Produced by Darleen Dove, Roger Frank, Mary Meehan and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE MAN WHO ROSE AGAIN
BY JOSEPH HOCKING
WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
CINCINNATI
JENNINGS & GRAHAM
PRINTED IN 1907
_The central idea of this story is based upon an incident in real life,
related to me by C. Hagberg Wright, Esq., LL.D., of the London Library,
to whom I wish to express my grateful acknowledgment and sincere
thanks._
_J. H._
[Illustration: "What do our pattern young men say?" sneered Leicester.]
CONTENTS
I. A CYNIC'S CHALLENGE
II. THE CHALLENGE ACCEPTED
III. THE MAN AND THE WOMAN MEET
IV. A DOUBLE PERSONALITY
V. THE STRENGTHENING OF THE CHAIN
VI. LEICESTER'S WOOING
VII. A WOMAN'S HEART
VIII. THE FOUR MEN MEET AGAIN
IX. THE NIGHT BEFORE THE WEDDING
X. THE WEDDING-DAY
XI. LEICESTER AND WINFIELD
XII. THE LAST LINK BROKEN
XIII. DEGRADATION
XIV. LEICESTER'S FAREWELL TO TAVITON
XV. THE CYNIC AND THE COUNTRYWOMAN
XVI. A GRIM JOKE
XVII. HOW OLIVE RECEIVED THE NEWS
XVIII. OLIVE'S LIFE IN DEVONSHIRE
XIX. THE MAN WITH THE FEZ
XX. HERBERT BRIARFIELD AND THE STRANGER
XXI. A GAME OF GOLF--A GAME OF LIFE
XXII. SIGNOR RICORDO AND OLIVE
XXIII. SPRAGUE'S EXPLANATION
XXIV. RICORDO'S REMINISCENCES
XXV. THE COMING OF WINFIELD
XXVI. REVELATIONS
XXVII. RICORDO'S WOOING
XXVIII. THE SECOND MEETING OF THE CYNIC AND THE COUNTRYWOMAN
XXIX. GOD AND THE MAN
XXX. THE MAN WHO ROSE AGAIN
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"WHAT DO OUR PATTERN YOUNG MEN SAY?" SNEERED LEICESTER.
"WITH YOU FOR MY WIFE, I CAN DO ANYTHING."
SIGNOR RICORDO.
SHE GAZED AT HIM DUMBFOUNDED.
THE MAN WHO ROSE AGAIN
CHAPTER I
A CYNIC'S CHALLENGE
Four men sat in the smoking-room of a London club. They were alone. That
is scarcely to be wondered at, for it was far past midnight. Moreover,
it was not a large club, and even when the place was most frequented
large numbers were seldom present. Three of the men were chatting
cursorily about a defeat of the Government which had taken place that
night, but the fourth, by far the most striking looking man of the
quartette, sat almost by himself, moody and silent.
They were all young men. The oldest had barely reached his thirty-fifth
year, while the youngest was evidently less than thirty. All of them
gave evidence of being young men of leisure, and each of them could
claim to belong to that class which is vaguely termed English gentlemen.
"Will the Government resign, think you?" said one.
"No," another replied.
"Why? It could hardly be called a snatch division."
"No, but governments do not resign unless the country is against them."
"Which it is."
"In a sense, yes; but in another sense, no. The question to-night was a
brewer's question. Well, if they resigned and went to the country, they
would be returned again. The brewers, for whom the Government has been
fighting, would be sufficiently strong at the polls to secure the return
of their supporters."
"Which is a strong reason why the Government will resign."
They went on discussing the question, neither saying anything worthy of
record. They seemed to be deeply interested, however; perhaps because
two of them were Parliamentary candidates. The man who sat apart,
however, took no note of the conversation. He could by listening
carefully have heard all that was said, but his mind seemed elsewhere.
Neither did he speak to the others, although he knew each one
intimately. Of what he was thinking it would be difficult to tell. There
was a strange, vacant look in his eyes, and his face was very pale.
He seemed utterly oblivious of the time, and although a waiter hovered
near, as if to remind the party that he was very sleepy, this young man
especially took no note of his presence.
Presently he aroused himself, and rang a bell which stood on the table
at his elbow.
The waiter came towards him sleepily.
"Whisky," he said.
"Yes, sir."
"A large one."
"Yes, sir."
"And make haste about it."
The waiter left the room, while the others glanced at each other
significantly.
"How many is that to-night?" said one in a low voice.
"Heaven knows, I don't. He's on the drink again."
"If I'd taken half he's had, I should have to be carried to bed."
"Pity, isn't it? He's ruining his career."
"I don't know. He never shows he's been drinking. He's always at his
best when he's drunk."
"He's never drunk."
"Well, you know what I mean. He can never do himself justice now, unless
he's had what would make any one of us incapable."
"Yes, but that kind of thing can't last. No constitution could stand it.
In time it'll destroy his nerves, and then----"
"Yes, it's a pity."
The waiter brought the young man a large measure of whisky and a bottle
of soda-water. He poured a small quantity of soda into the whisky. His
hand was steady and he did not seem to be in the least affected by what
he had drunk.
He lifted the glass to his lips and nearly drained it. Then he sat back
in the chair and closed his eyes.
"I should think he will soon be asleep, now," whispered one.
"Not he."
"It's an awful pity. Don't you think one ought to try and warn him?"
"Try it. I would not like to."
"But he's ruining his life. A fellow of such brilliance, too. Do you
remember that speech he made at the Eclectic?"
"Remember! Who doesn't? You know the constituency he's candidate for?
Well, the story of his adoption for that constituency by the general
committee is worth telling. I don't quite know how it was, but through a
misunderstanding two men were invited on the same night to come and
address them with a view to adoption. Well, the other man was young Lord
Telsize, an able, capable fellow, by no means a bad speaker, and as rich
as a money-lending Jew. Each had to address the meeting in turn, and
Telsize came first. He made a rattling speech; he voiced all their pet
opinions, and every one was made to understand that if he were adopted
it would not cost them a penny to fight the election. The meeting wanted
to vote straight away and adopt Telsize without hearing Leicester,
especially when they heard that he would contribute practically nothing
to the funds. However, the chairman overruled this. He said it would not
be courteous to ask a man down and not hear him speak; so they called
him in. Leicester saw at a glance how things stood, and that put him on
his mettle. In three minutes the meeting was at a white heat, and before
half an hour was over he was unanimously invited to fight their battles.
A man who was there told me that Leicester's speech was the most
remarkable thing he'd ever heard."
"I don't care, he's ruining himself. The truth about him is sure to come
out, and then he'll be drummed out of the place."
"I suppose Miss Blackstone refused him because she had heard about this
habit of his."
"Oh, it wasn't that only. Miss Blackstone is a very religious young
lady, and, as you know, Leicester is an agnostic. Not only that, but his
views about marriage would not be likely to commend themselves to her.
Fancy Radford Leicester being accepted by a girl like Miss Blackstone!"
They had been speaking in low tones, although they thought the young man
was too much under the influence of whisky to take any notice of them,
even although the sound of their voices could reach him plainly. They
were greatly surprised, therefore, when he to whom they had referred as
Radford Leicester rose from his chair and came close to them. He looked
at them quietly, glancing first at one and then at the other. Each
returned his glance, as if wondering what he would say.
"I was in doubts," he said, "as to whether I was in one of Moody and
Sankey's meetings or whether some strange fate had thrown me into the
midst of a Dorcas society."
"Why, old man?"
"Because at first I heard of some scheme for snatching a brand from the
burning, and afterwards I heard some gossip which was as full of lies as
the gossip of a Dorcas society usually is. When I opened my eyes I was a
bit surprised. I found I was in the smoking-room of my club, where women
are not admitted. Am I mistaken? For the plan for my salvation was
essentially feminine, while the gossip was scarcely up to the level of a
woman's charity meeting."
He drew a chair into the circle and sat down, each man looking rather
uncomfortable as he did so.
"Don't you feel like a word of prayer?" he said mockingly. "I am rather
in the humour for it. What is the process? First conviction, and then
conversion, isn't it?"
There was no thickness in his voice, each word was carefully
articulated. He gave no sign of drinking, if we except the peculiar look
in his eyes.
"Your father is a parson, isn't he, Purvis?" he went on. "He will be
pleased to know that his son is walking in his father's footsteps, while
Sprague's mother is great at women's meetings. Sprague has evidently
inherited his mother's gifts."
Sprague turned towards him angrily.
"Steady, steady, old man," said Leicester, with a mocking smile on his
lips. "You can't deny that you assist your mother at her drawing-room
meetings, neither can you deny that the story of Miss Blackstone's
refusal of me was born in one of them."
"It might have been mentioned there," said Sprague, thrown off his
guard.
"It originated there," said Leicester lightly.
"Why do you say that?" asked Sprague.
"Because it is safe to assume that, when a story without any foundation
in fact is afloat, especially if it is a trifle malicious, it was born
in a religious meeting run by women. Besides, I know your mother started
this gossip."
Each of the three men looked more uncomfortable. They had no idea that
the quick ears of the man had heard every word.
"I'm a sad case," went on Leicester, mockingly. "I'm ruining my career,
my nerves are breaking down, and I shall soon be drummed out of my
constituency. Let's see, how many whiskies have I had to-night? Surely,
surely, you fellows, who are so immaculate, should have a few words of
prayer. Come now, Purvis, a few words of exhortation. I will listen
patiently."
"We said nothing wrong, Leicester," said Purvis, "and we meant nothing
wrong. We only said what those who know you best, and like you best, are
thinking. You may keep the fact of your hard drinking from the public a
little longer, but not much. Such things are bound to leak out."
"Especially when I have such loyal friends."
"That isn't fair, Leicester. Not one of us would ever dream of saying
outside what we say among ourselves. We can't close our eyes or our
ears. We've heard you order whisky after whisky to-night, and we've seen
you drink them."
"And what then?"
"What then?"
"Yes, what then? I am as sober as you. I say, hold out your hands as I
am holding out mine. Are yours steadier than mine? I tell you, no whisky
that was ever distilled could bowl me over."
"All nonsense, Leicester; all nonsense. Whisky is whisky, and nerves are
nerves, and whisky will beat you, if you go on drinking so. It may be
unpleasant for you to hear us say so, but truth is truth."
"I know when to stop," said Leicester. "While my head and my heels are
steady I know I'm all right."
"All the same, you can't stop people talking, and there is some truth in
the Blackstone story."
"How much?"
"You know."
"Yes, I know," said Leicester quietly; "and as you chaps are so deeply
interested in my soul, I'll tell you. I never proposed to Miss
Blackstone; I never thought of proposing to her."
"Then why did you cease going to her father's house?"
Leicester laughed.
"Because her father has ceased to invite me," he replied. "Do you know
why? I'll tell you. The devil got hold of me one night and I trod on the
old man's moral and religious corns. I knocked the sawdust out of his
dolls. I was feeling a bit cynical, and I attacked the motives and
morals of religious people. Now, then, you know. But I never proposed to
Miss Blackstone; if I had, I should have been accepted."
"It's good to have a high opinion of one's self."
"Or a poor opinion of women," replied Leicester.
"What has that to do with the question?"
"Only this. Women don't trouble about morals. What women want in a
husband is a man that shall be talked about; a man who is courted and
petted; a man who is quoted in the papers. Given position, and notoriety
on the lines I have mentioned, and women don't trouble about the other
things."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because I know."
"How do you know?"
"I am thirty years of age, and I have kept my eyes open during these
last ten years--that's all. You talk about my religious views and my
ideas on marriage, and what you call my cynicism generally. But let the
best of the women believe that a man will give them the position they
covet and then he can believe what he likes and do what he likes. No, my
dear, pious friends, you need not fear either about me or my future as
long as you believe in your views about what is called my abilities."
"That's a libel on women," said Sprague.
"I'm willing to put my views to a test," replied Leicester.
"What do you mean?"
"My language is pretty plain," replied Leicester.
Each of the other men felt the influence of Leicester's stronger
personality, and each of them resented it at the same time. They felt
almost angry that the man whom they had been pitying as a drunkard
should so coolly hold them at bay.
"It is a poor thing to say you'll put your views to the test, when you
know it cannot be done," remarked Sprague.
"Look here, my dear, exemplary friends, who are so anxious for my moral
reclamation," said Leicester in his quiet, mocking tone, "I've made a
statement, and I'll stand by it. I'm not a marrying man, as you know;
still I am willing to sacrifice my own feelings for the good of my
fellows. So, then, pick out your most pious and high-principled young
woman; Sunday-school teacher preferred, warranted to be sound in
doctrine, and having a proper horror of men like myself. Choose her
carefully, and I'm prepared to prove my words."
"If she'll have you."
"That's the point. I maintain that neither orthodoxy of life nor conduct
weigh with women as long as the suitor has the qualifications I have
mentioned. Now it is believed, rightly or wrongly, that I am going to
have what is commonly called a brilliant career. Well, choose your most
pattern young woman--she must be what is called a lady, of course, and
I must stipulate that she is passably good-looking and is not
penniless."
"And then?"
"I am prepared to put my views to the test. Of course, model young men
like you would not think of a wager; but if I don't succeed--well, I'll
give a hundred pounds to any religious cause you like to mention."
The man's eyes flashed with a new light. The plan he had sketched seemed
to amuse and excite him.
"It's all nonsense," said Sprague.
"Test it," laughed Leicester.
He had apparently imbued the others with his own spirit. For the moment
they were eager to see what would happen.
"Name your woman," went on Leicester. "What, are you afraid? Will you
not support your doctrine of the nobility of women? I give it as my
opinion that women are uniformly selfish, vain, and sordid. I maintain
that what they want is a man who will give them position, name,
prominence. Given that, and everything goes by the board. And I stand by
it. I place a hundred pounds upon it. All I ask you to do is to name
your woman."
There was a wild gleam in his eye, and he was evidently prepared to
stand by his words. As for the others, they yielded more and more to his
stronger personality.
"No," said Sprague presently, "it is not fair. If either of us had a
sister we would not like to make her the subject of such a proposition."
"But if you are right, my dear, good friends," went on Leicester, "no
harm can be done. I propose to the lady, and I am refused. What then? It
is only another illustration of the downfall of Radford Leicester, the
atheist, the cynic, the drunkard. But I am willing to risk it. All I say
is, name the woman. Let her be the best you can think of; let her be the
most exemplary, the most high-minded, the most orthodox, and I maintain
that she'll not care a fig about all my failings, if she believes in the
brilliance of my career."
"If you hadn't drunk so much whisky you'd not propose such a thing,"
said Purvis.
"Oh, you are backing out, are you?" sneered Leicester. "It is always the
same. Fellows like you utter pious platitudes; you proclaim the glory of
women; you hold up your hands with horror at a man who dares tell the
truth, and then you back out like cowards. I say there is no woman but
who has her price. You quote that lying gossip about Miss Blackstone
refusing me because of my heresies and my whisky drinking. I tell you it
is a lie invented by Sprague's mother, and I go further and I say that
there is no woman who really cares a fig for these things, provided you
can satisfy her ambition. And I'm prepared to stand by it. All I say is,
name your woman."
"Miss Olive Castlemaine."
The man who had taken no part in the conversation spoke this time, and
as the name escaped his lips both Purvis and Sprague gave a start. Even
Leicester was silent for a moment. He looked from one to another
suspiciously, then he burst out laughing.
"You've made a bold bid, Winfield," he said. "You make even me tremble.
Miss Olive Castlemaine is, so I suppose, the most sought-after heiress
in London. She fulfils all my conditions, and, more than that, she has
refused both Sprague and Purvis. I suppose, from what I am told, that
she looked upon Sprague as a bit of a hypocrite, and Purvis as--well,
not likely to have a great future."
He evidently stung both these men by his words. It was perfectly true
that both of them had been refused by Miss Olive Castlemaine, it was
just as true that she had been sought after by a number of other
eligible marriageable men, and had refused them all.
Miss Olive Castlemaine was known to be a young lady of more than
ordinary beauty, of good social standing, and, what was more, an heiress
to great wealth. But she was not a society woman. Some women laughed at
her because she preferred seeking to do good in the world to living the
life of a butterfly. She worked among the poor, she taught a class of
ragged children, and she was known to have strong opinions both about
men and things. She had taken a degree at St. Andrews University, she
was a Girton girl, and had attained to a high position there. Without
being a "blue stocking" she was a cultured woman, and was acquainted
with the language and literature of more than one country. But, more
than all, she had caused many society women to raise their eyebrows at
the mention of her name, because she was, to use their expression,
"pious." She belonged to no set, and was rarely seen at receptions. She
loved London because it was the centre of English life--life
intellectual, political, religious: but society functions had no
attractions for her. Some had called her a female prig, but few
regarded her as such--she was too healthy-minded, too natural, too real.
Her mother had died when she was quite a child, and thus she became the
one earthly delight and pride of her father, who was managing director
of, and chief shareholder in, one of the most prosperous and respectable
firms in London. She lived with her father in one of those fine old
houses, surrounded by a large tract of park-lands, a few of which yet
remain within the precincts of Larger London, in spite of the ravages of
the speculative builder.
She was at the time of the commencement of this history about
twenty-three years of age. She was a perfectly womanly woman. She hated
much of the foolish flippancy which characterised many of the women she
knew, and had a healthy disgust for those who talked lightly about not
being bound by those great social institutions which lie at the basis of
our national greatness and purity. Nevertheless, she dared to think for
herself, and had an almost masculine way of defending her opinions.
Being the only child of John Castlemaine, who occupied not only a high
position in the City of London, but owned more than one fine estate in
England, she had all that money could buy, while her father's integrity
and honourable reputation made her the envy of those who, socially,
would regard her as an inferior. For John Castlemaine, while bearing a
name known in English history, and possessed of great wealth, was still
a member of what is called the "middle classes." He simply stood high up
in his own class. He was not of those who mingled freely with the men
who guide the destinies of the nation. Rich men came to his house, men
great in the world of finance; but men great in the world of politics
and science and letters were unknown to him. Perhaps this was his own
fault, or perhaps it was because his tastes were simple and because he
did not possess the qualities which would attract men of influence and
power to his house. For John Castlemaine was a plain man. He belonged to
the merchant class, and he prided himself on the position he held.
As we have said, his daughter, Olive Castlemaine, had had many suitors
for her hand, but she had refused them all. Among those who had been
unfortunate were Harold Sprague and Herbert Purvis. They were both
mediocre but respectable young men. Both had been in love with her, and
both were wounded at her refusal. Perhaps this was why the mention of
her name made them start as if with pain.
"Do you accept?" said Winfield.
"What do our pattern young men say?" sneered Leicester, and he looked
from one to another as if awaiting their answer.