A MIRACLE
The hustling throng came quickly forward. In its midst some one was
being propelled towards the entrance. Although he was shouting at the
top of his voice, he appeared to be offering no actual resistance, but
seemed rather to be regarding the proceedings as a joke. In spite of
the hubbub Mr. Bernstein’s accents reached my ear.
“Did you ever hear anything like him? Isn’t he a beauty? And that’s
the man who’s had I don’t know how much cash out of me--a hatful! And
that’s how he goes on!”
I was indifferent to Mr. Bernstein’s lamentations. As the crowd came
nearer I was beginning to ask myself if I was dreaming; if, again, I
was about to become the victim of a nightmare imagining. I turned to
Miss Moore.
“Hadn’t you--better go? Hadn’t I better--get you out of this?”
I was conscious that my voice was a little hoarse. Hers was clear and
resonant. Although she did not speak loudly, it seemed to ring above
the din.
“Go? Now? When it’s coming face to face, the light is breaking, I’m
beginning to see clear, and it’s my call? No; now I’ll stay and play
the scene right through until the curtain drops. It was God who made
us miss that train.”
The crowd was drawing very close. Was I asleep or waking? Were my eyes
playing tricks, my senses leaving me? What suddenly made the world
seem to spin round and round? Who was it in the midst of the
people--the man they were hustling--who raved and screamed? Was he a
creature born of delirium, or a thing of flesh and blood?
It was from the girl at my side that recognition first came.
“It’s he!” she cried. “It’s he!”
It was he--the wretch who had set us all by the ears; who had fooled
and duped us; who had played upon us, as a last stroke, a trick whose
nature, even yet, I did not understand. I strode into the crowd.
“Let me pass! Make way for me!”
They made way. It was well for them they did; the strength of a dozen
Samsons was that moment in my arms. I planted myself in front of him.
“How is it that you’ve come back--from the gates of hell?”
“Ferguson! It’s you!” He broke into a peal of laughter, which spoke of
pain, not pleasure. “But I’ve not come back! They’re still stoking the
fires!” He threw out his arms as if referring to the jeering mob,
which pressed upon us. “Here are the attendant demons--can’t you see
them?”
I continued standing still, regarding him.
“It is Edwin Lawrence, as I live. Edwin--not Philip.”
“Yes; not Philip--Edwin!” He laughed again. “Would you like to see the
strawberry mark? It’s there.”
“What is this game in which you have been taking a hand?”
“It’s a game of my own invention--and hers!” He made an upward
movement with his hand. “It was from her the inspiration came. She
named the stakes, framed the rules, started the game, watched the
play--and with both eyes she’s watched it ever since. Those eyes of
hers! They never sleep, and never blink or wink, but watch, watch,
watch all the time. They’ve watched me ever since the game began.
They’re watching now! She haunts and hounds me--into the train and out
of it. She’s here now--enjoying the joke. Hark! Can’t you hear her?”
He stopped to listen. I heard nothing out of the common, though it
seemed he did. “That’s her laughter!” He broke into discordant
merriment. “I play the part of Echo. She has me, body, soul, and
spirit; and she thinks it such a jest!”
He spoke as men do in fevers. I could see that there were some about
us who set him down as mad. There were those who jeered, as fools will
at the sight of a man’s anguish, when, in the abandonment of his
shame, he trails his soul in the dust. I had seen persons in his case
before. He was not mad, as yet, but on the border line, where men
fight with demons. He had been drinking, to drive them back; but they
had come the more, threatening, on every hand, to shut him in for
ever. He knew what it was they threatened. It was the anguish of the
knowledge which caused the sweat to stand in beads upon his brow.
The railway officials, I fancy, took it to be a case of incipient
delirium tremens. A person in authority addressed himself to me.
“Are you a friend of this gentleman’s, sir?”
“I know him well.”
“Are you willing to undertake the charge of him? You see he’s not in a
fit state to go about alone.”
“I’ll take charge of him.”
“Then you’ll be so good as to remove him from the station at once.
He’s already given us more than sufficient trouble.”
Lawrence interposed with what he intended to be an assumption of the
grand manner.
“My good Mr. Railway-porter, or whatever you may be, I will remove
myself from your objectionable station without any hint from you. My
destination was Ostend, and is now Pimlico. This is an acquaintance of
mine who owes me £1880; but I don’t require him to take charge of me.
There already is somebody who does that. Can’t you hear her? That’s
her laughing.”
“Come,” I said. “Let’s get into a cab.”
“Thank you, I prefer walking. Nothing like exercise when you are
liverish. Are you alone?”
Miss Moore came through the crowd.
“No; I am with him.”
He stared at her as if in doubt; then with sudden recognition--
“Ah! It is the sister of the brother--the affectionate relative of our
dear Tom--the beautiful Miss Moore! It is like a scene out of one of
the plays in which you are the bright, particular star. The ghosts are
gathering round. You were there; you saw her?”
“Who?”
“The Goddess!”
“Was it--a Goddess?”
“That’s a demon!”
“What do you mean?” She took me by the arm. “Ask him what he means.”
Lawrence answered.
“It’s not a thing the meaning of which can be clarified by words.
Come, and you shall see; come together--Mr. Ferguson and you.”
She looked at me, inquiry in her eyes. I questioned him.
“Where do you propose to take us?”
“To a little place of mine, where the Goddess is.”
“What is this stuff about the Goddess?”
“Come, and you shall see.”
I glanced at her.
“Let’s go,” she said.
He caught her words.
“There speaks the lady who would learn; the woman possessed of the
spirit of inquiry.”
I repeated my former suggestion.
“Let’s get into a cab.”
But he declined.
“No; I’ll have none of your cabs, I’ll walk. I’m cribb’d, cabined, and
confined out in the open; in a cab I’d stifle. There’s a hand upon my
heart, a grip upon my throat, a weight upon my head; they make it hard
to breathe. I’ll be in close quarters soon enough; I’ll keep out of
them as long as I can.”
I turned to the officials. “Can’t you keep these people back? I don’t
want to have them following us through the streets. The man’s not
drunk, he’s ill.”
“I should get him into a cab.”
Lawrence, hearing what the fellow said, rushed at him in a fit of
maniacal fury, repeating, in a crescendo scale--
“You’d get me into a cab! You’d get me into a cab! You’d get me into a
cab! I’d kill you first.” The man shrank back as if fearful that his
last hour had come.
We went out of the station, a motley crowd--Lawrence with Miss Moore,
and me close at his heels; behind, before, on either side, a
miscellaneous assemblage of fools. I would have prevented her from
coming had I had my way. I told her so at starting; but she whispered
in my ear--
“I’m not afraid. Are you?”
“I am afraid for you--of these blackguards; of the mood he’s in; of
where he’s taking us; of what may happen. I don’t know what devil’s
trick it is he has been playing, but I’m sure it is a devil’s trick,
and there may be worse to come.”
“I’m safe with you.”
“I doubt it.”
“But I am sure. The light is coming; I’d like to see the brightness of
the day, for mine honour’s sake, which I thought might be a
consideration, perhaps, with you. Still, I’m under orders. If you bid
me I will go. But--mayn’t I come?”
I could deny her nothing which she asked in such a tone, though it
were an apple out of Eden. But I was gruff.
“Then take my arm.”
“I’d like to.”
I know I was a fool, and should have forbidden her to go with us, nor
have allowed her, wheedle as she might, to have run the risk of what
might be to come; but when I felt her little hand upon my arm, I would
not have had her take it off again, not--not for a great deal.
When we had gone a little way from the station, Mr. Bernstein,
corkscrewing his way through the crowd, reached Lawrence’s side.
Apparently, although he had made an effort to screw his courage to the
sticking point, he was still not quite satisfied as to the sort of
reception which he might receive; he spoke with such an air of
deprecation.
“Now, Ted, dear boy, don’t be shirty, it’s only me. Do take my
advice--be careful! Don’t go too far! Be reasonable, and I’ll be the
best friend you ever had, as I always have been; only--do pull up
before it’s too late!”
Lawrence, standing still, addressed himself to the crowd.
“Gentlemen--and ladies!--because I believe there are some ladies among
you--real ladies!--allow me to introduce to you Mr. Isaac Bernstein,
usurer, Jew, who makes a speciality of dealing in forged bills. He
keeps a school for forgers, where young penmen are trained in the
delicate arts of imitating other people’s signatures. He’s been the
cause of many a good man’s being sent to gaol; where, one day, as sure
as he’s alive, he’ll go to join them.”
Mr. Bernstein stammered and stuttered.
“Don’t--don’t talk to me like that! The--the man’s stark mad!”
“Not yet. Still sane enough to make the world acquainted with Isaac
Bernstein, trafficker in forgeries.”
With his open palm he struck the Jew a resounding blow on either
cheek. The people roared with laughter. I turned to the lady.
“You see? I must go to him. I shall have to leave you.”
“We will go together.”
She kept close to my side as I went forward. I expected to see
Lawrence repeat his assault. Bernstein stood looking at him,
motionless, gasping for breath, as if he were on the verge of an
apoplectic fit. Taking him by the shoulder I sent him spinning off the
pavement.
“Leave him alone. The fellow will get his deserts elsewhere.”
Lawrence clapped his hands like a child.
“Bravo! Twirl him round--roll him in the mud! She enjoys it; can’t you
hear how she’s laughing?”
He raised his hand in an attitude of attention.
“I can hear nothing.”
“But I can.” Miss Moore spoke from behind my shoulder. “I can hear
It.”
“What do you mean?”
“It which was present in the room; It which did it all; the sound
which we heard in the Fulham Road just now. Listen! Can’t you hear it,
too?”
It might have been my imagination--probably was--but, as she spoke, I
certainly did think that I recognised, as if it issued from the lips
of some one who was within reach of where we stood, the woman’s
laughter which had in it so singular and disagreeable a quality. It
had on me a most uncomfortable effect. I returned to Lawrence, fearful
lest, if I was not careful, the proceedings might take a shape in
which I might relish them less even than I did at present.
“Come. Let’s be moving.”
“With pleasure. Life is movement, and exercise is the thing for the
liver.”
“What is the address of the place to which you are taking us?”
He laid his finger against his nose.
“That’s a secret which I wouldn’t divulge for worlds. There’s a lady
there--a goddess! And a demon! Would you have me tell all the world
where she’s to be found, as if she were a person of no reputation.
She’s with me all the time; she never leaves me for a moment alone;
and yet, all the while, she waits for me at home. That’s to have a
familiar in attendance, if you please.”
I made no reply. That his words had meaning, and were not the mere
ravings which they seemed, I did not doubt. I was asking myself what
was the solution of the problem to which they pointed, and was still
obliged to own that I had no notion. I had, also, my attention partly
occupied by my efforts to keep the rabble from a too close attendance
on the lady, whose little hand again caressed my arm.
Lawrence was swinging along at a good round pace, his hat a little at
the back of his head; his eyes, lips, every muscle of his face were in
constant motion. His arms were as if they had been hung on wires,
which continually thrust them this way and that. He was not for a
moment still. If not speaking aloud, he muttered to himself. Presently
he began upon a theme which I would have thanked him to have avoided.
“So, Ferguson, you’re a humorist--practical and actual. I’ve been
reading the news--still sane enough to read the papers--how you locked
the coroner in his court. I’d have given one of Bernstein’s forged
bills to have been there to see, though it was on me that they were
sitting. I thought I never should have done laughing. And she--the
Goddess--she’s laughing still.”
The lady put a question.
“What’s that he’s saying?”
“He’s telling about some nonsense which he saw in the papers.”
Lawrence interposed.
“Nonsense, he calls it! And excellent nonsense, too! Haven’t you
heard? Has no one told you? Don’t you know? Charming sister of my dear
friend Tom, to-day the coroner’s been sitting on my corpse--as I live,
upon my corpse! Ferguson’s been there as witness. They wanted him to
say, it seems, that you had killed me--yes, you, with your own two
small hands; but he wouldn’t. He said he’d see them--warmer first; as
warm as I am now. I can’t think where, at this time of the year, the
heat can come from. I’m on fire inside and out. So they talked of
sending him to gaol.
“But, bless their simple souls, they didn’t know their man; how that
he was a fellow of infinite jest. For when they talked of locking him
up, he locked them up instead; marched straight out, turned the key in
the lock, with them on the other side of the door--coroner and jury,
counsel and witnesses, audience and policeman--the whole noble,
gallant company. And so he left them, sitting on my corpse.”
As might have been expected, the rabble, which still hung round us
like a fringe, hearing what he said, caught something of his meaning.
They bandied it from mouth to mouth.
“That’s Ferguson, that there tall bloke. He’s the cove as locked the
coroner up this afternoon, Imperial Mansions murder case. Didn’t you
hear the other bloke a-saying so? No lies! I tell you it is!”
While the gutter-snipes wrangled, playing fast and loose with my
name--with my reputation, too--the lady whispered in my ear. Despite
the noise they made I heard her plain.
“So that’s why you came to fetch me? Now I understand; the secret’s
out. It’s another service you have done me! Aren’t you afraid that the
weight of obligation will be more than I can carry? Yet you needn’t
fear! They’re the kind of debts I don’t at all mind owing--you, since
one day I hope to pay them every one.”
“You exaggerate. And Lawrence is a fool.”
“Yes. So are we all fools; perhaps that’s why some of us are wise.”
I liked to hear her voice; to feel her hand upon my arm. Yet, every
moment, my concern was getting greater. The crowd was growing, both in
numbers and in impudence. Any second they might make an ugly rush,
then there would be trouble; and that was not a scene in which I
should wish the lady to play a part. Lawrence was marching on as if he
meant to march for ever. I began seriously to ask myself if he was not
playing us still another of his tricks; if he was not leading us he
himself did not know where. On a sudden, he determined the question by
stopping before a building which, outwardly, was more like a warehouse
than a private residence.
“At last,” he cried, “we are arrived. The Goddess waits for us
within.”
“Is this your place?”
“It is--and hers. _Enter omnes!_”
He threw open the door as if he were offering the whole crowd the
freedom of the premises. I placed myself in front of it.
“I’m hanged if it shall be _enter omnes!_ In you go.” I thrust him in.
“Now you and I together!”
The lady and I were across the threshold. I was about to slam the door
in the face of the rabble, when some one came hurrying through the
crowd. A voice exclaimed--
“Stop that! Don’t shut that door! Let me in!”
It was Inspector Symonds; with, as it seemed, a friend or two.