THE WINNER OF THE NORTHUMBERLAND PLATE.
"Though the prayers of a priest are denied to you, not less sanctified
is the ground in which you lie. Tender thoughts and tender remembrance
accompany you, and these are the best of prayers. It is better as it
is, perhaps; better that your dust should be buried thus in silence;
than that the cold words of a harsh sorrowless minister should fall
upon your grave. Peace be with you!"
These words were spoken inly by Lily's grandfather, as he stood, with
head uncovered, by the side of the grave into which the coffin was
being lowered. He and Gribble junior had been in search of a Methodist
minister, in the vague hope that something might be suggested to
afford consolation to the dead woman's children; but their search had
been unsuccessful, and as the day was waning and they had far to go,
they had no alternative but to comply with the Reverend Mr.
Creamwell's decree. As they stood about the grave, the men were silent
and sad; tears were streaming down the faces of the women; and
Pollypod for a few moments forgot her Doll and the ship that was
bringing it home over the seas. The heir of the house of Gribble
junior was awake and in his father's arms, and the enthusiastic
umbrella-doctor tilted the baby over the grave, so that the child
might have a good view of the coffin, in the belief probably that it
would "open up his ideas, as a body might say." Notwithstanding the
minister's decree, Lily's mother was not buried: in complete silence;
for the twittering of birds and the soft hum of insect-life were
heard, and the breeze was as peaceful, and the clouds as bright, as if
a thousand human voices had been raised in her glorification. The old
man picked up a handful of dust, and scattered it lightly upon the
coffin, and then the earth was shovelled in and the grave was filled.
Slowly they walked out of the churchyard, Pollypod in a state of
restlessness about Felix, and wondering what had become of him. When
she caught sight of him, standing by the waggonette he had hired, she
ran eagerly to him, and plucked his coat. He inclined his head to
hers.
"The Captain's sure to bring my Doll this week?" she whispered.
"Quite sure, little maid," he answered.
"Do you see the ship now?"
"Yes," he said, "and the wind is fair."
But when he raised his eyes, and saw a shadow on the old man's face,
he was not so certain that the wind was fair. He had a task to
perform, however, and he addressed himself to Gribble junior, and
telling him that the mourning-coach was gone, delivered the driver's
message, in milder terms than he had received it. The old man,
listening, glanced sharply at Felix.
"I think it is as well," pursued Felix, addressing the company
generally, though he looked only at Gribble junior, "that the man
_has_ gone, for he was drunk, and in no fit condition to drive you
home."
"Then how are we to get back?" inquired Gribble junior in perplexity,
more of himself than of Felix.
"I feel that I am in some measure responsible for the difficulty,"
rejoined Felix, "for I might have detained the man, though, as I have
said, the wisest course was to let him go. Will you allow me to place
this waggonette at your disposal? It will be pleasanter driving than
in the close coach, and you will reach home more quickly." All but the
old man looked up gratefully at the proposal. "The evening will be
fine, and I will ensure a safe and speedy journey. Nay," he continued
hurriedly, in answer to a motion of the old man's hand indicating
refusal, "before you decide, grant me the favour of one minute's
private conversation."
There was much in the voice and manner of Felix to recommend him, and
the old man saw that he had found favour in the eyes of the rest of
the company. He himself also, against his own judgment as it seemed,
felt inclined to the young man. This feeling, no less than his
perplexity, induced him to comply with the request, and they stepped
aside, out of hearing of the others.
"Sir," then said Felix, "the offer is made out of pure
disinterestedness, believe me."
He blushed slightly as he said this, for he thought of Lily, and of
the share she unconsciously bore in the transaction.
"It is somewhat incomprehensible," said the old man, gazing
attentively at the earnest face of Felix; "I cannot be mistaken. You
are the young gentleman who was present during my interview with the
minister."
"I am he, sir," replied Felix, "but----"
"And you are his son," interrupted the old man.
"There is no doubt of that. I am my father's son--in the flesh. For
the share I took in that interview by my presence, I humbly ask your
pardon. Do me the justice to believe that I am in earnest."
"It would be hard to believe otherwise."
"Thank you, sir."
"Yet it is difficult to reconcile." As he spoke he thought of the
young man's kindness to Lily, and it seemed to be not so difficult.
But if the kind offer sprang from sincere and unselfish impulse,
father and son must be at variance. "Your father----" he said.
But Felix broke in abruptly with, "Nay, sir, pardon me. Do not let us
speak of fathers and sons. The subject is a painful one. My father and
I differ upon certain points. I am under suspicion, I know; I should
be surprised were it otherwise. But come, sir, your own sense of
justice will grant me this. Let me be judged, not by you alone, but by
those who accompany you. If they decide against me, I will drive to
London alone, with only my thoughts for company. If they decide for
me, I will resign my whip, or drive you home, as you determine."
By this speech Felix proved himself to be a master of generous
cunning. He knew that he had a true friend in little Pollypod, who
necessarily carried her mother's vote, and he hoped also that Lily and
her brother were on his side. But he did not know that when he said,
"Do not let us speak of fathers and sons; the subject is a painful
one," he had unconsciously uttered words which served him in good turn
with the old man also. Thought of Alfred's father, who had brought
shame on all of them, came to the old man's mind as he heard the
words. He walked to where the others were standing, and found Pollypod
in a state of feverish delight at the prospect of being driven home in
such a beautiful carriage. Mrs. Podmore, of course, was equally
pleased, because of the treat in store for her child, and because she
fell in love immediately with any one who was kind to Polly. Gribble
junior spoke in enthusiastic terms of the handsome offer; and Alfred,
quivering with eager anxiety to know whether Christopher Sly had won
the Northumberland Plate, fretted at every moment's delay that kept
him from the London streets, where the evening's newspapers would tell
him the news. Lily was silent, but the old Man saw in her eyes that
she wished him to accept the offer. This at once decided him, and he
waived all personal feeling in the matter. He returned to Felix, and
said,
"They all decide for you. I am the only one against you."
The young man's face flushed with delight.
"You will not be always against me, sir. Shall I resign my whip?"
"I doubt if any one is competent to take it. And after all, it would
be but a churlish way of accepting your courtesy. No; the obligation
shall be complete, if it is not trespassing too much upon your time."
"I am alone in the world, sir. My time is my own."
He turned his face towards his father's house, and gazed at it for a
few moments, not with regret, but with a grave consciousness that this
was a serious epoch in his life. Martha the housekeeper was sitting at
one of the upper windows, evidently watching him. He waved his hand to
her, and walked slowly to the waggonette, where Gribble junior was
busy arranging the party.
"Will you let me sit next to you?" asked Pollypod of Felix.
"I am going to drive, little one," replied Felix, "and you might fall
off."
"I'll take her in my lap," said Gribble junior, and by this offer
secured the place of distinction on the box.
So it was arranged, and in a few moments they were all seated, and on
their way to London. As Gribble junior declared afterwards, it was the
pleasantest ride that he had ever had in his life, notwithstanding the
solemnity of the occasion. He and Pollypod and Felix chatted together
in the pleasantest manner, but in a subdued tone, so as not to intrude
upon the grief of the mourners in the waggonette. Pollypod told all
about the ship that was bringing home her Doll; and Gribble junior,
understanding in a literal manner the kindness of Felix, entered
readily into Pollypod's enthusiasm, and looked upon that young
gentleman as a model of generosity. Gribble junior himself was not
disposed to be silent. He was fond of expatiating upon his
establishment and business, and he seized the opportunity of airing
himself and his views after his own harmless fashion.
"Why hospital?" he repeated, in reply to a query from Felix. "Well, in
the first place, it's curious, and curiosity is a good advertisement.
It brings business. You see, what you've got to do nowadays if you
want to get along is to strike out. That's what I'm always telling
father. Strike out, I say; but he hasn't got it in him. All he does is
to shake his head and put his hands in his pockets. As if a man can
get along that way! When that youngster's knickerbockered," with a
backward notion of his head toward his baby, lying in his wife's lap,
"I've made up my mind that his clothes sha'n't have any handy pockets
in them where he can hide his hands. It breeds idleness. I've seen
lots of fellows who think when they've got their hands in their
pockets that they're following an occupation. I believe it _is_ a real
business with a good many. That's a good advertisement, isn't it?" he
asked, opening his blue-silk umbrella, with its yellow announcement
painted on it, and gazing on it in pride.
Felix nodded, amused, and remarked that it must puzzle a good many
persons.
"I dare say but then they've got no brains," said Gribble junior. "If
they'd only consider a little, they'd soon find out the sense of it;
but more than half the people in the world are fools. An umbrella has
ribs and bones and a frame and skin, like a human being; and they
break their bones and get bent and out of order, like human beings. I
call myself the surgeon; I set the limbs and ribs, and put the frame
in order. My wife is great in skin complaints. She patches up and
mends the alpaca and silk."
In this manner he chatted on, and Felix for the most part listened in
amused silence. Before they were a great way on their road home, they
overtook the mourning coach which had conveyed them from Soho. The
driver was in a state of perfect happiness, and his countenance was
more inflamed than ever; but he evidently resented the circumstance of
their driving home in such a smart carriage, for as Felix drove
briskly past him, he whipped his horses and tried to overtake the
party. But his cattle knew their business, and had been too well
brought up to do more than amble; all the whipping in the world would
not have made them gallop.
Felix had placed refreshments in the waggonette, of which they all
partook, even Lily and the old man. The sincerity and honesty of their
driver were so apparent, that they could not regard him with any but
grateful feelings. It was past sunset when they entered the London
streets.
"This is my world," Felix thought exultantly.
The brilliant lights and the thousands of people hurrying hither and
thither quickened his pulses. It seemed to him as if he were born into
a new life. Unfettered, free to do as he pleased, and blessed with
that great blessing, a grateful nature, he gathered from everything
about him hope for the future. He saw no shadows; did not dream of
them. He turned to look at Lily. Her head was resting upon the old
man's breast; she was asleep, and there was peace in her face. The old
man smiled gratefully and thoughtfully upon Felix, and the smile made
him glad. How could shadows come? Everything was fair for him. He felt
a soft touch upon the hand which was not occupied with the reins; it
was Pollypod's hand stealing into his. Another good omen. The little
maid was very sleepy, but she was filled with joy; this had been the
most eventful day in her young life. In a very little while they were
winding through the labyrinth of the narrow streets of Soho.
"I am so sorry," said Pollypod.
"Why, little one?"
"We are just home. This is our street. And I should like to keep
riding all night."
"Stupid little Pollypod! Why, you are so sleepy and tired now that you
can't keep your eyes open."
"That would make it nice. I should like to sleep and wake up, and keep
on riding and riding!"
Felix smiled; he, like the child, regretted that they had come to the
end of their journey. The rattle of the smart waggonette brought all
the neighbours to the doors and windows again, and Felix was
scrutinised and discussed in a manner that ought to have made his ears
tingle, if he had any respect for old-fashioned proverbs.
"I can but repeat my thanks," said the old man to Felix, as they stood
by the street door. "You have laid us under a deep obligation."
"I hope not," replied Felix; "indeed I believe not. I have a theory of
my own that every human act is dictated by a feeling of selfishness.
What I have done, I have done to please myself."
The old man shook his head.
"You believe better of human nature than your theory would lead one to
suppose. Of that I am certain.--Will you step upstairs?"
"No, I thank you," said Felix, after a moment's hesitation, during
which he decided that the presence of a stranger was not desirable
after the day's fatigue; "but if you will allow me, I will call in a
day or two to pay my respects."
The old man expressed acquiescence, and looked round for Alfred; but
the young man was gone. He had slipped away to obtain an evening
paper, in which he would learn whether Christopher Sly had won or
lost the Northumberland Plate. Instead of Alfred, the old man saw Mr.
David Sheldrake, who, happening to pass through the street, paused
when he saw the group at Mr. Gribble's door. Mr. Sheldrake raised his
hat.
"I heard of your loss," he said to Lily, in a tone of confidential
respect, "and I beg you to accept my sincere sympathy. The White Rose
is quite disconsolate at your absence. I hope it will not be long
before we hear your charming voice again. This is your grandfather.
Allow me to present myself: Mr. David Sheldrake. I know your grandson,
sir, Master Alfred; a fine young fellow, sir. We all grieve, for your
granddaughter's sake, at the loss you have sustained."
The old man bowed, but did not reply, and Mr. Sheldrake, raising his
hat again, passed on. Although he had not seemed to notice Felix, he
had really, in a quiet manner, observed Felix closely, and had taken
note of the handsome waggonette.
"Who is this interloper?" he thought, as he walked away; "but Master
Alfred will tell me. Where is he, I wonder?" He pondered for a few
seconds, and his countenance brightened as he thought, "Ah, they have
just come from the funeral; the woman was to be buried in the country,
I heard. And Master Alfred has disappeared to look after Christopher
Sly. You're a sharp one, David; never at a loss."
With which self-paid compliment he turned the corner, smiling.
"Then we will wish you good-night," said the old man to Felix.
"Good-night," said Felix, shaking hands with the old man. Lily held
out her hand, and gave him a grateful look, which, supposing any
payment were required, paid him a hundred times over for the little
service he had rendered them. When Lily and her grandfather had passed
indoors, Felix would have departed, but his left hand was in
Pollypod's, and she held it tight.
"Good-night, Pollypod. I must go now."
"No; you mustn't go yet," said the forward little maid; "I want you to
carry me upstairs."
"Don't tease the gentleman, Polly!" exclaimed Mrs. Podmore; "you
mustn't be tiresome."
"She isn't tiresome," said Felix good-naturedly, taking Pollypod in
his arms; "I'll carry her up-stairs if you'll allow me."
Certainly if ever man had the knack of winning a mother's heart, Felix
had it; and if he could have read Mrs. Podmore's thoughts as he
stepped into the passage with her child in his arms, he would have
found himself there enshrined as the very pink and perfection and
pattern of goodness.
"Go up slow," whispered Pollypod to him, as she lay with her head on
his shoulder; the cunning little maid was in a delicious trance, and
was wishful not to wake up too soon; "isn't it nice and dark? Can you
see the Ship?"
"Yes."
"And the Captain?"
"Yes."
"And the Doll _is_ there?"
"I can see it, Pollypod."
"And the stars are shining?"
"Beautifully, Pollypod."
"Yes," she murmured, "it is night, and the stars are shining."
The roses on the wall of Mrs. Podmore's room were red enough to assert
themselves even in the dim light, and Felix thought that Pollypod's
idealisation of them was one of the prettiest of pretty fancies.
"I'm sure we're all very much obliged to you, sir," said Mrs. Podmore
to him as he placed the child on the bed.
"You could not be more welcome to anything," replied Felix. "Good
night, little maid."
He stooped to kiss her, and she encircled his neck with her arms.
"There's a kiss for the Ship," she whispered, "and a kiss for the
Captain, and two for You! I shall tell Snap about you when father
comes home."
Gribble junior was waiting on the landing of the second floor to wish
him good night.
"Did you see that gent that stopped and spoke to Miss Lily?" asked
Gribble junior.
"Yes."
"What do you think of him?"
Felix smilingly replied that it was impossible for him to form an
opinion.
"I don't think much of him myself," said Gribble junior dryly; "he
ain't one of my sort."
"Tell me," said Felix, "if it is not rude to ask, what did he mean by
saying that the White Rose was quite disconsolate at Miss Lily's
absence? What is the White Rose?"
"Don't you know the Royal White Rose Music-hall?" interrogated Gribble
junior, wondering at the young man's ignorance. "That's where Miss
Lily sings. You should see her and hear her! She looks like an angel,
and sings like one. She's not like any of the others. You see, a girl
must do something, and between you and me, I don't think the old
gentleman would be able to get along if it wasn't for the money that
Miss Lily earns. Master Alfred, he doesn't do much."
About an hour afterwards, Felix found himself in the Royal White Rose
Music-hall, wondering that so pure and simple a girl as Lily should be
associated with some of the things he heard and witnessed there.
"But," he thought, "to the pure all things are pure. And there are
stranger contrasts in life than this."
He had engaged a bed at an hotel where a night porter was kept, so
that he could get to his room at any time. He stopped out until late,
thinking over the events of the day, and musing upon the future. He
strolled over Westminster Bridge, and lingered in admiration;
thinking, and thinking truly, that he had never seen a more wonderful
and beautiful sight than the dark solemn water and the waving lines of
lights presented. And as he lingered and admired and mused, his
thoughts wandered to the little crowded house in Soho----
Where Lily was sleeping peacefully;
Where Pollypod, pressed to her father's breast, and with her face
towards the roses, was dreaming of her Doll and of the Ship that was
sailing over the shining seas;
Where, in the solitude of his room, a young man, with wild, haggard,
despairing face, was reading for the twentieth time the account of the
race for the Northumberland Plate, which had been won by an old horse
called Taraban; and muttering, with white and trembling lips,
imprecations on the false prophets by whose advice he had backed
Christopher Sly with money that did not belong to him.