Mr. Tufton's house was at the extremity of Grove Street--at the
extremity, consequently, in that direction, of Carlingford, lying
parallel with the end of Grange Lane, and within distant view of St.
Roque's. It was a little old-fashioned house, with a small garden in
front and a large garden behind, in which the family cabbages, much less
prosperous since the old minister became unable to tend them,
flourished. The room into which Mr. Vincent, as an intimate of the
house, was shown, was a low parlour with two small windows, overshadowed
outside by ivy, and inside by two large geraniums, expanded upon a
Jacob's ladder of props, which were the pride of Mrs. Tufton's heart,
and made it almost impossible to see anything clearly within, even at
the height of day. Some prints, of which one represented Mr. Tufton
himself, and the rest other ministers of "the connection," in mahogany
frames, hung upon the green walls. The furniture, though it was not
unduly abundant, filled up the tiny apartment, so that quite a
dislocation and rearrangement of everything was necessary before a chair
could be got for the visitor, and he got into it. Though it was rather
warm for October out of doors, a fire, large for the size of the room,
was burning in the fireplace, on either side of which was an easy-chair
and an invalid. The one fronting the light, and consequently fronting
the visitor, was Adelaide Tufton, the old minister's daughter, who had
been confined to that chair longer than Phoebe Tozer could remember;
and who, during that long seclusion, had knitted, as all Salem Chapel
believed, without intermission, nobody having ever yet succeeded in
discovering where the mysterious results of her labour went to. She was
knitting now, reclining back in the cushioned chair which had been made
for her, and was her shell and habitation. A very pale, emaciated,
eager-looking woman, not much above thirty, but looking, after half a
lifetime spent in that chair, any age that imagination might suggest; a
creature altogether separated from the world--separated from life, it
would be more proper to say--for nobody more interested in the world and
other people's share of it than Adelaide Tufton existed in Carlingford.
She had light-blue eyes, rather prominent, which lightened without
giving much expression to her perfectly colourless face. Her very hair
was pale, and lay in braids of a clayey yellow, too listless and dull to
be called brown, upon the thin temples, over which the thin white skin
seemed to be strained like an over-tight bandage. Somehow, however,
people who were used to seeing her, were not so sorry as they might have
been for Adelaide Tufton. No one could exactly say why; but she somehow
appeared, in the opinion of Salem Chapel, to indemnify herself for her
privations, and was treated, if without much sympathy, at least without
that ostentatious pity which is so galling to the helpless. Few people
could afford to be sorry for so quick-sighted and all-remembering an
observer; and the consequence was, that Adelaide, almost without knowing
it, had managed to neutralise her own disabilities, and to be
acknowledged as an equal in the general conflict, which she could enter
only with her sharp tongue and her quick eye.
It was Mr. Tufton himself who sat opposite--his large expanse of face,
with the white hair which had been apostrophised as venerable at so many
Salem tea-parties, and which Vincent himself had offered homage to,
looming dimly through the green shade of the geraniums, as he sat with
his back to the window. He had a green shade over his eyes besides, and
his head moved with a slight palsied tremor, which was now the only
remnant of that "visitation" which had saved his feelings, and dismissed
more benignly than Tozer and his brother deacons the old pastor from his
old pulpit. He sat very contentedly doing nothing, with his large feet
in large loose slippers, and his elbows supported on the arms of his
chair. By the evidence of Mrs. Tufton's spectacles, and the newspaper
lying on the table, it was apparent that she had been reading the
'Carlingford Gazette' to her helpless companions; and that humble
journal, which young Vincent had kicked to the other end of his room
before coming out, had made the morning pass very pleasantly to the
three secluded inmates of Siloam Cottage, which was the name of the old
minister's humble home. Mr. Tufton said "'umble 'ome," and so did his
wife. They came from storied Islington, both of them, and were of
highly respectable connections, not to say that Mrs. Tufton had a little
property as well; and, acting in laudable opposition to the general
practice of poor ministers' wives, had brought many dividends and few
children to the limited but comfortable fireside. Mr. Vincent could not
deny that it was comfortable in its way, and quite satisfied its owners,
as he sat down in the shade of the geraniums in front of the fire,
between Adelaide Tufton and her father; but, oh heavens! to think of
such a home as all that, after Homerton and high Nonconformist hopes,
could come to himself! The idea, however, was one which did not occur to
the young minister. He sat down compassionately, seeing no analogy
whatever between his own position and theirs; scarcely even seeing the
superficial contrast, which might have struck anybody, between his
active youth and their helplessness and suffering. He was neither
hard-hearted nor unsympathetic, but somehow the easy moral of that
contrast never occurred to him. Adelaide Tufton's bloodless countenance
conveyed an idea of age to Arthur Vincent; her father was really old.
The young man saw no grounds on which to form any comparison. It was
natural enough for the old man and ailing woman to be as they were, just
as it was natural for him, in the height of his early manhood, to
rejoice in his strength and youth.
"So there was a party at Mr. Tozer's last night--and you were there, Mr.
Vincent," said old Mrs. Tufton, a cheerful active old lady, with pink
ribbons in her cap, which asserted their superiority over the doubtful
light and the green shade of the geraniums. "Who did you have? The
Browns and the Pigeons, and--everybody else, of course. Now tell me, did
Mrs. Tozer make tea herself, or did she leave it to Phoebe?"
"As well as I can remember, she did it herself," said the young pastor.
"Exactly what I told you, mamma," said Adelaide, from her chair. "Mrs.
Tozer doesn't mean Phoebe to make tea this many a year. I daresay she
wants her to marry somebody, the little flirting thing. I suppose she
wore her pink, Mr. Vincent--and Mrs. Brown that dreadful red-and-green
silk of hers; and didn't they send you over a shape of jelly this
morning? Ha, ha! I told you so, mamma; that was why it never came to
me."
"Pray let me send it to you," cried Vincent, eagerly.
The offer was not rejected, though coquetted with for a few minutes.
Then Mr. Tufton broke in, in solemn bass.
"Adelaide, we shouldn't talk, my dear, of pinks and green silks.
Providence has laid you aside, my love, from temptations; and you
remember how often I used to say in early days, No doubt it was a
blessing, Jemima, coming when it did, to wean our girl from the world;
she might have been as fond of dress as other girls, and brought us to
ruin, but for her misfortune. Everything is for the best."
"Oh, bother!" said Adelaide, sharply--"I don't complain, and never did;
but everybody else finds my misfortune, as they call it, very easy to be
borne, Mr. Vincent--even papa, you see. There is a reason for
everything, to be sure; but how things that are hard and disagreeable
are always to be called for the best, I can't conceive. However, let us
return to Phoebe Tozer's pink dress. Weren't you rather stunned with
all their grandeur? You did not think we could do as much in Salem, did
you? Now tell me, who has Mrs. Brown taken in hand to do good to now? I
am sure she sent you to somebody; and you've been to see somebody this
morning," added the quick-witted invalid, "who has turned out different
from your expectations. Tell me all about it, please."
"Dear Adelaide does love to hear what's going on. It is almost the only
pleasure she has--and we oughtn't to grudge it, ought we?" said
Adelaide's mother.
"Stuff!" muttered Adelaide, in a perfectly audible aside. "Now I think
of it, I'll tell you who you've been to see. That woman in Back Grove
Street--there! What do you think of that for a production of Salem, Mr.
Vincent? But she does not really belong to Carlingford. She married
somebody who turned out badly, and now she's in hiding that he mayn't
find her; though most likely, if all be true, he does not want to find
her. That's her history. I never pretend to tell more than I know. Who
she was to begin with, or who he is, or whether Hilyard may be her real
name, or why she lives there and comes to Salem Chapel, I can't tell;
but that's the bones of her story, you know. If I were a clever romancer
like some people, I could have made it all perfect for you, but I prefer
the truth. Clever and queer, isn't she? So I have guessed by what
people say."
"Indeed, you seem to know a great deal more about her than I do," said
the astonished pastor.
"I daresay," assented Adelaide, calmly. "I have never seen her, however,
though I can form an idea of what she must be like, all the same. I put
things together, you see; and it is astonishing the number of scraps of
news I get. I shake them well down, and then the broken pieces come
together; and I never forget anything, Mr. Vincent," she continued,
pausing for a moment to give him a distinct look out of the pale-blue
eyes, which for the moment seemed to take a vindictive feline gleam.
"She's rather above the Browns and the Tozers, you understand. Somehow
or other, she's mixed up with Lady Western, whom they call the Young
Dowager, you know. I have not made that out yet, though I partly guess.
My lady goes to see her up two pairs of stairs in Back Grove Street. I
hope it does her ladyship good to see how the rest of the world manage
to live and get on."
"I am afraid, Adelaide, my dear," said Mr. Tufton, in his bass tones,
"that my young brother will not think this very improving conversation.
Dear Tozer was speaking to me yesterday about the sermon to the
children. I always preached them a sermon to themselves about this time
of the year. My plan has been to take the congregation in classes; the
young men--ah, and they're specially important, are the young men! Dear
Tozer suggested that some popular lectures now would not come amiss.
After a long pastorate like mine," said the good man, blandly,
unconscious that dear Tozer had already begun to suggest a severance of
that tie before gentle sickness did it for him, "a congregation may be
supposed to be a little unsettled,--without any offence to you, my dear
brother. If I could appear myself and show my respect to your ministry,
it would have a good effect, no doubt; but I am laid aside, laid aside,
brother Vincent! I can only help you with my prayers."
"But dear, dear Mr. Tufton!" cried his wife, "bless you, the chapel is
twice as full as it was six months ago--and natural too, with a nice
young man."
"My dear!" said the old minister in reproof. "Yes, quite
natural--curiosity about a stranger; but my young brother must not be
elated; nor discouraged when they drop off. A young pastor's start in
life is attended by many trials. There is always a little excitement at
first, and an appearance of seats letting and the ladies very polite to
you. Take it easily, my dear brother! Don't expect too much. In a year
or two--by-and-by, when things settle down--then you can see how it's
going to be."
"But don't you think it possible that things may never settle down, but
continue rising up instead?" said Mr. Vincent, making a little venture
in the inspiration of the moment.
Mr. Tufton shook his head and raised his large hands slowly, with a
deprecating regretful motion, to hold them over the fire. "Alas! he's
got the fever already," said the old minister. "My dear young brother,
you shall have my experience to refer to always. You're always welcome
to my advice. Dear Tozer said to me just yesterday, 'You point out the
pitfalls to him, Mr. Tufton, and give him your advice, and I'll take
care that he shan't go wrong outside,' says dear Tozer. Ah, an
invaluable man!"
"But a little disposed to interfere, I think," said Vincent, with an
irrestrainable inclination to show his profound disrelish of all the
advice which was about to be given him.
Mr. Tufton raised his heavy forefinger and shook it slowly. "No--no. Be
careful, my dear brother. You must keep well with your deacons. You must
not take up prejudices against them. Dear Tozer is a man of a
thousand--a man of a thousand! Dear Tozer, if you listen to him, will
keep you out of trouble. The trouble he takes and the money he spends
for Salem Chapel is, mark my words, unknown--and," added the old pastor,
awfully syllabling the long word in his solemn bass, "in-con-ceiv-able."
"He is a bore and an ass for all that," said the daring invalid
opposite, with perfect equanimity, as if uttering the most patent and
apparent of truths. "Don't you give in to him, Mr. Vincent. A pretty
business you will have with them all," she continued, dropping her
knitting-needles and lifting her pale-blue eyes, with their sudden green
gleam, to the face of the new-comer with a rapid perception of his
character, which, having no sympathy in it, but rather a certain
mischievous and pleased satisfaction in his probable discomfiture, gave
anything but comfort to the object of her observation. "You are
something new for them to pet and badger. I wonder how long they'll be
of killing Mr. Vincent. Papa's tough; but you remember, mamma, they
finished off the other man before us in two years."
"Oh, hush, Adelaide, hush! you'll frighten Mr. Vincent," cried the kind
little mother, with uneasy looks: "when he comes to see us and cheer us
up--as I am sure is very kind of him--it is a shame to put all sorts of
things in his head, as papa and you do. Never mind Adelaide, Mr.
Vincent, dear. Do your duty, and never fear anybody; that's always been
my maxim, and I've always found it answer. Not going away, are you?
Dear, dear! and we've had no wise talk at all, and never once asked for
your poor dear mother--quite well, I hope?--and Miss Susan? You should
have them come and see you, and cheer you up. Well, good morning, if you
must go; don't be long before you come again."
"And, my dear young brother, don't take up any prejudices," interposed
Mr. Tufton, in tremulous bass, as he pressed Vincent's half-reluctant
fingers in that large soft flabby ministerial hand. Adelaide added
nothing to these valedictions; but when she too had received his
leave-taking, and he had emerged from the shadow of the geraniums, the
observer paused once more in her knitting. "This one will not hold out
two years," said Adelaide, calmly, to herself, no one else paying any
attention; and she returned to her work with the zest of a spectator at
the commencement of an exciting drama. She did double work all the
afternoon under the influence of this refreshing stimulant. It was
quite a new interest in her life.
Meanwhile young Vincent left the green gates of Siloam Cottage with no
very comfortable feelings--with feelings, indeed, the reverse of
comfortable, yet conscious of a certain swell and elevation in his mind
at the same moment. It was for him to show the entire community of
Carlingford the difference between his reign and the old _regime_. It
was for him to change the face of affairs--to reduce Tozer into his due
place of subordination, and to bring in an influx of new life,
intelligence, and enlightenment over the prostrate butterman. The very
sordidness and contraction of the little world into which he had just
received so distinct a view, promoted the revulsion of feeling which now
cheered him. The aspiring young man could as soon have consented to lose
his individuality altogether as to acknowledge the most distant
possibility of accepting Tozer as his guide, philosopher, and friend. He
went back again through Grove Street, heated and hastened on his way by
those impatient thoughts. When he came as far as Salem, he could not but
pause to look at it with its pinched gable and mean little belfry,
innocent of a bell. The day was overclouded, and no clearness of
atmosphere relieved the aspect of the shabby chapel, with its black
railing, and locked gates, and dank flowerless grass inside. To see
anything venerable or sacred in the aspect of such a place, required an
amount of illusion and glamour which the young minister could not summon
into his eyes. It was not the centre of light in a dark place, the
simple tribune from which the people's preacher should proclaim, to the
awe and conviction of the multitude, that Gospel once preached to the
poor, of which he flattered himself he should be the truest messenger in
Carlingford. Such had been the young man's dreams in Homerton--dreams
mingled, it is true, with personal ambition, but full notwithstanding of
generous enthusiasm. No--nothing of the kind. Only Salem Chapel, with so
many pews let, and so many still to be disposed of, and Tozer a guardian
angel at the door. Mr. Vincent was so far left to himself as to give
vent to an impatient exclamation as he turned away. But still matters
were not hopeless. He himself was a very different man from Mr. Tufton.
Kindred spirits there must surely be in Carlingford to answer to the
call of his. Another day might dawn for the Nonconformists, who were not
aware of their own dignity. With this thought he retraced his steps a
little, and, with an impulse which he did not explain to himself,
threaded his way up a narrow lane and emerged into Back Grove Street,
about the spot where he had lately paid his pastoral visit, and made so
unexpected an acquaintance. This woman--or should he not say lady?--was
a kind of first-fruits of his mission. The young man looked up with a
certain wistful interest at the house in which she lived. She was
neither young nor fair, it is true, but she interested the youthful
Nonconformist, who was not too old for impulses of chivalry, and who
could not forget her poor fingers scarred with her rough work. He had no
other motive for passing the house but that of sympathy and compassion
for the forlorn brave creature who was so unlike her surroundings; and
no throbbing pulse or trembling nerve forewarned Arthur Vincent of the
approach of fate.
At that moment, however, fate was approaching in the shape of a handsome
carriage, which made quite an exaggeration of echo in this narrow
back-street, which rang back every jingle of the harness and dint of the
hoofs from every court and opening. It drew up before Mrs. Hilyard's
door--at the door of the house, at least, in which Mrs. Hilyard was a
humble lodger; and while Vincent slowly approached, a brilliant vision
suddenly appeared before him, rustling forth upon the crowded pavement,
where the dirty children stood still to gape at her. A woman--a lady--a
beautiful dazzling creature, resplendent in the sweetest English roses,
the most delicate bewildering bloom. Though it was but for a moment, the
bewildered young minister had time to note the dainty foot, the daintier
hand, the smiling sunshiny eyes, the air of conscious supremacy, which
was half command and half entreaty--an ineffable combination. That
vision descended out of the heavenly chariot upon the mean pavement just
as Mr. Vincent came up; and at the same moment a ragged boy, struck
speechless, like the young minister, by the apparition, planted himself
full in her way with open mouth and staring eyes, too much overpowered
by sudden admiration to perceive that he stopped the path. Scarcely
aware what he was doing, as much beauty-struck as his victim, Vincent,
with a certain unconscious fury, seized the boy by the collar, and
swung him impatiently off the pavement, with a feeling of positive
resentment against the imp, whose rags were actually touching those
sacred splendid draperies. The lady made a momentary pause, turned half
round, smiled with a gracious inclination of her head, and entered at
the open door, leaving the young pastor in an incomprehensible ecstasy,
with his hat off, and all his pulses beating loud in his ears, riveted,
as the romancers say, to the pavement. When the door shut he came to
himself, stared wildly into the face of the next passenger who came
along the narrow street, and then, becoming aware that he still stood
uncovered, grew violently red, put on his hat, and went off at a great
pace. But what was the use of going off? The deed was done. The world on
the other side of these prancing horses was a different world from that
on this side. Those other matters, of which he had been thinking so
hotly, had suddenly faded into a background and accessories to the one
triumphant figure which occupied all the scene. He scarcely asked
himself who was that beautiful vision? The fact of her existence was at
the moment too overpowering for any secondary inquiries. He had seen
her--and lo! the universe was changed. The air tingled softly with the
sound of prancing horses and rolling wheels, the air breathed an
irresistible soft perfume, which could nevermore die out of it, the air
rustled with the silken thrill of those womanly robes. There she had
enthroned herself--not in his startled heart, but in the palpitating
world, which formed in a moment's time into one great background and
framework for that beatific form.
What the poor young man had done to be suddenly assailed and carried off
his feet by this wonderful and unexpected apparition, we are unable to
say. He seemed to have done nothing to provoke it: approaching quietly
as any man might do, pondering grave thoughts of Salem Chapel, and how
he was to make his post tenable, to be transfixed all at once and
unawares by that fairy lance, was a spite of fortune which nobody could
have predicted. But the thing was done. He went home to hide his
stricken head, as was natural; tried to read, tried to think of a
popular series of lectures, tried to lay plans for his campaign and
heroic desperate attempts to resuscitate the shopkeeping Dissenterism of
Carlingford into a lofty Nonconformist ideal. But vain were the efforts.
Wherever he lifted his eyes, was not She there, all-conquering and
glorious? when he did not lift his eyes, was not she everywhere Lady
Paramount of the conscious world? Womankind in general, which had never,
so to speak, entered his thoughts before, had produced much trouble to
poor Arthur Vincent since his arrival in Carlingford. But Phoebe
Tozer, pink and blooming--Mrs. Hilyard, sharp and strange--Adelaide
Tufton, pale spectator of a life with which she had nothing to do--died
off like shadows, and left no sign of their presence. Who was She?