AN ALTERNATIVE.
Once again the same great city held these two. When George Brand looked
out in the morning on the broad river, and the bridges, and the hurrying
cabs and trains and steamers, he knew that this flood of dusky sunshine
was falling also on the quieter ways of Hyde Park and semi-silent
thoroughfares adjoining. They were in the same city, but they were far
apart. An invisible barrier separated them. It was not to Curzon Street
that he directed his steps when he went out into the still, close air
and the misty sunlight.
It was to Lisle Street that he walked; and all the way he was persuading
himself to follow Calabressa's advice. He would betray no impatience,
however specious Lind might be. He would shut down that distrust of
Natalie's father that was continually springing up in his mind. He would
be considerate to the difficulties of his position, ready to admit the
reasonableness of his arguments, mindful of the higher duties demanded
of himself. But then--but then--he bethought him of that evening at the
theatre; he remembered what she had said; how she had looked. He was not
going to give up his beautiful, proud-natured sweetheart as a mere
matter of expediency, as the conclusion of a clever bit of argument.
When he entered Mr. Lind's room he found Heinrich Reitzei its sole
occupant. Lind had not yet arrived: the pallid-faced young man with the
_pince-nez_ was in possession of his chair. And no sooner had George
Brand made his appearance than Reitzei rose, and, with a significant
smile, motioned the new-comer to take the vacant seat he had just
quitted.
"What do you mean?" Brand said, naturally taking another chair, which
was much nearer him.
"Will you not soon be occupying this seat _en permanence_?" Reitzei
said, with affected nonchalance.
"Lind has abdicated, then, I presume," said Brand, coldly: this young
man's manner had never been very grateful to him.
Reitzei sunk into the seat again, and twirled at his little black waxed
mustache.
"Abdicated? No; not yet," he said with an air of indifference. "But if
one were to be translated to a higher sphere?--there is a vacancy in the
Council."
"Then he would have to live abroad," said Brand, quickly.
The younger man did not fail to observe his eagerness, and no doubt
attributed it to a wrong cause. It was no sudden hope of succeeding to
Lind's position that prompted the exclamation; it was the possibility of
Natalie being carried away from England.
"He would have to live in the place called nowhere," said Reitzei, with
a calm smile. "He would have to live in the dark--in the middle of the
night--everywhere and nowhere at the same moment."
Brand was on the point of asking what would then become of Natalie, but
he forbore. He changed the subject altogether.
"How is that mad Russian fellow getting on--Kirski? Still working?"
"Yes; at another kind of work. Calabressa has undertaken to turn his
vehemence into a proper channel--to let off the steam, as it were, in
another direction."
"Calabressa?"
"Kirski has become the humble disciple of Calabressa, and has gone to
Genoa with him."
"What folly is this!" Brand said. "Have you admitted that maniac?"
"Certainly; such force was not to be wasted."
"A pretty disciple! How much Russian does Calabressa know?"
"Gathorne Edwards is with them; it is some special business. Both
Calabressa and Kirski will be capital linguists before it is over."
"But how has Edwards got leave again from the British Museum?"
Reitzei shrugged his shoulders.
"I believe Lind wants to buy him over altogether. We could pay him more
than the British Museum."
At this moment there was a sound outside of some one ascending the
stair, and directly afterward Mr. Lind entered the room. As he came in
Reitzei left.
"How do you do, Mr. Brand?" Lind said, shaking his visitor's hand with
great warmth. "Very glad to see you looking so well; hard work does not
hurt you, clearly. I hope I have not incommoded you in asking you to run
up to London?"
"Not at all," Brand said. "Molyneux came up with me last night."
"Ah! You have gained him over?"
"Quite."
"Again I congratulate you. Well, now, since we have begun upon business,
let us continue upon business."
He settled himself in his chair, as if for some serious talk. Brand
could not help being struck by the brisk, vivacious, energetic look of
this man; and on this morning he was even more than usually smartly
dressed. Was it his daughter who had put that flower in his button-hole?
"I will speak frankly to you, and as clear as I can in my poor English.
You must let me say, without flattery, that we are all very indebted to
you--very proud of you; we are glad to have you with us. And now that
you see farther and farther about our work, I trust you are not
disappointed. You understand at the outset you must take so much on
trust."
"I am not in the least disappointed; quite the reverse," Brand said; and
he remembered Calabressa, and spoke in as friendly a way as possible.
"Indeed, many a time I am sorry one cannot explain more fully to those
who are only inquiring. If they could only see at once all that is going
on, they would have no more doubt. And it is slow work with some of
them."
"Yes, certainly; no doubt. Well, to return, if you please: it is a
satisfaction you are not disappointed; that you believe we are doing a
good work; that you go with us. Very well. You have advanced grade by
grade; you see nothing to repent of; why not take the final step?"
"I don't quite understand you," he said, doubtfully.
"I will explain. You have given yourself to us--your time, your labor,
your future; but the final step of self-sacrifice--is it so very
difficult? In many cases it is merely a challenge: we say, 'Show that
you can trust us even for your very livelihood. Become absolutely
dependent on us, even for your food, your drink, your clothes.' In your
case, I admit, it is something more: it is an invitation to a very
considerable self-sacrifice. All the more proof that you are not
afraid."
"I do not think I am afraid," said Brand, slowly; "but--"
"One moment. The affair is simple. The officers of our society--those
who govern--those from whom are chosen the members of the Council--that
Council that is more powerful than any government in Europe--those
officers, I say, are required first of all to surrender every farthing
of personal property, so that they shall become absolutely dependent on
the Society itself--"
Brand looked a trifle bewildered: more than that, resentful and
indignant, as if his common-sense had received a shock.
"It is a necessary condition," Lind continued, without eagerness--rather
as if he were merely enunciating a theory. "It insures absolute
equality; it is a proof of faith. And you may perceive that, as I am
alive, they do not allow one to starve."
The slight smile that accompanied this remark was meant to be
reassuring. Certainly, Mr. Lind did not starve; if the society of which
he was a member enabled him to live as he did in Curzon Street, he had
little to complain of.
"You mean," said George Brand, "that before I enter this highest grade,
next to the Council, I must absolutely surrender my entire fortune to
you?"
"To the common fund of the Society--yes," was the reply; uttered as a
matter of course.
"But there is no compulsion?"
"Certainly not. On this point every one is free. You may remain in your
present grade if you please."
"Then I confess to you I don't see why I should change," Brand said,
frankly. "Cannot I work as well for you just as I am?"
"Perhaps; perhaps not," said the other, easily. "But you perceive,
further, that the fact of our not exacting subscriptions from the poorer
members of our association makes it all the more necessary that we
should have voluntary gifts from the richer. And as regards a surplus of
wealth, of what use is that to any one? Am I not granted as much money
as one need reasonably want? And just now there is more than ever a
need of money for the general purposes of the Society: Lord Evelyn gave
us a thousand pounds last week."
Brand flushed red.
"I wish you had told me," he said; "I would rather have given you five
thousand. You know he cannot afford it."
"The greater the merit of the sacrifice," said his companion calmly.
This proposal was so audacious that George Brand was still a little
bewildered; but the fact was that, while listening very respectfully to
Mr. Lind, he had been thinking more about Natalie; and it was the most
natural thing in the world that some thought of her should now
intervene.
"Another thing, Mr. Lind," said he, though he was rather embarrassed.
"Even if I were to make such a sacrifice, as far as I am concerned; if I
were to run the risk for myself alone, that might all be very well; but
supposing I were to marry, do you think I should like my wife to run
such a risk--do you think I should be justified in allowing her? And
surely _you_ ought not to ask _me_. It is your own daughter--"
"Excuse me, Mr. Brand," said the other, blandly but firmly. "We will
restrict ourselves to business at the present moment, if you will be so
kind. I wrote to you all that occurred to me when I had to consider your
very flattering proposal with regard to my daughter; I may now add that,
if any thought of her interfered with your decision in this matter, I
should still further regret that you had ever met."
"You do not take the view a father would naturally take about the future
of his own daughter," said Brand, bluntly.
Lind was not in the least moved by this taunt.
"I should allow neither the interests of my daughter nor my own
interests to interfere with my sense of duty," said he. "Do you know me
so little? Do you know her so little? Ah, then you have much to learn of
her!"
Lind looked at him for a second or two, and added, with a slight smile,
"If you decide to say no, be sure I will not say a word of it to her.
No; I will still leave the child her hero in her imagination. For when I
said to her, 'Natalie, an Englishman will do a good deal for the good of
the people--he will give you his sympathy, his advice, his time, his
labor--but he will not put his hand in his pocket;' then she said, 'Ah,
but you do not understand Mr. Brand yet, papa; he is with us; he is not
one to go back.'"
"But this abandonment of one's property is so disproportionate in
different cases--"
"The greater the sacrifice, the greater the merit," returned the other:
then he immediately added, "But do not imagine I am seeking to persuade
you. I place before you the condition on which you may go forward and
attain the highest rank, ultimately perhaps the greatest power, in this
organization. Ah, you do not understand what that is as yet. If you
knew, you would not hesitate very long, I think."
"But--but suppose I have no great ambition," Brand remonstrated.
"Suppose I am quite content to go on doing what I can in my present
sphere?"
"You have already sworn to do your utmost in every direction. On this
one point of money, however, the various Councils have never departed
from the principle that there must be no compulsion. On any other point
the Council orders; you obey. On this point the voluntary sacrifice has,
as I say, all the more merit; and it is not forgotten. For what are you
doing? You are yielding up a superabundance that you cannot use, so that
thousands and thousands of the poor throughout the world may not be
called on to contribute their pence. You are giving the final proof of
your devotion. You are taking the vow of poverty and dependence, which
many of the noblest brotherhoods the world has seen have exacted from
their members at the very outset; but in your case with the difference
that you can absolutely trust to the resources of an immense
association--"
"Yes, as far as I am concerned," Brand said, quickly. "But I ask you
whether I should be justified in throwing away this power to protect
others. May I appeal to Natalie herself? May I ask her?"
"I am afraid, Mr. Brand," said the other, with the same mild firmness,
"I must request you in the meantime to leave Natalie out of
consideration altogether. This is a question of duty, of principle; it
must regulate our future relations with each other; pray let it stand by
itself."
Brand sat silent for a time. There were many things to think over. He
recalled, for example, though vaguely, a conversation he had once had
with Lord Evelyn, in which this very question of money was discussed,
and in which he had said that he would above all things make sure he was
not being duped. Moreover, he had intended that his property, in the
event of his dying unmarried, should go to his nephews. But it was not
his sister's boys who were now uppermost in his mind.
He rose.
"You cannot expect me to give you a definite answer at once," he said,
almost absently.
"No; before you go, let me add this," said the other, regarding his
companion with a watchful look: "the Council are not only in urgent need
of liberal funds just now, but also, in several directions, of diligent
and exceptional service. The money contribution which they demand from
England I shall be able to meet somehow, no doubt; hitherto I have not
failed them. The claim for service shall not find us wanting, either, I
hope; and it has been represented to me that perhaps you ought to be
transferred to Philadelphia, where there is much to be done at the
present moment."
This suggestion effectually awoke Brand from his day-dream.
"Philadelphia!" he exclaimed.
"Yes," said the other, speaking very slowly, as if anxious that every
word should have weight. "My visit, short as it was, enabled me to see
how well one might employ one's whole lifetime there--with such results
as would astonish our good friends at head-quarters, I am sure of that.
True, the parting from one's country might be a little painful at first;
but that is not the greatest of the sacrifices that one should be
prepared to submit to. However," he added, rather more lightly, "this is
still to be decided on; meanwhile I hope, and I am sure you hope too,
Mr. Brand, that I shall be able to satisfy the Council that the English
section does not draw back when called on for its services."
"No doubt--no doubt," Brand said; but the pointed way in which his
companion had spoken did not escape him, and promised to afford him
still further food for reflection.
But if this was a threat, he would show no fear.
"Molyneux wishes to get back North as soon as possible," he said, in a
matter-of-fact way, just as if talking of commonplace affairs the whole
time. "I suppose his initiation could take place to-morrow night?"
"Certainly," said Mr. Lind, following his visitor to the door. "And you
must certainly allow me to thank you once more, my dear Mr. Brand, for
your service in securing to us such an ally. I should like to have
talked with you about your experiences in the North; but you agree with
me that the suggestion I have made demands your serious consideration
first--is it not so?"
Brand nodded.
"I will let you know to-morrow," said he. "Good-morning!"
"Good-morning!" said Mr. Lind, pleasantly; and then the door was shut.
He was attended down-stairs by the stout old German, who, on reaching
the front-door, drew forth a letter from his pocket and handed it to him
with much pretence of mystery. He was thinking of other things, to tell
the truth; and as he walked along he regarded the outside of the
envelope with but little curiosity. It was addressed, "_All' Egregio
Sigmore, Il Signor G. Brand._"
"No doubt a begging letter from some Leicester Square fellow," he
thought.
Presently, however, he opened the letter, and read the following
message, which was also in Italian:
"The beautiful caged little bird sighs and weeps, because she thinks she
is forgotten. A word of remembrance would be kind, if her friend is
discreet and secret. Above all, no open strife. This from one who
departs. Farewell!"