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THE SURVIVOR
by
E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
CONTENTS
I. THE SERMON THAT WAS NEVER PREACHED
II. A STRANGE BETROTHAL
III. THE MAN WHO WAS IN A HURRY
IV. EXIT MR. DOUGLAS GUEST
V. HOW THE ADDRESS WAS LOST
VI. THE YOUNG MAN FROM THE COUNTRY HEARS SOME
VII. A NIGHT IN HELL--AND NEXT DAY
VIII. THE AUTHOR OF "NO MAN'S LAND"
IX. THE EDITOR OF THE "IBEX" RECEIVES A STRANGE LETTER
X. A WOMAN OF WHIMS
XI. DOUGLAS GUEST GETS HIS "CHANCE"
XII. THE MAN WHO NEARLY WENT UNDER
XIII. THE FIRST TASTE OF FAME
XIV. A VISITOR FROM SCOTLAND YARD
XV. EMILY DE REUSS TELLS A LIE
XVI. JOAN STRONG, AVENGER
XVII. A PLAIN QUESTION AND A WARNING
XVIII. THE TASTE OF THE LOTUS
XIX. A MAN WITHOUT A PAST
XX. CICELY ASKS A QUESTION
XXI. THE REBELLION OF DREXLEY
XXII. DREXLEY SPEAKS OUT
XXIII. CICELY S SECRET
XXIV. THE COUNTESS, THE COUSIN, AND THE CRITIC
XXV. A TRAGIC INTERRUPTION
XXVI. A VISITOR FOR DOUGLAS JESSON
XXVII. FELLOW-CRIMINALS
XXVIII. THE LITTLE FIGURE IN BLACK
XXIX. JOAN STRONG FINDS HER BROTHER
XXX. DAVID AND JOAN
XXXI. DREXLEY FORESEES DANGER
XXXII. A SUPPER AT THE "MILAN," AND A MEETING
XXXIII. A MISUNDERSTANDING
XXXIV. THE WOOING OF CICELY
XXXV. THE NET OF JOAN'S VENGEANCE
XXXVI. A SCENE AT THE CLUB
XXXVII. CICELY MAKES HER CHOICE
XXXVIII. "SHE WAS A WOMAN: I WAS A COWARD"
XXXIX. A JOURNEY AND A WEDDING
XL. A CALL BEFORE THE CURTAIN
THE SURVIVOR
CHAPTER I
THE SERMON THAT WAS NEVER PREACHED
A little party of men and women on bicycles were pushing their machines
up the steep ascent which formed the one street of Feldwick village. It
was a Sunday morning, and the place was curiously empty. Their little
scraps of gay conversation and laughter--they were men and women of the
smart world--seemed to strike almost a pagan note in a deep Sabbatical
stillness. They passed the wide open doors of a red brick chapel, and
several of the worshippers within turned their heads. As the last two
of the party went by, the wheezings of a harmonium ceased, and a man's
voice came travelling out to them. The lady rested her hand upon her
host's arm. "Listen," she whispered.
Her host, Lord of the Manor, Lord Lieutenant of the County, and tenth
Earl of Cumberland, paused readily enough and leaned his machine against
a kerbstone. Bicycling was by no means a favourite pursuit of his, and
the morning for the time of year was warm.
"Dear lady," he murmured, "shall we go a little nearer and listen to the
words of grace? Anything for a short rest."
She leaned her own bicycle against the wall. From where she was she
could catch a sideway glimpse of a tall, slight figure standing up
before the handful of people.
"I should like to go inside," she said, indifferently. "Would they
think it an intrusion?"
"Certainly not," he answered, with visions of a chair before him. "As a
matter of fact, I have a special invitation to become a member of that
flock--temporarily, at any rate."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"The land here" he answered, "is not entailed, and they are very anxious
to buy this little bit and own their chapel. I had a letter from a
worthy farmer and elder, Gideon Strong, on the matter yesterday. He
wound up by expressing a wish that I might join them in their service
one morning. This is their service, and here we are. Come!"
They crossed the street, and, to the obvious amazement of the little
congregation, stood in the doorway. A gaunt shepherd, with
weather-marked face and knotted fingers, handed them clumsily a couple
of chairs. Some of the small farmers rose and made a clumsy obeisance
to their temporal lord. Gideon Strong, six feet four, with great unbent
shoulders, and face as hard and rugged as iron, frowned them down, and
showed no signs of noticing his presence. Elsewhere he would have been
one of the first, proud man though he was, to stand bareheaded before
the owner of his farm and half a county, but in the house of God, humble
little building though it was, he reckoned all men equal.
Praying silently before them, on the eve of his first sermon, a young
man was kneeling. He had seen nothing of these newcomers, but of a
sudden as he knelt there, his thoughts and sensations in strange
confusion, himself half in revolt against what lay before him, there
floated up the little aisle an exquisite perfume of crushed violets, and
he heard the soft rustling of a gown which was surely worn by none of
those who were gathered together to listen to him. He opened his eyes
involuntarily, and met the steady gaze of the lady whose whim it had
been to enter the place.
He had never seen her before, nor any one like her. Yet he felt that,
in her presence, the task which lay before him had become immeasurably
more difficult. She was a type to him of all those things, the memory
of which he had been strenuously trying to put away from him, the
beautiful, the worldly, the joyous. As he rose slowly to his feet, he
looked half despairingly around. It was a stern religion which they
loved, this handful of weatherbeaten farmers and their underlings.
Their womenkind were made as unlovely as possible, with flat hair,
sombre and ill-made clothes. Their surroundings were whitewashed and
text-hung walls, and in their hearts was the love for narrow ways. He
gave out his text slowly and with heavy heart. Then he paused, and,
glancing once more round the little building, met again the soft,
languid fire of those full dark eyes. This time he did not look away.
He saw a faint interest, a slight pity, a background of nonchalance.
His cheeks flushed, and the fire of revolt leaped through his veins. He
shut up the Bible and abandoned his carefully prepared discourse, in
which was a mention of hellfire and many gloomy warnings, which would
have brought joy to the heart of Gideon Strong, and to each of which he
would slowly and approvingly have nodded his head. He delivered
instead, with many pauses, but in picturesque and even vivid language, a
long and close account of the miracle with which his text was concerned.
In the midst of it there came from outside the tinkling of many bicycle
bells--the rest of the party had returned in search of their host and
his companion. The Earl looked up with alacrity. He was nicely rested
now, and wanted a cigarette.
"Shall we go?" he whispered.
She nodded and rose. At the door she turned for a moment and looked
backwards. The preacher was in the midst of an elaborate and
painstaking sifting of evidence as to the season of the year during
which this particular miracle might be supposed to have taken place.
Again their eyes met for a moment, and she went out into the sunlight
with a faint smile upon her lips, for she was a woman who loved to feel
herself an influence, and she was swift to understand. To her it was an
episode of the morning's ride, almost forgotten at dinner-time. To him
it marked the boundary line between the old things and the new.