THE POOR AUTHOR'S HOME.
Outside the humble house in Lambeth in which Mr. Linton and his family
occupied two modest rooms--and those not the best--Uncle Leth paced the
lonely street. There was not a soul about, with the exception of the
policeman, with whom Uncle Leth exchanged a few words explaining his
presence; but although that functionary expressed himself satisfied, he
still kept an eye upon the stranger in the neighbourhood. Aunt Leth was
upstairs with Mrs. Linton; the unfortunate author had not returned home,
as Aunt Leth, running breathlessly down to the street door, had informed
her husband; and Uncle Leth was now looking anxiously for his
appearance. It was out of a feeling of delicacy that he had not entered
the house; he knew that the intrusion of a strange man would have
alarmed Mrs. Linton, and have marred the kind errand upon which he and
his wife were engaged. So he waited outside, listening for footsteps,
and mentally praying that Mr. Linton had done nothing rash.
Aunt Leth and Mrs. Linton were already friends, and it seemed to the
poor author's wife as if she had known her kind visitor for years. It
was not without trepidation that Aunt Leth had introduced herself to
Mrs. Linton, but she allowed no signs of this feeling to appear in her
manner: she was cheerful and unobtrusive, and her sweet face and
pleasant voice conveyed hope to the heart of the anxious wife.
"I am a friend of your husband," Aunt Leth said, "and I hope you will
forgive me for calling upon you at so late an hour. My name is
Lethbridge."
"Yes," said Mrs. Linton; "my husband has often spoken of you and your
family. He was desirous that we should become personally acquainted some
time since; but"--she paused here; the sentence, completed, would have
been an avowal of poverty.
"But," said Aunt Leth, taking up the words, with a sweet smile, "you
have been so busy, and your husband has been so much engaged, that you
could not find time. It is just the way with us at home. The days are
really not long enough for one's cares and duties."
"Are you alone?" asked Mrs. Linton.
"No; my husband is below, waiting for me. He would not come up, it is so
late. I should not have had the courage to come had I not heard that
your little boy was not well. Dear little fellow! You won't mind my
kissing you, will you, sweet?"
She was by the bedside, bending over the lad, who was awake, and who,
when she lowered her face to his, put his little arms round her neck. In
Aunt Leth's beautiful ways there was an affectionate magnetism which won
the hearts of old and young. Mrs. Linton burst into tears.
"Don't cry, my dear," said Aunt Leth; "we are going to be very good
friends, and everything will be bright and happy. Ah! it is only wives
and mothers like ourselves who know what real trouble is; but then we
are able to bear it, thank God! It is love's duty. To be strong and
reliant and hopeful will help to bring back the roses to your little
boy's cheeks."
All the time she was speaking she was either at the bedside or doing
unobtrusively something housewifely about the room, which made her
presence there like an angel's visit.
"Where did you hear that our little boy was ill?" asked Mrs. Linton.
"At the theatre."
"Ah! you have been there?" Mrs. Linton's agitation was so great that her
hand rose instinctively to her heart. It was a thin white hand, eloquent
with weakness and suffering. "Tell me, tell me about the piece! I
expected my husband home by this time. If it was a success he would have
flown here."
"My dear," said Aunt Leth, with a bright look, "I am not an author's
wife, and therefore I cannot speak with authority; but I can understand
how much there must be to talk about at the theatre after the first
representation of a play. Perhaps some trifling alterations to make, or
a little dialogue to be strengthened or shortened, and there is nothing
like taking these things in hand on the spur of the moment. That is
business, and must be attended to, must it not? I hardly know whether I
am right or wrong in what I say, but it seems to me so."
"You are right," sighed Mrs. Linton; "there are always a great many
alterations to make in my husband's plays. I used to go on the first
nights, but the excitement had such an effect upon me that I wait now to
know whether they are likely to be a success or not. It is an anxious
life, waiting, waiting, waiting for what, perhaps, will never come. It
is wearing my poor husband out; and he works so hard, so earnestly--"
"All the more need for courage, my dear," said Aunt Leth, taking Mrs.
Linton's hand and patting it hopefully. "Bright fortune, when it comes,
will be all the sweeter for a little delay. It will come, my dear, it
will!"
"Perhaps too late!" murmured the mother, her apprehensive eyes
travelling to the bed upon which her sick child was lying.
"You must not say that; you must not think it. When your husband returns
you must be cheerful and strong; he will require such help after his
anxious night. And what a beautiful play he has written! How proud you
must be of him!"
With such like affectionate interchange of confidences did the time pass
in Mrs. Linton's room; but Aunt Leth's heart almost fainted within her
at the lengthened absence of the author. No less anxious was Uncle Leth
in the street below. Two or three times, on some pretence or other, Aunt
Leth ran down to him to satisfy herself that he was all right, hoping on
each occasion that she would return in the company of Mr. Linton. She
and her husband were afraid to give expression to their fast-growing
fears. All that Uncle Leth said was: "Don't hurry away. You must not
leave till Mr. Linton comes home. He will be here soon."
But more than an hour elapsed before the author appeared, and Uncle Leth
breathed a "Thank God!" when he saw him turn the corner of the street,
in the company of Kiss. Uncle Leth hastened toward them to explain the
meaning of his presence, but Mr. Linton did not give him time to utter a
word. His agitation was so great, he had been so wrought up by the
incidents of the night, that he saw a tragedy in the surprise.
"My God!" he cried; and but for the support afforded by Kiss's strong
arm he would have fallen to the ground. "My wife! my child!"
"Are well," said Uncle Leth, quickly. "My wife is with yours, and they
are waiting for you. Don't take it ill of us; we are here in true
friendship and sympathy. Keep up your heart; all will turn out right."
"That's what I've been telling him," said Kiss, heartily; "and if ever
there was a bright omen, this is one. Now go up to your wife, like a
good fellow, and put on a cheerful face. We shall rub through. Never
lose sight of the silver lining, my boy; it is shining now in your room
on the faces of two good women!"
Mr. Linton, unable to speak, pressed Uncle Leth's hand, and passed into
the house, leaving his friends in the street.
"How kind of you!" murmured Kiss. "I intended to go up with Linton, but
now your good wife is there my presence is not required. I have had a
dreadful time with him. When he rushed out of the theatre I hardly knew
what to think, being knocked over, so to speak, by the strange speech he
made. I was not the only one; it was so novel, so thoroughly unexpected.
There is just the chance it may be the talk of the town, and if that
happens it will bring money to the treasury. I ran up to my
dressing-room for a quick change, and it suddenly occurred to me that in
the state Linton was in it would be as well if he had a friend by his
side. Quick as thought I left the theatre, without waiting to wash, and
knowing the road Linton always took home, followed it without coming up
to him. I didn't trouble myself about the public-houses: Linton is a
temperate man, and he was in no mood for company. With a great success
it might have been different: he might have taken a glass. You see, Mr.
Lethbridge, I know him and his ways. He is wonderfully sensitive and
nervous, and he had taken it into his head that upon the success of _A
Heart of Gold_ his whole career depended. He had staked all his hopes
upon it. Success meant life, fortune, fame, happiness: failure meant
death, ruin, despair. It is the misfortune of these highly sensitive
natures; they suffer the tortures of the damned! How did you come here?"
"In a cab," said Uncle Leth.
"I followed Linton on foot, and must have been pretty smart, because I
got here before you arrived. I ascertained from the landlady of the
house that Linton had not come home, and back I started, retracing my
steps, first cautioning the landlady not to let Mrs. Linton know that I
had been here making inquiries. I'll tell you what was in my mind.
Linton's road home led past a bridge, which he had no occasion to cross,
and I thought if I didn't meet him before I came to that bridge that I
would cross it myself, to see if some impulse of despair had drawn his
steps in that direction. Sir, I was right! There, looking down upon the
river, stood Linton. I must not do him an injustice: I do not believe he
had any idea of suicide; it was simply that he was in a condition of
blank despairing bewilderment, and it is my opinion he might have stood
there for hours without conscious thought. When I laid my hand upon his
shoulder, he looked at me like a man in a dream. It was quite a time
before he completely recovered himself; before, it may be said, he was
awake. Then we talked. He could not tell me how he had got on the
bridge; he had been drawn there, as I supposed, and he stood looking
down upon the river in a kind of waking trance. I could dilate on the
theme, but the hour is not propitious. Well, Mr. Lethbridge, when we
conversed intelligently, I discovered that he was afraid to go home.
Hereby hangs a tale. His wife, before he married her, was in a better
position in life than he; she had wealthy relatives, who disowned her
when she married Linton. Since then it has been one long struggle;
nothing but hardships; nothing but privations. She has never reproached
him; such a thought I am certain has never entered her mind. But he has
taken it into his head that he has done her a great wrong, and the
culminating events of this night at the theatre took all the courage out
of him; he dared not face her. But for him she might have been
prosperous and happy; it was through him that her life had been wrecked.
I had to combat this view, and it needed all my powers. Without wearying
you I may say that I partly succeeded at length in bringing him to a
better state of mind. That is all, and I have ended just in time. Here
is your wife. Madam," he said, advancing, and raising her hand to his
lips, "in the garden of human nature you are the sweetest flower!"