Morgan did not venture again to take any walks to the east of the
town, though he dwelt with pain on the possibility of the Medhursts
hoping to fall in with him again. He could only trust that they would
understand, though from their point of view there might perhaps seem
no reason why he should avoid them so utterly. Had not the last
encounter been a success, they might argue, and had he not been
perfectly cheerful and, to all appearance, happy in their company?
Once or twice he thought of writing to Mrs. Medhurst, but he could not
get down a word, and the pen dropped from his hand.
He felt the effects for several days, a vision of that lamp-lit room
continuing to obtrude between him and his work, and the stream of
music still flowing from Margaret's fingers. His proofs were dirty and
needed much correction; and he even found himself setting up his
thoughts in type, instead of following his copy.
However, he toiled on, almost with desperation, and Mr. Kettering's
respect for him and his abilities advanced greatly. He and Mark had
never ceased to call him "sir"; and Morgan, on his part, could never
cease wondering how such sterling character could exist side by side
in the same family with the general instability that characterised the
women. As for Alice and Mary, he had been so long now in the house
that an occasional quarrel with them signified nothing; in fact, that
was part of the routine of the life.
About the end of the year he got his first chance in life. Mr.
Kettering had been very proud, indeed, of employing him, especially as
he had proved so apt a learner, and the experiment had entirely been
crowned with success. The old man had enlarged on Morgan's superior
culture to the traveller of a great London paper firm--himself a man
of some education--who had for many years been going abroad regularly
on the business of his firm, and who as regularly looked in for
Kettering's order. This Mr. Brett thus came to make Morgan's
acquaintance, discovered he knew Greek and Latin, and divined some
mystery was at the back of Morgan's present position.
The direct result of this acquaintance was that, on the first day of
the next year, Morgan found himself installed as "reader" in a large
firm of printers in Upper Thames street, London, in which a brother of
Mr. Brett was the junior partner. He had thoroughly mastered the
business of proof-reading under Kettering's tuition, and his Greek and
Latin and general culture had done the rest for him, for there was now
scope for all of it in his new position. His salary at starting was
two pounds fifteen shillings per week, the same as that of his
predecessor, who had left the firm voluntarily.
But even before leaving Dover he had had the satisfaction of being
able to send Helen a few pounds to pay some of the workmen, and she
had been able to make a satisfactory report to him. While she had been
in Scotland a couple of letters had passed between them which sufficed
for all they had to say to each other; and to his father as well he
had reported progress from time to time. Simon and Mark Kettering both
exhibited signs of emotion when the moment for parting came, and,
though they were sorry to lose him, rejoiced with him at his promotion.
"And I can only hope," were Simon's last words, "that my daughter will
never turn up to worry you, and that, even if you forget her, you'll
sometimes think of us folk here at Dover. And, be sure, if you ever
find yourself in the town again, there's a hearty welcome waiting for
you at my house."
In London, Morgan took a large, airy garret in Southwark, to get from
which to his work he had only to cross the bridge, and fitted it with
a narrow folding-bed and the few things he needed. He made his own
breakfast, had his dinner sent into the works at one o'clock from a
neighboring coffee-shop, had tea made for him by one of the girl
folders, and supped at home on bread and cheese. In this way he
managed to live and to dress neatly--patronising a very different sort
of tailor from his old London one--on a pound a week. Every penny of
the rest he put by rigorously.
About this time he learnt that his father could not come to town yet,
as the winter was a severe one, and he had had a touch of rheumatism.
As Morgan had come to look forward to seeing him now, this was a
disappointment. Moreover, he had grown to take a keener interest now
in the affairs of the home. At one time it had occupied little part of
his thoughts, but now a finer sensibility to his domestic ties seemed
to have arisen in him. He was very much concerned about this illness
of his father's, the full extent of which, he had an idea, had been
concealed from him. Helen, too, he saw but once during his first month
in London, on which occasion he donned his best garments and went to
take tea with her. Though their friendship had been so long passive,
it was not less intense than heretofore. By some mutual instinct they
seemed to avoid discussing his personal concerns now, Helen receiving
him just as an old friend and as if there had been nothing in their
lives to make a special link between them. She seemed to have grown
somewhat graver in expression, and he was not sure that he did not
like her face better like that. She amused and cheered him, and, once
they had come together again, she insisted there was no reason now why
he should not come oftener. And so, on a rare Saturday afternoon, when
he was free, he would come in for an hour and listen to her pleasant
chatting. Only when he brought her money would she permit herself any
reference to his progress in life.
Of Cleo he heard nothing. She had not made another appearance on the
boards, or, if she had, it had been in some obscure way. She intruded
into his thoughts often enough, and was still a reality to him when he
specially dwelt on her. But he was quite startled one day at suddenly
realising the rapidity with which she was becoming a far-off shadow.
There were moments now when he could almost believe that the whole
episode of his marriage had been the veriest product of his fancy.
Frequently in the evenings and on rest days he would employ his
leisure wandering amid the regions in which his lot was now cast. For
the first time now he felt the mammoth city as a reality; for the
first time he seemed to comprehend it--what it was and what it
represented. In the days when he had trodden these same pavements
with Helen its aspect had been merely panoramic. Now he himself was of
it, a living and breathing unit of the multitude of toilers that
peopled these vast industrial quarters. His vision pierced the
swarming surface, the great grimy thoroughfares with their tramlines,
their miles of sordid shops, their windowed expanse of brick, dingy
and far-stretching, their serried lines of narrow houses.
And then he would feel that a great sense of the spirit of human life
was passing into his blood. Leaping flashes of light came to him at
times, as he sat in his garret with the fused murmur of the world
surging in his ears, illumining for him abysses that had appeared to
him once dark and bottomless.