain amusing points in it, and Haidee laughed too, but if Lucian had been endowed with a better understanding of women he would have known that she was neither amused nor edified.
N
CHAPTER XXIII
LuciAN came down to breakfast next morning equipped for his journey to Simonstower. He was in good spirits : the day was bright and frosty, and he was already dreaming of the village and the snow-capped hills beyond it. In dressing he had thought over his plans, and had decided that he was now quite reconciled to the drastic measures which Sprats had proposed. He would clear off all his indebtedness to Darlington, pay whatever bills might be owing, and make a fresh start, this time on the lines of strict economy, forethought, and prudence. He had very little conception of the real meaning of these
but he had always admired them in the abstract, and he now intended to form an intimate
important qualities,
with them.
* I've been thinking,' he said, as he faced Haidee at
acquaintance
the breakfast-table and spread out the Morning
' that when I have readjusted everything we shall be
much better off than I thought. Those diamonds make a big difference, Haidee. In fact we shall have, or we ought to have, quite a decent little capital, and we'll invest it in something absolutely safe and sound. I'll ask Darlington's advice about that, and we'll never touch it. The interest and the royalties will yield an income which will be quite sufficient for our needs—you can live very cheaply in Italy. ' —
' Then you are still bent on going to Italy to Florence? ' she asked calmly.
' Certainly,' he replied. ' It's the best thing we can do. I'm looking forward to it. After all, why should we be encumbered as we are at present with an expen- sive house, a troop of servants, and all the rest of it? We don't really want them. Has it never occurred to you that all these things are something like the shell which the snail has to carry on his back and can't get
194
Post,
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
195
away from? Why should a man cany a big shell on his back? It's all very well talking about the advan- tages and comforts of having a house of one's own, but it's neither an advantage nor a comfort to be tied to a house nor to anything that clogs one's action. '
Haidee made no reply to those philosophic observations.
' How long do you propose to stay in Italy? ' she asked. ' Simply for the winter? I suppose we should return here for the season next year? '
* I don't think so,' answered Lucian. ' We might go into Switzerland during the very hot months — we couldn't stand Florence in July and August. But I don't intend returning to London for some time. I don't think I shall ever settle here again. After all, I am Italian. '
Then, finding that it was time he set out for King's Cross, he kissed his wife's cheek, bade her amuse and take care of herself during his absence, and went away, still in good spirits. For some time after he had gone Haidee remained where he had left her. She ate and drank mechanically, and she looked straight before her in the blank, purposeless fashion which often denotes intense concentration of thought. When she rose from the table she walked about the room with aimless, un- certain movements, touching this and that object without any reason for doing so. She picked up the Morning Post, glanced at and saw nothing; she fingered two or
three letters which Lucian had left lying about on the
breakfast-table, and laid
reminded her, quite suddenly, of letter from Eustace Darlington which she had in her pocket, trivial note, newly arrived, which informed her that he had made some purchase or other for her in Paris, whither he had gone for week on business, and that she would shortly receive parcel containing it. There was nothing of special interest or moment in the letter; she referred to merely to ascertain Darlington's address.
After time Haidee went into the study and sought
them down again.
They
a
aa
it
a
a
it,
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
196
out a railway guide. She had already made up her mind to join Eustace Darlington, and she now decided to travel by a train which would enable her to reach Paris at nine o'clock that evening. She began to make her preparations at once, and instructed her maid to
pack two large portmanteaus. Her jewels she packed herself, taking them out of a safe in which they were
and after she had bestowed them in a small handbag she kept the latter within sight until her departure. Everything was carried out with cool-
ness and thoughtfulness. The maid was told that her mistress was going to Paris for a few days and that she was to accompany her; the butler received his orders as to what was to be done until Mrs. Damerel's return the
usually deposited,
There was nothing to surprise the servants, and nothing to make them talk, in Haidee's proceedings. She lunched at an earHer hour
than usual, drove to the station with her maid, dropped a letter, addressed to Lucian at Simonstower vicarage,
Haidee acquired a hearty appetite, and satisfied it in the dining-car of the French train. She was one of those
next day or the day following.
happily moments of life.
on the platform, and departed for
into the pillar-box
Paris with an admirable unconcern. There was a choppy sea in the Channel, and the maid was ill, but
constituted people who can eat at the greatest
She drove from the Gare du Nord to the Hotel Bristol, and engaged rooms immediately on her arrival. A little later she inquired for DarHngton, and then discovered that he had that day journeyed to Dijon, and was not expected to return until two days later. Haidee, in nowise disconcerted by this news, settled down to await his reappearance.
ing after Simpson Pepperdine Simonstower.
had brought him to
CHAPTER
XXIV
towards the close of the afternoon. He had driven over from Oakborough through a wintry land, and every minute spent in the keen air had added to the buoyancy of his spirits. Never, he thought as he was driven along the valley, did Simonstower look so well as under its first coatmg
of snow, and on the rising ground above the village he made his driver stop so that he might drink in the charm of the winter sunset. At the western extremity of the valley a shelving hill closed the view; on its highest point a long row of gaunt fir-trees showed black and spectral against the molten red of the setting sun and the purpled sky into which it was sinking; nearer, the blue smoke of the village chimneys curled into the
clear, frosty air—it seemed to Lucian that he could almost smell the fires of fragrant wood which burned on the hearths. He caught a faint murmur of voices from the village street: it was four o'clock, and the children were being released from school. Somewhere along the moorland side a dog was barking; in the windows of his uncle's farmhouse, high above the river and the village, lights were akeady gleaming; a spark of bright light amongst the pine and fir trees near the church told him that Mr.
Chilverstone had already lit his study-lamp. Every sound, every sight was familiar
they brought the old days back to him. And there, keeping stem watch over the village at its foot, stood the old Norman castle, its square keep towering to the sky, as massive and formidable as when Lucian had first looked upon it from his chamber window the morn-
LuciAN arrived at the old vicarage
He bade the man drive on to the vicarage. He had sent no word of his coming; he had more than once
197
198
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
descended upon his friends at Simonstower without warning, and had always found a welcome. The vicar came bustling into the hall to him, with no sign of surprise.
' I did not know they had wired to you, my boy,' he said, greeting him in the old affectionate way, ' but it was good of you to come so quickly. '
Lucian recognised that something had happened.
' I don't understand you,' he said. ' No one wired
to me; I came down on my own initiative —I wanted to
see my uncle on business. '
' Ah ' '
! said the vicar, shaking his head. Then you do not know? —your uncle is ill. He had a stroke —a fit—you know what I mean —this very morning. Your Aunt Judith is across at the farm now. But come in, my dear boy—how cold you must be. '
Lucian went out to the conveyance which had brought him over, paid the driver, and bade him refresh himself at the inn, and then joined the vicar in his study. There again were the famiHar objects which spelled Home. It suddenly occurred to him that he was much more at home here or in the farmhouse parlour along the road- side than in his own house in London, and he wondered in 'vague, indirect fashion why that should be so.
Is my uncle dangerously ill. then? ' he asked, looking at the vicar, who was fidgeting about with the fire-irons and repeating his belief that Lucian must be very cold.
* I fear so, I fear so,' answered Mr. Chilverstone. * It is, I think, an apoplectic seizure —he was rather inclined to that, if you come to think of it. Your aunt has just gone across there. It was early this morning that it happened, and she has been over to the farm several times during the day, but this time I think she will find a specialist there — Dr. Matthews wished for advice and wired to Smokeford for some great man who was to arrive an hour ago. I am glad you have come, Lucian. Did you see Sprats before leaving? '
Lucian replied that he had seen Sprats on the previ- ous day. He sat down, answering the vicar's questions
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 199
his daughter in mechanical fashion—he was thinking of the various events of the past twenty-four hours, and wondering if Mr. Pepperdine's illness was likely to result in death. Mr. Chilverstone turned from Sprats to the somewhat sore question of the tragedy. It was to him a sad sign of the times that the public had
respecting
neglected such truly good
work, and he went on to
express his own opinion of the taste of the age. Lucian
listened absent-mindedly until Mrs. Chilverstone
returned with news of the sick man. She was much troubled; the specialist gave little hope of Simpson's
He might linger for some days, but it was almost certain that a week would see the end of him. But in spite of her trouble Aunt Judith was practical. Keziah, she said, must not be left alone that night, and she herself was going back to the farm as soon as she had seen that the vicar was properly provided for in respect of his sustenance and comfort. Ever since her marriage Mrs. Chilverstone had felt that her main object in Hfe was the pleasing of her lord; she had put away all thought of the dead hussar, and her romantic dis- position had bridled itself with the reins of chastened affection. Thus the vicar, who under Sprats 's regime had neither been pampered nor coddled, found himself indulged in many modes hitherto unknown to him, and he accepted all that was showered upon him with modest thankfulness. He thought his wife a kindly and con- siderate soul, and did not realise, being a truly simple man, that Judith was pouring out upon him the resources of a treasury which she had been stocking all her life. He was the first thing she had the chance of loving in a practical fashion; hence he began to live among rose-leaves. He protested now that Lucian and
recovery.
Chilverstone, how- ever, took the reins in hand, saw that the traveller was properly attended to and provided for, and did not leave
the vicarage until the two men were comfortably seated at the dinner-table, the maids admonished as to lighting a fire in Mr. Damerel's room, and the vicar warned of
himself wanted for nothing. Mrs.
200 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
the necessity of turning out the lamps and locking the doors. Then she returned to her brother's house, and for an hour or two Lucian and his old tutor talked of things nearest to their hearts, and the feehngs of home came upon the younger man more strongly than ever. He began to wonder how it was that he had settled down in London when he might have lived in the country; the atmosphere of this quiet, book-lined room in a village parsonage was, he thought just then, much more to his true taste than that in which he had spent the last few years of his life. At Oxford Lucian had lived the life of a book-worm and a dreamer: he was not a success in examinations, and he brought no great honour upon his tutor. In most respects he had lived apart from other men, and it was not until the publication of his first volume had drawn the eyes of the world upon him that he had been swept out of the peaceful backwater of a student's existence into the swirling tides of the full river of Hfe. Then had followed Lord Simonstower's legacy, and then the runaway marriage with Haidee, and then four years of butterfly existence. He began to wonder, as he ate the vicar's well-kept mutton, fed on the moor- lands close by, and sipped the vicar's old claret, laid down many a year before, whether his recent hfe had not been a feverish dream. Looked at from this peace- ful retreat, its constant excitement and perpetual rush and movement seemed to have lost whatever charm they once had for him. Unconsciously Lucian was suffering from reaction: his moral as well as his physical nature was crying for rest, and the first oasis in the desert assumed the delightful colours and soft air of Paradise.
Later in the evening he walked over to the farmhouse, through softly falling snow, to inquire after his uncle's condition. Mrs. Chilverstone was in the sick man's room and did not come downstairs; Miss Pepperdine received him in the parlour. In spite of the trouble that had fallen upon the house and of the busy day which
she had spent, Keziah was robed in state for the evening, and she sat bolt upright in her chair plying her knitting-
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
201
needles as vigorously as in the old days which Lucian remembered so well. He sat down and glanced at Simpson Pepperdine's chair, and wished the familiar figure were occupying it, and he talked to his aunt of her brother's illness, and the cloud which hung over the house weighed heavily upon both.
' I am glad you came down, Lucian,' said Miss Pepperdine, after a time. ' I have been wanting to talk
to you. ' '
' Yes,' he said.
Keziah's needles cUcked with unusual vigour for a
moment or two. '
' Simpson,' she said at last, was always a sott-
hearted man. If he had been harder of heart, he would
have been better off. ' remark, stared at Lucian, puzzled by this ambiguous indicative of his
with pointed
know at present, Lucian. When all is said and done,
you are the nearest of kin in the male line, and after
hearing the doctors to-night I'm prepared for Simpson's death at any moment. It's a very bad attack of apo- plexy—if he lived he'd be a poor invalid all his life. Better that he should be taken while in the full posses-
sion of his faculties. ' before him with
Lucian gazed at the upright figure
mingled feelings. Miss Pepperdine used to sit like
and knit like that, and talk like that, in the old days— especially when she felt it to be her duty to reprimand him for some offence. So far as he could tell, she was . wearing the same stiff and crackly silk gown, she held her elbows close to her side and in just the same fashion,
she spoke with the same precision as in the time of Lucian's youth. The sight of her prim figure, the sound of her precise voice, blotted out half a score of years : Lucian felt very young again.
What about? '
Miss Pepperdine in a fashion 3. nnazement .
' I think,' continued Miss Pepperdine,
emphasis, ' I think it is time you knew more than you
that,
202
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
* It may not be so bad as you think,' he said. ' Even the best doctors may err. '
Miss Pepperdine shook her head.
' No,' she said, ' it's all over with Simpson. And
I think you ought to know, Lucian, how things are with him. Simpson has been a close man, he has kept things to himself all his life; and of late he has been obliged to confide in me, and I know a great deal that I did not
know. ' Lucian,
' Yes? ' said
continued, ' has not done well in business for some time. He had a heavy loss some
years ago through a rascally lawyer whom he trusted he always was one of those easy-going men that will trust anybody—and although the old Lord Simonstower helped him out of the difficulty, it ultimately fell on his own shoulders, and of late he has had hard work to keep
things going. Simpson will die a poor man. Not that that matters—Judith and myself are provided for. I shall leave here, afterwards. Judith, of course, is married. But as regards you, Lucian, you lent Simpson some money a few months ago, didn't you? '
' Simpson,' she
' My dear aunt ! ' exclaimed Lucian, ' I '
' I know all about it,' she said, ' though it's only recently that I have known. Well, you mustn't be sur- prised if you have to lose it, Lucian. When all is settled up, I don't think there will be much, if anything, over; and of course everybody must be paid before a member of the family. The Pepperdines have always had their pride, and as your mother was a Pepperdine, Lucian, you must have a share of it in you. '
' I have my father's pride as well,' answered Lucian. ' Of course I shall not expect the money. I was glad to be able to lend it. '
' Well,' said Miss Pepperdine, with the air of one who
deals out justice impartially,
Simpson back for what he had laid out on you.
gaying on Lucian, when [e spent a good deal of money you,
you were a boy. '
' in one way you were only
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 203
Lucian heard this news with astonished feelings.
' I did not know that,' he said. ' Perhaps I am care- less about these things, but I have always thought that my father left money for me. '
' I thought so too, until recently,' replied Miss Pepper- dine. ' Your father thought that he did, too, and he made Simpson executor and trustee. But the money
in
Lucian listened in silence.
Then,' he said, after time, my uncle was respon-
sible for everything for me? suppose he paid Mr. Chilverstone, and bought my clothes, and gave me
was badly invested. It was in a building society Rome, and it was all lost. There was never a penny piece from from the time of your father's death to this. '
pocket-money, and so on? ' Every penny,' repUed
his aunt. Simpson was And my three years at Oxford? ' he said inquiringly.
always generous man. '
'Ah! ' replied Miss Pepperdine,
matter. Well— don't suppose matters now that you should know, though Simpson wouldn't have told you, but think you ought to know. That was Lord Simons-
tower —the old lord. Lucian uttered
step or two about the room. Miss Pepperdine continued to knit with undiminished vigour. So would seem,' he said presently, that lived
and was educated on charity? ' it,' answered, That how most people would put she
though, to do them justice, don't think either Lord Simonstower or Simpson Pepperdine would have called
that. They thought you promising youth and they
his chair and took
He paid every penny. *
sharp exclamation. He rose from
want you to feel that little of his own in the know he would have paid back to the day, according to his promise, he'd been able. But I'm afraid that he would not have been
put money into you. That's why Simpson was only getting back money that you lent him, though
'that's another
it it
'
''I'''
if
I
a IaI
I
a I
it is
a
*
I aa
it
'
*
it,
204
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
able, and I think his money affairs have worked upon
him/
' I wish I had known/ said Lucian. ' He should have
had no anxiety on my account/
He continued to pace the floor; Miss Pepperdine's
needles clicked an accompaniment to his advancing and retreating steps.
' I thought it best/ she observed presently, ' that you
should know all these
things — they will explain a good
deal/ answered, ' Yes/ he
it is best. I should know. But I wish I had known long ago. After all, a man should
'
not be placed in a false position even by his dearest friends. I ought to have been told the truth. '
Miss Pepperdine's needles clicked viciously.
' So I always felt—after I knew, and that is but recently,' she answered. ' But, as I have said to you
before, Simpson Pepperdine is a soft-hearted man. '
' He has been a kind-hearted man,' said Lucian. He was thinking, as he walked about the room, glancing at
the well-remembered objects, that the money which he had wasted in luxuries that he could well have done without would have reheved Mr. Pepperdine of anxiety
Miss Pepperdine melted. She had formed rather hard thoughts of Lucian since his marriage. The side-winds which blew upon her ears from time to time represented him as living in style which her old-fashioned mind
did not approve she had come to consider him as
and trouble. And yet he had never
guessed, that the kindly-hearted farmer had anything to distress him.
* I think we all seem to walk in darkness,' he said, thinking aloud. ' I never had the least notion of this. Had I known anything of Uncle Simpson should have had all that could give him. '
frivolous, and unbalanced. But she was woman of sound common sense and great shrewdness,
extravagant,
and she recognised the genuine ring in Luclan's voice
known, never
a
I :
a
it,
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 205
and the sincerity of his regret that he had not been able
to save Simpson Pepperdine some anxiety.
' I'm sure you would, my boy,' she said kindly.
' However, Simpson has done with everything now. I didn't tell Judith, because she frets so, but the doctors don't think he'll ever regain consciousness — will only be matter of few days, Lucian. '
And that only makes one wish that one had known
sooner,' he said. Five years ago could have helped him substantially. '
of his anxieties
He was thinking of the ten thousand pounds which
had already disappeared. follow his line of thought.
Miss Pepperdine did not
Yes, I've heard that you've made lot of money,' she said. You've been one of the lucky ones, Lucian, for always understood that poets generally Hved in garrets and were half-starved most of their time. I'm sure one used to read all that sort of thing in books; but perhaps t! mes have changed, and so much the better. Simpson always read your books as soon as you sent them. Upon my word, I'm sure he never understood what was all about, except perhaps some of the songs and ballads, but he liked the long words, and he was very proud of these little green books — they're all in
Well,
he bit on the wrong side of the ledger, must be made up by the family, and you must do your share. mustn't be said that Pepperdine died owing money
that he couldn't pay. I've already talked over with Judith, and there money to be found, she and and you must find between us. If need be, all mine can go,' she added sharply. can get place as housekeeper even at my age. '
Lucian gave her his promise readily enough, and
his bureau there, along with his account-books.
as was saying, understand you've made money, Lucian. Take care of it, my boy, for you never know when you may want it, and want badly, in this world. There's one thing want you to promise me. don't yet know how things will be when Simpson's gone, but
it
I
It
if
if
I
a
is
a
is a
II**a it
I'
a aII
it
I
-it
it
it
'
a
'
2o6 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
immediately began to wonder what it might imply. But he agreed with her reasoning, and assured himself that, if necessary, he would live on a crust in order to carry out her wishes. And soon afterwards he set out for the vicarage, promising to return for news of Mr. Pepper- dine's condition at an early hour in the morning.
As he walked back over the snow Lucian was full of thought. The conversation with Miss Pepperdine had opened a new world to him. He had always believed himself independent: it now turned out that for years and years he had lived at other men's charges. He owed his very food to the charity of a relative; another man, upon whom he had no claim, had lavished generosity upon him in no unstinted fashion. He was full of honest
to these men, but he wished at the same time that he had known of their HberaHty sooner. He felt that he had been placed in a false position, and the feeling lowered him in his own estimation. He thought of his father, who earned money easily and spent it freely, and reaUsed that he had inherited his happy-go-lucky
gratitude
Yet he had never doubted that his father had made provision for him, for he remembered hearing
temperament.
him tell some artist friends one afternoon in Florence that
benefit, and Cyprian Damerel had been a man of common sense, fond of pleasure and good living and generous though he was,
he had laid money aside for Lucian's
But Lucian well understood the story of the Roman
building society—greater folk than he, from the Holy Father downwards, had lost money out of that feverish
desire to build which has characterised the Romans of all ages. No doubt his father had been carried away by some wave of enthusiasm, and had put all his eggs into one basket, and they had all been broken together. Still, Lucian wished that Mr. Pepperdine had told him all this on his reaching an age of understanding—it would have made a difference in many ways. ' I seem,' he thought, as he plodded on through the snow, ' I seem to have lived in an unreal world, and to have supposed things which were not ! ' And he began to recall the days
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 20/
of sure and confident youth, when his name was being extolled as that of a newly risen star in the literary firma- ment, and his own heart was singing with the joy of pride and strength and full assurance. He had never
induced in him an unassuming modesty, at which many people who witnessed his triumphs and saw him lionised had wondered. Now, however, he had tasted the bitter-
ness of reverse; he had found that Fortune can frown as easily as she can smile, and that it is hard to know upon what principle her smiles and frowns are portioned out. To a certain point, life for Lucian had been a perpetual dancing along the primrose way—it was now developing into a tangle wherein were thorns and briars.
He was too full of these thoughts to care for conversa- tion, even with his old tutor, and he pleaded fatigue and went to bed. He lay awake for the greater part of the night, thinking over his talk with Miss Pepperdine, and
felt one doubt of the splendour of his
accepted it as anything but his just due. His very certainty on these matters had, all unknown to himself,
career, never
to arrange his affairs so that he might make good his promise to her, and when he slept, his sleep was troubled by uneasy dreams. He woke rather late in the morning with a feeling of impending calamity hanging heavily upon him. As he dressed, Mr.
without hesitation. ' You must get out of debt to Dar- lington; you must pay him every penny that you owe him as quickly as possible. You say you owe him
nearly nine thousand pounds: very good. have you got towards paying that off? '
Lucian sighed deeply.
'That's just it! ' he exclaimed.
How much
'I don't exactly know. Let me see, now; well, look here, Sprats—^you won't tell, of course — Mr. Pepperdine owes me a
thousand—at least I mean to say I lent him a thousand, but then, don't you know, he has always been so good
'
to me, that
' I think you had better chuck sentiment,' she said.
' Mr. Pepperdine has a thousand of yours. Very well—
go ' on. ' continued, ' that I might I've been thinking,' he
now ask him for the money which my father left me. He has had full charge of that, you know. I've never known what it was. I dare say it was rather heavily dipped into during the time I was at Oxford, but there may be something left. '
* Has he never told you anything about it? ' asked
Sprats.
' Very little.
Indeed, I have never asked him any- thing — I could trust him with everything. It's quite
possible there may not be a penny; he may have spent
it all on me before I came of age,' said Lucian.
if there is anything, it would go towards making up the nine thousand, wouldn't it ? '
' Well, leave it out of the question at present,' she answered. ' What else have you coming in soon? '
' Harcourt has two hundred of mine, and Robertson
about three hundred. '
' That's another five hundred.
Well, and the rest? '
' Still,
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 189
' I think that's the lot,' he said.
she said. ' Come, now, Lucian, you know there are. '
' There are people who owe you money,'
Lucian began to wriggle and to study the pattern of
the hearthrug.
' Oh ! ah ! well ! ' he said, ' I—I dare say I have
lent other men a little now and then. '
' Better say given,' she interrupted.
wondering if there was any considerable
' I was only sum that you
could get in. '
* No, really,' he answered.
* Very well; then you've got fifteen hundred towards
your nine thousand. That's all, eh? ' she asked.
' All that I know of,' he said. remarked, with
' Well, there are other things,' she
some emphasis. ' There are your copyrights and your furniture, pictures, books, and curiosities. '
Lucian 's mouth opened and he uttered a sort of groan.
' You don't mean that I should— sell any of these? ' he said, looking at her entreatingly.
'I'd sell the very clothes off my back before I'd owe a penny to Darlington ! ' she repHed. ' Don't be a senti- mental ass, Lucian; books in vellum bindings, and pic-
tures by old masters, and unique pots and pans and platters, don't make life! Sell every blessed thing you've got rather than owe Darlington money. Pay him off, get out of that house, Hve in simpler fashion, and you'll be a happier man. '
Lucian sat for some moments in silence, staring at the hearthrug. At last he looked up. Sprats saw some- thing new in his face—or was it something old? some- thing that she had not seen there for years? He looked
at her for an instant, and then he looked away.
' I should be very glad to live a simpler life,' he said.
' I dare say it seems rather sentimental and all that, you know, but of late I've had an awfully strong desire— sort of home-sickness, you know —for Simonstower.
I've caught myself thinking of the old days, and—' he paused, laughed in rather a forced way, and sitting
190
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
straight up in the easy-chair in which he had been lounging, began to drum on its arms with his fingers.
' What you say,' he continued presently, ' is quite right. I must not be in debt to Darlington —it has been a most kind and generous thing on his part to act as one's banker in this fashion, but one mustn't trespass on a friend's kindness. '
' Yes,' he went on meditatively, ' I'm sure you are right. Sprats, quite right. I'll act on your advice. I'll go down to Simonstower to-morrow and see if Uncle Pepperdine can let me have that thousand, and if there is any money of my own, and when I come back I'll see if Robertson will buy my copyrights—I may be able to clear the debt off with all that. If not, I shall sell the furniture, books, pictures, everything, and Haidee and
Sprats flashed a swift, half-puzzled look upon him— he was looking another way, and did not see her.
I will go to Italy, to Florence, and live cheaply. Ah
! I know the loveliest palazzo on the Lung' Arno —I wish
we were there already. I'm sick of England. '
' It will make a difference to Haidee, Lucian,' said
Sprats. ' She likes England —and English society. '
' Yes,' he answered thoughtfully, ' it will make a great difference. But she gave up a great deal for me
when we married, and she'll give up a great deal now. A woman will do anything for the 'man she loves,' he added, with the air of a wiseacre. It's a sort of fixed law. '
Then he went away, and Sprats, after spending five minutes in deep thought, remembered her other children and hastened to them, wondering whether the most juvenile of the whole brood were quite so childish as
Lucian. ' It will go hard with him if his disillusion comes suddenly,' she thought, and for the rest of the day she felt inclined to sadness.
Lucian went home in a good humour and a brighter flow of spirits. He was always thus when a new course of action suggested itself to him, and on this occasion he felt impelled to cheerfulness because he was meditat-
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
191
ing a virtuous deed. He wrote some letters, and then went to his club, and knowing that his wife had an engagement of her own that night, he dined with an old college friend whom he happened to meet in the smok- ing-room, and to whom before and after dinner he talked in lively fashion. It was late when he reached home, and he was then more cheerful than ever; the picture of the old palazzo on the Lung' Amo had fastened itself upon the wall of his consciousness and compelled him to look at it. Haidee had just come in; he persuaded her to go with him into his study while he smoked a final cigarette, and there, full of his new projects, he told her what he intended to do. Haidee listened with- out saying a word in reply. Lucian took no notice of her silence : he was one of those people who imagine that they are addressing other people when they are in reality talking to themselves and require neither Yea
nor Nay; he went on expatiating upon his scheme, and the final cigarette was succeeded by others, and Haidee still listened in silence.
' You mean to do all that? ' she said at last. ' To sell everything and go to Florence? And to Hve there? ' ' Certainly,' he repHed tranquilly; ' it will be so
cheap. '
'Cheap? ' she exclaimed. 'Yes— and dull!
Besides, why this sudden fuss about owing Darlington money? It's been owing for months, and you didn't say anything. '
' I expected to be able to put the account straight out of the money coming from the book and the play,' he replied. ' As they are not exactly gold-mines, I must do what I can. I can't remain in Darlington's debt in that way—it wouldn't be fair to him. '
' I don't see that you need upset everything just for that,' she said. ' He has not asked you to put the
account straight, has he? '
* Of course not! ' exclaimed Lucian.
* He never would; he's much too good a fellow to do that sort of thing. But that's just why I must get out of his debt—
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LUCIAN THE DREAMER
it's taking a mean advantage of his kindness. I'm quite certain nobody else would have been so very generous/ Haidee glanced at her husband out of the comers
of her eyes: the glance was something like that with which Sprats had regarded him in the afternoon. He had not caught Sprats's glance, and he did not catch his wife's.
Haidee,' he said, after a short silence, * I called at Darlington's to-day to find out just how we stand there, and the manager gave me the exact figures. You've rather gone it, you know, during the past half-year, you've gone through seven thousand
* By the bye,
pounds. '
Haidee looked at him wonderingly.
' But I paid for the diamonds out of that, you know,' she said. ' They cost over six thousand. '
'Good heavens! —did they? ' said Lucian. *I thought it was an affair of fifty pounds or so. ' —
' How ridiculous 1 ' she exclaimed. ' Diamonds
like these— for fifty pounds ! I ever knew. '
You are the simplest child
Lucian was endeavouring to recall the episode of the buying of the diamonds. He remembered at last that Haidee had told him that she had the opportunity of buying some diamonds for a much less sum than they were worth. He had thought it some small transaction, and had bidden her to consult somebody who knew something about that sort of thing.
' I remember now,' he said. ' I told you to ask
advice of some one who knew something about
diamonds. '
' And so I did,' she answered. ' I asked Darlington's
advice —he's an authority —and he said I should be fooUsh to miss the chance. And then I said I didn't know whether I dare draw a cheque for such an amount, and he laughed and said of course I might, and that he would arange it with you. ' *
that's just another proof of what I've been saying all along.
* There you are! ' said Lucian triumphantly;
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
193
Darlington's such a kind-hearted sort of chap that he never said anything about it to me. Well, there's no harm done there, any way, Haidee; in fact, it's rather a rehef to know that you've locked up six thousand in that way, because you can sell the diamonds and the money will go towards putting the account straight. '
Haidlee looked at him narrowly: Lucian's eyes were fixed on the curling smoke of his cigarette.
' Sell my diamonds? ' she said in a low voice.
* Yes, of course,' said Lucian; * it'll be rather jolly if there's a profit on them. Oh yes, we must sell them. I can't afford to lock up six thousand in precious stones, you know, and of course we can't let Darlington pay for them. I wonder what they really are worth? What a lark if we got, say, ten thousand for them ! '
Then he wandered into an account of how a friend of his had once picked up a ring at one of the stalls on the Ponte Vecchio in Florence, and had subsequently sold it for just ten times as much as he had given for it. He laughed very much in telling his wife this story, for it had certain amusing points in it, and Haidee laughed too, but if Lucian had been endowed with a better understanding of women he would have known that she was neither amused nor edified.
N
CHAPTER XXIII
LuciAN came down to breakfast next morning equipped for his journey to Simonstower. He was in good spirits : the day was bright and frosty, and he was already dreaming of the village and the snow-capped hills beyond it. In dressing he had thought over his plans, and had decided that he was now quite reconciled to the drastic measures which Sprats had proposed. He would clear off all his indebtedness to Darlington, pay whatever bills might be owing, and make a fresh start, this time on the lines of strict economy, forethought, and prudence. He had very little conception of the real meaning of these
but he had always admired them in the abstract, and he now intended to form an intimate
important qualities,
with them.
* I've been thinking,' he said, as he faced Haidee at
acquaintance
the breakfast-table and spread out the Morning
' that when I have readjusted everything we shall be
much better off than I thought. Those diamonds make a big difference, Haidee. In fact we shall have, or we ought to have, quite a decent little capital, and we'll invest it in something absolutely safe and sound. I'll ask Darlington's advice about that, and we'll never touch it. The interest and the royalties will yield an income which will be quite sufficient for our needs—you can live very cheaply in Italy. ' —
' Then you are still bent on going to Italy to Florence? ' she asked calmly.
' Certainly,' he replied. ' It's the best thing we can do. I'm looking forward to it. After all, why should we be encumbered as we are at present with an expen- sive house, a troop of servants, and all the rest of it? We don't really want them. Has it never occurred to you that all these things are something like the shell which the snail has to carry on his back and can't get
194
Post,
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
195
away from? Why should a man cany a big shell on his back? It's all very well talking about the advan- tages and comforts of having a house of one's own, but it's neither an advantage nor a comfort to be tied to a house nor to anything that clogs one's action. '
Haidee made no reply to those philosophic observations.
' How long do you propose to stay in Italy? ' she asked. ' Simply for the winter? I suppose we should return here for the season next year? '
* I don't think so,' answered Lucian. ' We might go into Switzerland during the very hot months — we couldn't stand Florence in July and August. But I don't intend returning to London for some time. I don't think I shall ever settle here again. After all, I am Italian. '
Then, finding that it was time he set out for King's Cross, he kissed his wife's cheek, bade her amuse and take care of herself during his absence, and went away, still in good spirits. For some time after he had gone Haidee remained where he had left her. She ate and drank mechanically, and she looked straight before her in the blank, purposeless fashion which often denotes intense concentration of thought. When she rose from the table she walked about the room with aimless, un- certain movements, touching this and that object without any reason for doing so. She picked up the Morning Post, glanced at and saw nothing; she fingered two or
three letters which Lucian had left lying about on the
breakfast-table, and laid
reminded her, quite suddenly, of letter from Eustace Darlington which she had in her pocket, trivial note, newly arrived, which informed her that he had made some purchase or other for her in Paris, whither he had gone for week on business, and that she would shortly receive parcel containing it. There was nothing of special interest or moment in the letter; she referred to merely to ascertain Darlington's address.
After time Haidee went into the study and sought
them down again.
They
a
aa
it
a
a
it,
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
196
out a railway guide. She had already made up her mind to join Eustace Darlington, and she now decided to travel by a train which would enable her to reach Paris at nine o'clock that evening. She began to make her preparations at once, and instructed her maid to
pack two large portmanteaus. Her jewels she packed herself, taking them out of a safe in which they were
and after she had bestowed them in a small handbag she kept the latter within sight until her departure. Everything was carried out with cool-
ness and thoughtfulness. The maid was told that her mistress was going to Paris for a few days and that she was to accompany her; the butler received his orders as to what was to be done until Mrs. Damerel's return the
usually deposited,
There was nothing to surprise the servants, and nothing to make them talk, in Haidee's proceedings. She lunched at an earHer hour
than usual, drove to the station with her maid, dropped a letter, addressed to Lucian at Simonstower vicarage,
Haidee acquired a hearty appetite, and satisfied it in the dining-car of the French train. She was one of those
next day or the day following.
happily moments of life.
on the platform, and departed for
into the pillar-box
Paris with an admirable unconcern. There was a choppy sea in the Channel, and the maid was ill, but
constituted people who can eat at the greatest
She drove from the Gare du Nord to the Hotel Bristol, and engaged rooms immediately on her arrival. A little later she inquired for DarHngton, and then discovered that he had that day journeyed to Dijon, and was not expected to return until two days later. Haidee, in nowise disconcerted by this news, settled down to await his reappearance.
ing after Simpson Pepperdine Simonstower.
had brought him to
CHAPTER
XXIV
towards the close of the afternoon. He had driven over from Oakborough through a wintry land, and every minute spent in the keen air had added to the buoyancy of his spirits. Never, he thought as he was driven along the valley, did Simonstower look so well as under its first coatmg
of snow, and on the rising ground above the village he made his driver stop so that he might drink in the charm of the winter sunset. At the western extremity of the valley a shelving hill closed the view; on its highest point a long row of gaunt fir-trees showed black and spectral against the molten red of the setting sun and the purpled sky into which it was sinking; nearer, the blue smoke of the village chimneys curled into the
clear, frosty air—it seemed to Lucian that he could almost smell the fires of fragrant wood which burned on the hearths. He caught a faint murmur of voices from the village street: it was four o'clock, and the children were being released from school. Somewhere along the moorland side a dog was barking; in the windows of his uncle's farmhouse, high above the river and the village, lights were akeady gleaming; a spark of bright light amongst the pine and fir trees near the church told him that Mr.
Chilverstone had already lit his study-lamp. Every sound, every sight was familiar
they brought the old days back to him. And there, keeping stem watch over the village at its foot, stood the old Norman castle, its square keep towering to the sky, as massive and formidable as when Lucian had first looked upon it from his chamber window the morn-
LuciAN arrived at the old vicarage
He bade the man drive on to the vicarage. He had sent no word of his coming; he had more than once
197
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LUCIAN THE DREAMER
descended upon his friends at Simonstower without warning, and had always found a welcome. The vicar came bustling into the hall to him, with no sign of surprise.
' I did not know they had wired to you, my boy,' he said, greeting him in the old affectionate way, ' but it was good of you to come so quickly. '
Lucian recognised that something had happened.
' I don't understand you,' he said. ' No one wired
to me; I came down on my own initiative —I wanted to
see my uncle on business. '
' Ah ' '
! said the vicar, shaking his head. Then you do not know? —your uncle is ill. He had a stroke —a fit—you know what I mean —this very morning. Your Aunt Judith is across at the farm now. But come in, my dear boy—how cold you must be. '
Lucian went out to the conveyance which had brought him over, paid the driver, and bade him refresh himself at the inn, and then joined the vicar in his study. There again were the famiHar objects which spelled Home. It suddenly occurred to him that he was much more at home here or in the farmhouse parlour along the road- side than in his own house in London, and he wondered in 'vague, indirect fashion why that should be so.
Is my uncle dangerously ill. then? ' he asked, looking at the vicar, who was fidgeting about with the fire-irons and repeating his belief that Lucian must be very cold.
* I fear so, I fear so,' answered Mr. Chilverstone. * It is, I think, an apoplectic seizure —he was rather inclined to that, if you come to think of it. Your aunt has just gone across there. It was early this morning that it happened, and she has been over to the farm several times during the day, but this time I think she will find a specialist there — Dr. Matthews wished for advice and wired to Smokeford for some great man who was to arrive an hour ago. I am glad you have come, Lucian. Did you see Sprats before leaving? '
Lucian replied that he had seen Sprats on the previ- ous day. He sat down, answering the vicar's questions
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 199
his daughter in mechanical fashion—he was thinking of the various events of the past twenty-four hours, and wondering if Mr. Pepperdine's illness was likely to result in death. Mr. Chilverstone turned from Sprats to the somewhat sore question of the tragedy. It was to him a sad sign of the times that the public had
respecting
neglected such truly good
work, and he went on to
express his own opinion of the taste of the age. Lucian
listened absent-mindedly until Mrs. Chilverstone
returned with news of the sick man. She was much troubled; the specialist gave little hope of Simpson's
He might linger for some days, but it was almost certain that a week would see the end of him. But in spite of her trouble Aunt Judith was practical. Keziah, she said, must not be left alone that night, and she herself was going back to the farm as soon as she had seen that the vicar was properly provided for in respect of his sustenance and comfort. Ever since her marriage Mrs. Chilverstone had felt that her main object in Hfe was the pleasing of her lord; she had put away all thought of the dead hussar, and her romantic dis- position had bridled itself with the reins of chastened affection. Thus the vicar, who under Sprats 's regime had neither been pampered nor coddled, found himself indulged in many modes hitherto unknown to him, and he accepted all that was showered upon him with modest thankfulness. He thought his wife a kindly and con- siderate soul, and did not realise, being a truly simple man, that Judith was pouring out upon him the resources of a treasury which she had been stocking all her life. He was the first thing she had the chance of loving in a practical fashion; hence he began to live among rose-leaves. He protested now that Lucian and
recovery.
Chilverstone, how- ever, took the reins in hand, saw that the traveller was properly attended to and provided for, and did not leave
the vicarage until the two men were comfortably seated at the dinner-table, the maids admonished as to lighting a fire in Mr. Damerel's room, and the vicar warned of
himself wanted for nothing. Mrs.
200 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
the necessity of turning out the lamps and locking the doors. Then she returned to her brother's house, and for an hour or two Lucian and his old tutor talked of things nearest to their hearts, and the feehngs of home came upon the younger man more strongly than ever. He began to wonder how it was that he had settled down in London when he might have lived in the country; the atmosphere of this quiet, book-lined room in a village parsonage was, he thought just then, much more to his true taste than that in which he had spent the last few years of his life. At Oxford Lucian had lived the life of a book-worm and a dreamer: he was not a success in examinations, and he brought no great honour upon his tutor. In most respects he had lived apart from other men, and it was not until the publication of his first volume had drawn the eyes of the world upon him that he had been swept out of the peaceful backwater of a student's existence into the swirling tides of the full river of Hfe. Then had followed Lord Simonstower's legacy, and then the runaway marriage with Haidee, and then four years of butterfly existence. He began to wonder, as he ate the vicar's well-kept mutton, fed on the moor- lands close by, and sipped the vicar's old claret, laid down many a year before, whether his recent hfe had not been a feverish dream. Looked at from this peace- ful retreat, its constant excitement and perpetual rush and movement seemed to have lost whatever charm they once had for him. Unconsciously Lucian was suffering from reaction: his moral as well as his physical nature was crying for rest, and the first oasis in the desert assumed the delightful colours and soft air of Paradise.
Later in the evening he walked over to the farmhouse, through softly falling snow, to inquire after his uncle's condition. Mrs. Chilverstone was in the sick man's room and did not come downstairs; Miss Pepperdine received him in the parlour. In spite of the trouble that had fallen upon the house and of the busy day which
she had spent, Keziah was robed in state for the evening, and she sat bolt upright in her chair plying her knitting-
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
201
needles as vigorously as in the old days which Lucian remembered so well. He sat down and glanced at Simpson Pepperdine's chair, and wished the familiar figure were occupying it, and he talked to his aunt of her brother's illness, and the cloud which hung over the house weighed heavily upon both.
' I am glad you came down, Lucian,' said Miss Pepperdine, after a time. ' I have been wanting to talk
to you. ' '
' Yes,' he said.
Keziah's needles cUcked with unusual vigour for a
moment or two. '
' Simpson,' she said at last, was always a sott-
hearted man. If he had been harder of heart, he would
have been better off. ' remark, stared at Lucian, puzzled by this ambiguous indicative of his
with pointed
know at present, Lucian. When all is said and done,
you are the nearest of kin in the male line, and after
hearing the doctors to-night I'm prepared for Simpson's death at any moment. It's a very bad attack of apo- plexy—if he lived he'd be a poor invalid all his life. Better that he should be taken while in the full posses-
sion of his faculties. ' before him with
Lucian gazed at the upright figure
mingled feelings. Miss Pepperdine used to sit like
and knit like that, and talk like that, in the old days— especially when she felt it to be her duty to reprimand him for some offence. So far as he could tell, she was . wearing the same stiff and crackly silk gown, she held her elbows close to her side and in just the same fashion,
she spoke with the same precision as in the time of Lucian's youth. The sight of her prim figure, the sound of her precise voice, blotted out half a score of years : Lucian felt very young again.
What about? '
Miss Pepperdine in a fashion 3. nnazement .
' I think,' continued Miss Pepperdine,
emphasis, ' I think it is time you knew more than you
that,
202
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
* It may not be so bad as you think,' he said. ' Even the best doctors may err. '
Miss Pepperdine shook her head.
' No,' she said, ' it's all over with Simpson. And
I think you ought to know, Lucian, how things are with him. Simpson has been a close man, he has kept things to himself all his life; and of late he has been obliged to confide in me, and I know a great deal that I did not
know. ' Lucian,
' Yes? ' said
continued, ' has not done well in business for some time. He had a heavy loss some
years ago through a rascally lawyer whom he trusted he always was one of those easy-going men that will trust anybody—and although the old Lord Simonstower helped him out of the difficulty, it ultimately fell on his own shoulders, and of late he has had hard work to keep
things going. Simpson will die a poor man. Not that that matters—Judith and myself are provided for. I shall leave here, afterwards. Judith, of course, is married. But as regards you, Lucian, you lent Simpson some money a few months ago, didn't you? '
' Simpson,' she
' My dear aunt ! ' exclaimed Lucian, ' I '
' I know all about it,' she said, ' though it's only recently that I have known. Well, you mustn't be sur- prised if you have to lose it, Lucian. When all is settled up, I don't think there will be much, if anything, over; and of course everybody must be paid before a member of the family. The Pepperdines have always had their pride, and as your mother was a Pepperdine, Lucian, you must have a share of it in you. '
' I have my father's pride as well,' answered Lucian. ' Of course I shall not expect the money. I was glad to be able to lend it. '
' Well,' said Miss Pepperdine, with the air of one who
deals out justice impartially,
Simpson back for what he had laid out on you.
gaying on Lucian, when [e spent a good deal of money you,
you were a boy. '
' in one way you were only
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 203
Lucian heard this news with astonished feelings.
' I did not know that,' he said. ' Perhaps I am care- less about these things, but I have always thought that my father left money for me. '
' I thought so too, until recently,' replied Miss Pepper- dine. ' Your father thought that he did, too, and he made Simpson executor and trustee. But the money
in
Lucian listened in silence.
Then,' he said, after time, my uncle was respon-
sible for everything for me? suppose he paid Mr. Chilverstone, and bought my clothes, and gave me
was badly invested. It was in a building society Rome, and it was all lost. There was never a penny piece from from the time of your father's death to this. '
pocket-money, and so on? ' Every penny,' repUed
his aunt. Simpson was And my three years at Oxford? ' he said inquiringly.
always generous man. '
'Ah! ' replied Miss Pepperdine,
matter. Well— don't suppose matters now that you should know, though Simpson wouldn't have told you, but think you ought to know. That was Lord Simons-
tower —the old lord. Lucian uttered
step or two about the room. Miss Pepperdine continued to knit with undiminished vigour. So would seem,' he said presently, that lived
and was educated on charity? ' it,' answered, That how most people would put she
though, to do them justice, don't think either Lord Simonstower or Simpson Pepperdine would have called
that. They thought you promising youth and they
his chair and took
He paid every penny. *
sharp exclamation. He rose from
want you to feel that little of his own in the know he would have paid back to the day, according to his promise, he'd been able. But I'm afraid that he would not have been
put money into you. That's why Simpson was only getting back money that you lent him, though
'that's another
it it
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204
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
able, and I think his money affairs have worked upon
him/
' I wish I had known/ said Lucian. ' He should have
had no anxiety on my account/
He continued to pace the floor; Miss Pepperdine's
needles clicked an accompaniment to his advancing and retreating steps.
' I thought it best/ she observed presently, ' that you
should know all these
things — they will explain a good
deal/ answered, ' Yes/ he
it is best. I should know. But I wish I had known long ago. After all, a man should
'
not be placed in a false position even by his dearest friends. I ought to have been told the truth. '
Miss Pepperdine's needles clicked viciously.
' So I always felt—after I knew, and that is but recently,' she answered. ' But, as I have said to you
before, Simpson Pepperdine is a soft-hearted man. '
' He has been a kind-hearted man,' said Lucian. He was thinking, as he walked about the room, glancing at
the well-remembered objects, that the money which he had wasted in luxuries that he could well have done without would have reheved Mr. Pepperdine of anxiety
Miss Pepperdine melted. She had formed rather hard thoughts of Lucian since his marriage. The side-winds which blew upon her ears from time to time represented him as living in style which her old-fashioned mind
did not approve she had come to consider him as
and trouble. And yet he had never
guessed, that the kindly-hearted farmer had anything to distress him.
* I think we all seem to walk in darkness,' he said, thinking aloud. ' I never had the least notion of this. Had I known anything of Uncle Simpson should have had all that could give him. '
frivolous, and unbalanced. But she was woman of sound common sense and great shrewdness,
extravagant,
and she recognised the genuine ring in Luclan's voice
known, never
a
I :
a
it,
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 205
and the sincerity of his regret that he had not been able
to save Simpson Pepperdine some anxiety.
' I'm sure you would, my boy,' she said kindly.
' However, Simpson has done with everything now. I didn't tell Judith, because she frets so, but the doctors don't think he'll ever regain consciousness — will only be matter of few days, Lucian. '
And that only makes one wish that one had known
sooner,' he said. Five years ago could have helped him substantially. '
of his anxieties
He was thinking of the ten thousand pounds which
had already disappeared. follow his line of thought.
Miss Pepperdine did not
Yes, I've heard that you've made lot of money,' she said. You've been one of the lucky ones, Lucian, for always understood that poets generally Hved in garrets and were half-starved most of their time. I'm sure one used to read all that sort of thing in books; but perhaps t! mes have changed, and so much the better. Simpson always read your books as soon as you sent them. Upon my word, I'm sure he never understood what was all about, except perhaps some of the songs and ballads, but he liked the long words, and he was very proud of these little green books — they're all in
Well,
he bit on the wrong side of the ledger, must be made up by the family, and you must do your share. mustn't be said that Pepperdine died owing money
that he couldn't pay. I've already talked over with Judith, and there money to be found, she and and you must find between us. If need be, all mine can go,' she added sharply. can get place as housekeeper even at my age. '
Lucian gave her his promise readily enough, and
his bureau there, along with his account-books.
as was saying, understand you've made money, Lucian. Take care of it, my boy, for you never know when you may want it, and want badly, in this world. There's one thing want you to promise me. don't yet know how things will be when Simpson's gone, but
it
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2o6 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
immediately began to wonder what it might imply. But he agreed with her reasoning, and assured himself that, if necessary, he would live on a crust in order to carry out her wishes. And soon afterwards he set out for the vicarage, promising to return for news of Mr. Pepper- dine's condition at an early hour in the morning.
As he walked back over the snow Lucian was full of thought. The conversation with Miss Pepperdine had opened a new world to him. He had always believed himself independent: it now turned out that for years and years he had lived at other men's charges. He owed his very food to the charity of a relative; another man, upon whom he had no claim, had lavished generosity upon him in no unstinted fashion. He was full of honest
to these men, but he wished at the same time that he had known of their HberaHty sooner. He felt that he had been placed in a false position, and the feeling lowered him in his own estimation. He thought of his father, who earned money easily and spent it freely, and reaUsed that he had inherited his happy-go-lucky
gratitude
Yet he had never doubted that his father had made provision for him, for he remembered hearing
temperament.
him tell some artist friends one afternoon in Florence that
benefit, and Cyprian Damerel had been a man of common sense, fond of pleasure and good living and generous though he was,
he had laid money aside for Lucian's
But Lucian well understood the story of the Roman
building society—greater folk than he, from the Holy Father downwards, had lost money out of that feverish
desire to build which has characterised the Romans of all ages. No doubt his father had been carried away by some wave of enthusiasm, and had put all his eggs into one basket, and they had all been broken together. Still, Lucian wished that Mr. Pepperdine had told him all this on his reaching an age of understanding—it would have made a difference in many ways. ' I seem,' he thought, as he plodded on through the snow, ' I seem to have lived in an unreal world, and to have supposed things which were not ! ' And he began to recall the days
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 20/
of sure and confident youth, when his name was being extolled as that of a newly risen star in the literary firma- ment, and his own heart was singing with the joy of pride and strength and full assurance. He had never
induced in him an unassuming modesty, at which many people who witnessed his triumphs and saw him lionised had wondered. Now, however, he had tasted the bitter-
ness of reverse; he had found that Fortune can frown as easily as she can smile, and that it is hard to know upon what principle her smiles and frowns are portioned out. To a certain point, life for Lucian had been a perpetual dancing along the primrose way—it was now developing into a tangle wherein were thorns and briars.
He was too full of these thoughts to care for conversa- tion, even with his old tutor, and he pleaded fatigue and went to bed. He lay awake for the greater part of the night, thinking over his talk with Miss Pepperdine, and
felt one doubt of the splendour of his
accepted it as anything but his just due. His very certainty on these matters had, all unknown to himself,
career, never
to arrange his affairs so that he might make good his promise to her, and when he slept, his sleep was troubled by uneasy dreams. He woke rather late in the morning with a feeling of impending calamity hanging heavily upon him. As he dressed, Mr.
