 Chapter 20. The Ordeal of Richard Feverell This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Rita Boutros. The Ordeal of Richard Feverell by George Meredith. Chapter 20. Celebrates the time-honored treatment of a dragon by the hero. Enchanted islands have not yet rooted out their old brood of dragons. Wherever there is romance, these monsters come by inimical attraction. Because the heavens are certainly propitious to true lovers, the beasts of the abysses are banded to destroy them, stimulated by innumerable sad victories. And every love-tail is an epic par of the upper and lower powers. I wish good fairies were a little more active. They seem to be cajoled into security by the happiness of their favorites, whereas the wicked are always alert and circumspect. They let the little ones shut their eyes too fancy they are not seen and then commence. These appointments and meetings involving a start from the dinner table at the hour of contemplative digestion and prime claret. The hour when the wise young youth, Adrian, delighted to talk at his ease to recline in dreamy consciousness that a work of good was going on inside him. These abstractions from his studies, excesses of gaiety and glumness, heavings of the chest and other odd signs. But mainly the disgusting behavior of his pupil at the dinner table taught Adrian to understand, though the young gentleman was clever in excuses, that he had somehow learnt there was another half to the divided apple of creation and had embarked upon the great voyage of discovery of the difference between the two halves. With his usual coolness Adrian debated whether he might be in the observatory or the practical stage of the voyage. For himself, as a man and a philosopher, Adrian had no objection to its being either and he had only to consider which was temporarily most threatening to the ridiculous system he had to support. Richard's absence annoyed him. The youth was vivacious and his enthusiasm good fun. And besides, when he left table Adrian had to sit alone with Hippias and the 18th century from both of whom he had extracted all the amusement that could be got. And he saw his digestion menaced by the society of two ruined stomachs who bored him just when he loved himself most. Poor Hippias was now so reduced that he had profoundly to calculate whether a particular dish or an extra glass of wine would have a bitter effect on him and be felt through the remainder of his years. He was in the habit of uttering his calculations half aloud wherein the prophetic doubts of experience and the succulent insinuations of appetite contended hotly. It was horrible to hear him, so let us pardon Adrian for tempting him to a decision in favour of the moment. Happy to take wine with you, Adrian would say, and Hippias would regard the decanter with a pained forehead and put up the doctor. Drink, nephew Hippie, and think of the doctor tomorrow the 18th century cheerily ruffles her cap at him and recommends her own practice. It's this literary work interjects Hippias handling his glass of remorse. I don't know what else it can be. You have no idea how anxious I feel. I have frightful dreams. I'm perpetually anxious. No wonder, says Adrian, who enjoys the childish simplicity to which an absorbed study of his sensational existence has brought poor Hippias. No wonder, ten years of fairy mythology, could anyone hope to sleep in peace after that? As to your digestion, no one has a digestion who is in the doctor's hands. They prescribe from dogmas and don't count on the system. They have cut you down from two bottles to two glasses. It's absurd. You can't sleep because your system is crying out for what it's accustomed to. Hippias sips his Madeira with a niggardly confidence, but assures Adrian that he really should not like to venture on a bottle now. It would be rank madness to venture on a bottle now, he thinks. Last night only, after partaking under protest of that rich French dish, or was at the duck, Adrian advised him to throw the blame on that vulgar bird. Say the duck, then. Last night he was no sooner stretched in bed, than he seemed to be of an enormous size in all his limbs. His nose, his mouth, his toes were elephantine. An elephant was a pygmy to him, and his hugeness seemed to increase the instant he shut his eyes. He turned on this side, he turned on that. He lay on his back. He tried putting his face to the pillow, and he continued to swell. He wondered the room could hold him. He thought he might burst it, and absolutely lit a candle, and went to the looking-glass to see whether he was bearable. By this time Adrian and Richard were laughing uncontrollably. He had, however, a genial auditor in the eighteenth century, who declared it to be a new disease, not known in her day, and deserving investigation. She was happy to compare sensations with him, but hers were not of the complex order, and a potion soon righted her. In fact, her system appeared to be a debatable ground for element and medicine, on which the battle was fought. And, when over, she was none the worse, as she joyfully told Hippias. Never looked ploughman on prince or village bell on court beauty, with half the envy poor nineteenth-century Hippias expended in his gaze on the eighteenth. He was too serious to note much the laughter of the young men. This tragedy of a cooking apparatus, as Adrian designated the malady of Hippias, was repeated regularly every evening. It was natural for any youth to escape as quick as he could from such a table of stomachs. Adrian bore with his conduct considerably, until a letter from the baronet describing the house and maternal system of a Mrs. Caroline Grandison, and the rough grain of hopefulness in her youngest daughter, spurred him to think of his duties and see what was going on. He gave Richard half an hour's start, and then put on his hat to follow his own keen scent, leaving Hippias and the eighteenth-century to Piquet. In the lane near Belthorpe, he met a maid of the farm not unknown to him, one Molly Davenport by name, a buxom lass, who, on seeing him, invoked her good gracious, the generic maid's familiar, and was instructed by reminiscences, vivid, if ancient, to giggle. Are you looking for your young gentleman? Molly presently asked. Adrian glanced about the lane, like a cool brigand, to see if the coast was clear, and replied to her, I am, Miss. I want you to tell me about him. Dear, said the buxom lass, was you coming for me tonight, to know? Adrian rebuked her for her bad grammar, apparently. Because I can't stop out long tonight, Molly explained, taking the rebuke to refer altogether to her bad grammar. You may go in when you please, Miss. Is that anyone coming? Come here in the shade. Now, get along, said Miss. Molly. Adrian spoke with resolution. Listen to me, Molly Davenport. He put a coin in her hand, which had a medical effect in calming her to attention. I want to know whether you have seen him at all. Who, your young gentleman? I should think I did. I seen him tonight only. Ain't he grooved handsome? He always about Belthorpe now. It ain't to fire no more ricks. He's a fire and self. Ain't you seen him together? He's after the Mrs. Adrian requested Miss Davenport to be respectful and confine herself to particulars. This buxom lass then told him that her young Mrs. and Adrian's young gentlemen were a pretty couple, and met one another every night. The girls swore for their innocence. As for Miss Lucy, she haven't a bit of art in her, nor have he. They're all nature, I suppose, said Adrian. How is it? I don't see her at church. She's Catholic or something, said Molly. Her father was, and a lieutenant. Shave a cross in her bedroom. She don't go to church. I see you there last Sunday. I look and sew a solemn. And Molly stroked her hand down her chin to give it length. Adrian insisted on her keeping two facts. It was dark, and in the dark he was indifferent to the striking contrast suggested by the lass, but he wanted to hear facts, and he again bribed her to impart nothing but facts, upon which she told him further that her young lady was an innocent, artless creature who had been to school upwards of three years with the nuns and had a little money of her own, and was beautiful enough to be a Lord's lady, and had been in love with Master Richard ever since she was a little girl. Molly had got from a friend of hers up at the Abbey, Mary Garner, the housemaid who cleaned Master Richard's room a bit of paper once with the young gentleman's handwriting, and had given it to her Miss Lucy, and Miss Lucy had given her a gold sovereign for it, just for his handwriting. Miss Lucy did not seem happy at the farm because of that young tom who was always leering at her, and, to be sure, she was quite a lady and could play and sing and dress with the best. She looks like angels in her nightgown, Molly wound up. The next moment she ran up close and speaking for the first time as if there were a distinction of position between them petitioned, Mr. Harley, you won't go for doing any harm to him because of what I said, will you now? Do say you won't now, Mr. Harley. She is good, though she's a Catholic. She was kind to me when I was ill, and I wouldn't have her crossed. I'd rather be showed up myself, I would. The wise youth gave no positive promise to Molly, and she had to read his consent in a relaxation of his austerity. The noise of a lumbering foot plotting down the lane caused her to be abruptly dismissed. Molly took to flight, the lumbering foot accelerated its pace, and the pastoral appeal to her flying skirts was heard. Molly, you there! It be I, Bentham! But the sprightly Sylvia would not stop to his wooing, and Adrian turned away laughing at these Arcadians. Adrian was a lazy dragon. All he did for the present was to hint and tease. It's the inevitable, he said, and asked himself why he should seek to arrest it. He had no faith in the system. Heavy Benson had. Benson, of the slow, thick-lidded, antediluvian eye and loose-crumpled skin. Benson, the soren, the woman-hater. Benson was wide awake. A sort of rivalry existed between the wise youth and heavy Benson. The fidelity of the ladder-dependent had moved the baronet to commit to him a portion of the management of the random estate, and this Adrian did not like. No one who aspires to the honorable office of leading another by the nose can tolerate a party in his ambition. Benson's surly instinct told him he was in the wise youth's way, and he resolved to give his master a striking proof of his superior faithfulness. For some weeks the sorry-an-eye had been on the two secret creatures. Heavy Benson saw letters come and go in the day, and now the young gentleman was off and out every night and seemed to be on wings. Benson knew whether he went and the object he went for. It was a woman, that was enough. The sorry-an-eye had actually seen the sinful thing lure the hope of random into the shades. He composed several epistles of warning to the baronet of the work that was going on, but before sending one he wished to record a little of their guilty conversation. And for this purpose the faithful fellow trotted over the do's to Eve's drop, and thereby aroused the good fairy in the person of Tom Bakewell, the sole confidant of Richard's state. Tom said to his young master, Do you know what, sir? You'll be watched. Richard, in a fury, bade him name the wretch, and Tom hung his arms and aped the respectable protrusion of the butler's head. It's he is it, cried Richard. He shall ruid Tom. If I find him near me when we're together, he shall never forget it. Don't hit too hard, sir, Tom suggested. You hit mortal hard when you're an earnest, you know. Richard averred. He would forgive anything but that, and told Tom to be within hail tomorrow night. He knew where. By the hour of the appointment it was out of the lover's mind. Lady Blandish dined that evening at Rainham. By Adrian's pointed invitation. According to custom Richard started up and off with few excuses. The lady exhibited no surprise. She and Adrian likewise strolled forth to enjoy the air of the summer night. They had no intention of spying. Still they may have thought, by meeting Richard and his Inna Morata, there was a chance of laying a foundation of ridicule to sap the passion. They may have thought so. They were on no spoken understanding. I have seen the little girl, said Lady Blandish. She is pretty. She would be telling if she were well set up. She speaks well. How absurd it is of that class to educate their women above their station. The child is really too good for a farmer. I noticed her before I knew of this. She has enviable hair. I suppose she doesn't paint her eyelids. Just the sort of person to take a young man. I thought there was something wrong. I received, the day before yesterday, an impassioned poem evidently not intended for me. My hair was gold. My meeting him was foretold. My eyes were homes of light, fringed with night. I sent it back, correcting the colors. Which was death to the rhymes, said Adrian. I saw her this morning. The boy hasn't bad taste. As you say, she is too good for a farmer. Such a spark would explode any system. She slightly affected mine. The Huron is stark mad about her. But we must positively write and tell his father, said Lady Blandish. The wise youth did not see why they should exaggerate a trifle. The lady said she would have an interview with Richard and then write as it was her duty to do. Adrian shrugged and was foregoing into the scientific explanation of Richard's conduct in which the lady had to discourage him. Poor boy, she sighed. I am really sorry for him. I hope he will not feel it too strongly. They feel strongly, father and son. And select wisely, Adrian added. That's another thing, said Lady Blandish. Their talk was then of the dullness of neighboring country people, about whom it seemed there was little or no scandal of float. Of the ladies' loss of the season in town, which she professed not to regret. Though she complained of her general weariness, of whether Mr. Morton of poor Hall would propose to Mrs. Doria and of the probable despair of the hapless curate of Lobern and other gossip partly in French. They rounded the lake and got upon the road through the park to Lobern. The moon had risen. The atmosphere was warm and pleasant. Quite a lover's night, said Lady Blandish. And I, who have none to love, pity me. The wise youth attempted a sigh. And never will have, said Lady Blandish, curtly, you buy your loves. Adrian protested. However, he did not plead verbally against the impeachment, though the lady's decisive insight astonished him. He began to respect her, relishing her exquisite contempt. And he reflected that widows could be terrible creatures. He had hoped to be a little sentimental with Lady Blandish, knowing her romantic. This mixture of the harshest common sense and an air of, I know you men, with romance and refined temperament subdued the wise youth more than a positive accusation supported by witnesses would have done. He looked at the lady. Her face was raised to the moon. She knew nothing. She had simply spoken from the fullness of her human knowledge and had forgotten her words. Perhaps after all, her admiration or whatever feeling it was for the baronet was sincere and really the longing for a virtuous man. Perhaps she had tried the opposite set pretty much. Adrian shrugged. Whenever the wise youth encountered a mental difficulty, he instinctively lifted his shoulders to equal altitudes to show that he had no doubt there was a balance in the case, plenty to be said on both sides, which was the same to him as a definite solution. At their tryst in the wood, a budding on Rainham Park wrapped in themselves piped to by tireless love Richard and Lucy sat toying with eternal moments. How they seem as if they would never end. What mere sparks they are when they have died out and how in the distance of time they revive and extend and glow and make us think them full the half and the best of the fire of our lives. With the onward flow of intimacy the two happy lovers cease to be so shy of common themes and their speech did not reject all as dross that was not pure gold of emotion. Lucy was very inquisitive about everything and everybody at Rainham. Whoever had been about Richard since his birth she must know the history of and he for a kiss will do her bidding. Thus goes the tender duet. You should know my cousin Austin Lucy, darling, beloved. My own Richard. You should know my cousin Austin, you shall know him. He would take to you best of them all and you to him. He is in the tropics now, looking out a place, it's a secret, for a poor English working man to emigrate to and found a colony in that part of the world, my white angel. He is such a noble fellow. Nobody here understands him but me. Isn't it strange? Since I met you I love him better. That's because I love all that's good and noble better now. Beautiful, I love, I love you. What do you think I've determined, Lucy? If my father, but no, my father does love me. No, he will not, and we will be happy together here and I will win my way with you. And whatever I win will be yours, for it will be owing to you. I feel as if I had no strength but yours, none, and you make me, oh Lucy. His voice ebbs. Presently Lucy murmurs. Your father, Richard. Yes, my father. Dearest Richard, I feel so afraid of him. He loves me and will love you, Lucy. But I am so poor and humble, Richard. No one I have ever seen is like you, Lucy. You think so because you—what? Love me, comes the blushing whisper, and the duet gives place to dumb variations performed equally in concert. It is resumed. You are fond of the nights, Lucy. Austin is as brave as any of them. My own bride. Oh, how I adore you. When you are gone, I could fall upon the grass you tread upon and kiss it. My breast feels empty of my heart, Lucy. If we lived in those days, I should have been a night and have one honor and glory for you. Oh, one can do nothing now. My lady love, my lady love. A tear, Lucy. Dearest, our Richard, I am not a lady. Who dares say that? Not a lady, the angel I love. Think, Richard, who I am. My beautiful. I think that God made you and has given you to me. Her eyes fill with tears, and as she lifts them heavenward to thank her God, the light of heaven strikes on them, and she is so radiant in her pure beauty that the limbs of the young man tremble. Lucy. Oh, heavenly spirit, Lucy. Tenderly her lips part, I do not weep for sorrow. The big bright drops lighten and roll down, imaged in his soul. They lean together, shadows of ineffable tenderness playing on their thrilled cheeks and brows. He lifts her hand and presses his mouth to it. She has seen little of mankind, but her soul tells her this one is different from others. And at the thought, in her great joy, tears must come fast, or her heart will break, tears of boundless thanksgiving. And he, gazing on those soft ray-illumint dark-edged eyes, and the grace of those loose-falling tresses, feels a scarce-sufferable holy fire streaming through his members. It is long ere they speak in open tones. Oh, happy day when we met. What says the voice of one, the soul of the other echoes. Oh, glorious heaven looking down on us. Their souls are joined, are made one forevermore beneath that bending benediction. Oh, eternity of bliss. Then the diviner mood passes, and they drop to earth. Lucy, come with me tonight, and look at the place where you are some day to live. Come, and I will row you on the lake. You remember what you said in your letter that you dreamt that we were floating over the shadow of the abbey to the nuns at work by torchlight, felling the cypress, and they handed us each a sprig. Why, darling, it was the best omen in the world their felling of the old trees. And you write such lovely letters, so pure and sweet they are. I love the nuns for having taught you. Ah, Richard, see we forget. Ah, she lifts up her face pleadingly as to plead against herself. Even if your father forgives my birth, he will not my religion. And, dearest, though I would die for you, I cannot change it. It would seem that I was denying God. And, oh, it would make me ashamed of my love. Fear nothing, he winds her about with his arm. Come, he will love us both, and love you the more for being faithful to your father's creed. You don't know him, Lucy. He seems harsh and stern. He is full of kindness and love. He isn't at all a bigot. And, besides, when he hears what the nuns have done for you, won't he thank them as I do? And, oh, I must speak to him soon, and you must be prepared to see him soon, for I cannot bear your remaining at Belforp like a jewel in a sty. Mind, I'm not saying a word against your uncle. I declare I love everybody and everything that sees you and touches you. Stay. It is a wonder how you could have grown there. But you were not born there, and your father had good blood. Despro. Here was a Colonel Despro. Never mind. Come. She dreads to. She begs not to. She is drawn away. The woods are silent, and then, What think you of that for a pretty pastoral, says a very different voice? Adrian reclined against a pine overlooking the fern covert. Lady Blandish was recumbent upon the brown pine droppings, gazing through a vista of the lower greenwood, which opened out upon the moonlighted valley, her hands clasped round one knee, her features almost stern in their set-hard expression. They had heard a voluntary overhearing about as much as maybe heard in such positions a luminous word or two. The lady did not answer. A movement among the ferns attracted Adrian, and he stepped down the decline across the pine-roots to behold heavy Benson below, shaking fern seed and spidery substances off his crumpled skin. Is that you, Mr. Adrian? called Benson, starting as he puffed and exercised his handkerchief. Is it you, Benson, who have had the audacity to spy upon these mysteries, Adrian called back, and, coming close to him, added, you look as if you had just been well-thrashed. Isn't it dreadful, sir, snuffled Benson, and his father in ignorance, Mr. Adrian? He shall know, Benson, he shall know how you have endangered your valuable skin in his service. If Mr. Richard had found you there just now, I wouldn't answer for the consequences. Ha! Benson spitefully retorted, this won't go on, Mr. Adrian, it shan't, sir, it will be put astop to tomorrow, sir. I call it corruption of a young gentleman like him and harlotry, sir, I call it. I'd have every jade-flug that made a young innocent gentleman go on like that, sir. Then why didn't you stop it yourself, Benson? Ah, I see. You waited, what? This is not the first time you have been attendant on Apollo and Miss Dryope. You have written to headquarters. I did my duty, Mr. Adrian. The wise youth returned to Lady Blandish and informed her of Benson's zeal. The lady's eyes flashed. I hope Richard will treat him as he deserves, she said. Shall we home, Adrian inquired. Do me a favour, the lady replied. Get my carriage sent round to meet me at the park gates. Won't you? I want to be alone. Adrian bowed and left her. She was still sitting with her hands clasped round one knee, gazing towards the dim, ray-strewn valley. An odd creature muttered the wise youth. She's as odd as any of them. She ought to be a feverell. I suppose she's graduating for it. Hang that confounded old ass of a Benson. He has had the impudence to steal a march on me. The shadow of the cypress was lessening on the lake. The moon was climbing high. As Richard rode the boat, Lucy sang to him softly. She sang first a fresh little French song, reminding him of a day when she had been asked to sing to him before, and he did not care to hear. Did I live, he thinks? Then she sang to him a bit of one of those majestic old Gregorian chants that, wherever you may hear them, seem to build up cathedral walls about you. The young man dropped the skulls. The strange solemn notes gave a religious tone to his love and wafted him into the nightly ages and the reverential heart of chivalry. Hanging between two heavens on the lake, floating to her voice, the moon stepping over and through white shoals of soft high clouds above and below, floating to her void, no other breath abroad. His soul went out of his body as he listened. They must part. He rose her gently sureward. I never was so happy as to night she murmurs. Look, my Lucy, the lights of the old place are on the lake. Look where you are to live. Which is your room, Richard? He points it out to her. Oh, Richard, that I were one of the women who wait on you. I should ask nothing more. How happy she must be. My darling angel love, you shall be happy, but all shall wait on you and I for most Lucy. Dearest, may I hope for a letter by eleven tomorrow and I? Oh, you will have mine, Richard. Tom shall wait for it, a long one mind. Did you like my last song? She pats her hand quietly against her bosom and he knows where it rests. Oh, love, oh, heaven! They are aroused by the harsh grating of the bow, of the boat, against the shingle. He jumps out and lifts her ashore. See, she says, as the blush of his embrace subsides. See, and prettily, she mimics awe and feels it a little. The cypress does point towards us. Oh, Richard, it does. And he, looking at her rather than at the cypress, delighting in her arch-grave ways. Why, there's hardly any shadow at all, Lucy. She mustn't dream, my darling, or dream only of me. Dearest, but I do. Tomorrow, Lucy, the letter in the morning and you at night. Oh, happy tomorrow. You will be sure to be there, Richard. If I am not dead, Lucy. Oh, Richard, pray. Pray do not speak of that. I shall not survive you. Let us pray, Lucy, to die together when we are to die. Death or life with you. Who is it, Yonder? I see someone. Is it Tom? It's Adrian. Is it Mr. Harley? The fair girl shivered. How dares he come here? cried Richard. The figure of Adrian, instead of advancing discreetly, circled the lake. They were stealing away when he called. His call was repeated. Lucy entreated Richard to go to him, but the young man preferred to summon his attendant Tom from within Hale, and sent him to know what was wanted. Will he have seen me? Will he have known me? whispered Lucy tremulously. And if he does, love, said Richard. Oh, if he does, dearest, I don't know, but I feel such a pre-sentiment. You have not spoken of him tonight, Richard. Is he good? Good? Richard clutched her hand for the innocent maiden phrase. He's very fond of eating. That's all I know of Adrian. Her hand was at his lips when Tom returned. Well, Tom? Mr. Adrian wishes particularly to speak to your sir, said Tom. Do go to him, dearest. Do go, Lucy begs him. Oh, how I hate Adrian, the young man grinds his teeth. Do go, Lucy urges him. Tom, good Tom, will see me home. Tomorrow, dear love, tomorrow. You wish to part from me? Oh, unkind. But you must not come with me now. It may be news of importance, dearest. Think, Richard. Tom, go back. At the imperious command the well-drilled Tom strides off a dozen paces and sees nothing. Then the precious charge is confided to him. A heart is cut in twain. Richard made his way to Adrian. What is it you want with me, Adrian? Are we seconds or principles? Oh, fiery one! was Adrian's answer. I want nothing with you, except to know whether you have seen Benson. Where should I see Benson? What do I know of Benson's doings? Of course not, such a secret old fist as he is. I want someone to tell him to order Lady Blandish's carriage to be sent round to the park gates. I thought he might be round your way over there. I came upon him accidentally just now in Abbeywood. What's the matter, boy? You saw him there? Hunting Diana, I suppose. He thinks she's not so chased as they say, continued Adrian. Are you going to knock down that tree? Richard had turned to the Cyprus and was tugging at the tough wood. He left it and went to an ash. You'll spoil that weeper, Adrian cried. Down she comes. But good night, Ricky, if you see Benson, mind you tell him. Doomed Benson, following his burly shadow, hove in sight the white road while Adrian spoke. The wise youth chuckled and strolled round the lake, glancing over his shoulder every now and then. It was not long before he heard a bellow for help, the roar of a dragon in his throes. Adrian placidly sat down on the grass and fixed his eyes on the water. There, as the roar was being repeated amid horrid, resounding echoes, the wise youth mused in this wise. The fates are Jews with us when they delay a punishment, says the pilgrim's script or words to that effect. The heavens evidently love Benson, seeing that he gets his punishment on the spot. Master Ricky is a peppery young man. He gets it from the apt gruffa I rather believe in race. What a noise that old Ruffian makes. He'll require poulticing with the pilgrim's script. We shall have a message tomorrow and a hubbub and perhaps all go to town which won't be bad for one who's been a prey to all the desires born of dullness. Benson howls. There's life in the old dog yet. He bays the moon. Look at her. She doesn't care. It's the same to her whether we coo like turtledoves or roar like 20 lions. How complacent she looks. And yet she has dust and sympathy for Benson as for Cupid. She would smile on if both were being birched. Was that a raven or Benson? He howls no more. It sounds guttural, frog-like. Something between the brek-ke-kek and the horse raven's croak. The fellow will be killing him. It's time to go to the rescue. A deliverer gets more honor by coming in at the last gasp than if he forstalled catastrophe. Oh, there. What's the matter? So saying, the wise youth rose and leisurely trotted to the scene of battle where stood St. George puffing over the prostrate dragon. Hello, Ricky. Is it you? said Adrian. What's this? Whom have we here? Benson, as I live, make this beast get up, Richard returned breathing hard and shaking his great ash branch. He seemed to be capable, my dear boy. What have you been up to? Benson, Benson, I say, Ricky, this looks bad. He's shamming, Richard clamored like a savage. Spy upon me, will he? I tell you, he's shamming. He hasn't had half enough. Nothing's too bad for a spy. Let him get up. Insatiate youth do throw away that enormous weapon. He has written to my father Richard shouted, the miserable spy, let him get up. Oh, I won't. Huskily groaned, Benson. Mr. Hadrian, you're a witness. He's my back. Cavernous noises took up the tale of his maltreatment. I dare say you love your back better than any part of your body now, Adrian muttered. Come, Benson, be a man. Richard has thrown away the stick. Come, and get off home, and let's see the extent of the damage. Oh, he's a devil, Mr. Hadrian. Sir, he's a devil! groaned Benson, turning half over in the road to ease his aches. Adrian caught hold of Benson's collar and lifted him to a sitting posture. He then had a glimpse of what his hopeful pupil's hand could do in wrath. His throat was slit and welted. His hat knocked in, his flabby spirit so broken that he started and trembled if his pitiless executioner stirred afoot. Richard stood over him grasping his great stick, no dawn of mercy for Benson in any corner of his features. Benson screwed his neck round to look up at him and immediately gasped, I won't get up, I won't. Give me again, Mr. Hadrian. If you stand by and see it, you're liable to the law, sir. I won't get up while he's near. No persuasion could induce Benson to try his legs while his executioner stood by. Adrian took Richard aside. You've almost killed the poor devil, Ricky. You must be satisfied with that. Look at his face. The coward bobbed while I struck, said Richard, I marked his back. He ducked. I told him he was getting it worse. At so civilized piece of savagery, Adrian opened his mouth wide. Did you really? I admire that. You told him he was getting it worse? Adrian opened his mouth again to shake another roll of laughter out. Come, he said, Excalibur has done his word, pitch him into the lake and see, here comes the blandish. You can't be added again before a woman. Go and meet her and tell her the noise was an ox being slaughtered or say Argus. With a whir that made all Benson's bruises moan and quiver, the great ash branch shot aloft and Richard swung off to intercept Lady Blandish. Adrian got Benson on his feet. The heavy butler was disposed to summon all the commiseration he could feel bruised flesh. Every half-step he attempted was like a dislocation. His groans and grunts were frightful. How much did that had cost Benson, said Adrian as he put it on his head. A five-and-twenty shilling beaver, Mr. Adrian, Benson caressed its injuries. The cheapest policy of insurance I remember to have heard of, said Adrian. Benson staggered, moaning at intervals to his cruel comforter. He's a devil, Mr. Adrian. He's a devil, sir. I do believe, sir. Oh, he's a devil. I can't move, Mr. Adrian. I must be fetched. And Dr. Clifford must be sent for, sir. I shall never be fit for work again. I haven't a sound bone in my body, Mr. Adrian. You see, Benson, this comes of you declaring war upon Venus. I hope the maids will nurse you properly. Let me see. You are friends with the housekeeper, aren't you? Oh, depends upon that. I'm only a faithful servant, Mr. Adrian, the miserable butler snarled. Then you've got no friend but your bed. Get to it as quick as possible, Benson. I can't move, Benson made a resolute halt. I must be fetched, he winnied. It's a shame to ask me to move, Mr. Adrian. But you are heavy, Benson, said Adrian. So I can't carry you. However, I see Mr. Richard is very kindly returning to help me. At these words, heavy Benson instantly found his legs and shambled on. Lady Blandish met Richard in dismay. I have been horribly frightened, she said. Tell me, what was the meaning of those cries I heard? Only someone doing justice on a spy, said Richard. And the lady smiled and looked on him fondly and put her hand through his hair. Was that all? I should have done it myself if I had been a man. Kiss me. End of Chapter 20 Chapter 21 The Ordeal of Richard Feverell This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Rita Butros The Ordeal of Richard Feverell by George Meredith Chapter 21 Richard is summoned to town to hear a sermon. By twelve o'clock at noon next day the inhabitants of Rainham Abbey knew that Barry, the Baronet's man had arrived post-haste from town with orders to conduct Mr. Richard thither and that Mr. Richard had refused to go, had sworn he would not defied his father and dispatched Barry to the shades. Barry was all that Benson was not whereas Benson hated woman Barry admired her warmly. Second to his own stately person woman occupied his reflections and commanded his homage. Barry was of majestic port and used dictionary words. Among the maids of Rainham his conscious calves produced all the discord and the frenzy those adornments seemed destined to create in tender bosoms. He had moreover the reputation of having suffered for the sex which assisted his object in inducing the sex to suffer for him. With his calves and his dictionary words and the attractive halo of the mysterious vindictiveness of Venus surrounding him this adonis of the lower household was a mighty man below and he moved as one. On hearing the tumult that followed Barry's arrival Adrian sent for him and was informed of the nature of his mission and its result. Barry first said Adrian I should have imagined you were shrewd enough for that Barry. Pardon me Mr. Adrian Barry doubled his elbow to explain. Pardon me sir acting recipient of special injunctions I was not a free agent. Go to Mr. Richard again Barry there will be a little confusion if he holds back perhaps you had better throw out a hint or so of apoplexy a slight hint will do and here Barry when you return to town you had better not mention anything to quote Johnson of Benson's spiflication certainly not sir the wise youth's hint had the desired effect on Richard he dashed off a hasty letter by Tom to Belfour and mounting his horse galloped to the Bellingham station Sir Austin was sitting down to a quiet early dinner at his hotel when the hope of Rainham burst into his room the baronet was not angry with his son on the contrary for he was singularly just and self accusing while pride was not up in arms he had been thinking all day after the receipt of Benson's letter that he was deficient in cordiality and did not mention of his excessive anxiety make himself sufficiently his son's companion was not enough as he strove to be mother and father to him preceptor and friend provisor and associate he had not to ask his conscience where he had lately been to blame towards the system he had slunk away from Rainham in the very crisis of his early age and this young woman of the parish as Benson had termed sweet Lucy in his letter was the consequence yes pride and sensitiveness were his chief foes and he would trample on them to begin he embraced his son hard upon an Englishman at any time doubly so to one so shame faced at emotion were it gave him a strange pleasure nevertheless and the youth seemed to answer to it he was excited was his love then beginning to correspond with his fathers as in those intimate days before the blossoming season but when Richard inarticulate at first in his haste cried out my dear, dear father you are safe I feared you are better sir sir Austin stood away from him safe he said what has alarmed you instead of replying Richard dropped into a chair and seized his hand and kissed it sir Austin took a seat and waited for his son to explain those doctors are such fools Richard broke out I was sure they were wrong they don't know headache from apoplexy it's worth the ride sir to see you you left Raynham so suddenly but you are well it was not an attack of real apoplexy his father's brows contorted and he said no it was not Richard pursued if you were ill I couldn't come too soon though if coroner's inquests sat on horses those doctors would be found guilty of mere slaughter Cassandra'll be knocked up I was too early for the train at Bellingham and I couldn't wait she did the distance in four hours and three quarters pretty good sir wasn't it it has given you appetite for dinner I hope said the baronet not so well pleased to find that it was not simple obedience that had brought the youth to him in such haste I'm ready replied Richard I shall be in time to return by the last train tonight Cassandra in your charge for arrest his father quietly helped him to soup which he commenced gobbling with an eagerness that might pass for appetite all well at Raynham said the baronet quite sir nothing new nothing sir the same as when I left no change whatever I shall be glad to get back to the old place said the baronet the town has certainly been profitable I have made some pleasant acquaintances who may probably favour us with a visit there in the late autumn people you may be pleased to know they are very anxious to see Raynham I love the old place cried Richard I never wish to leave it why boy before I left you were constantly begging to see town was I sir how odd well I don't want to remain here I've seen enough of it how did you find your way to me Richard laughed and related his bewilderment at the miles of brick and the noise and the troops of people concluding there is no place like home the baronet watched his symptomatic brilliant eyes and favoured him with a double dealing sentence to anchor the heart by any object ere we have half traversed the world is youth's foolishness my son reverence time a better maxim than that your Horatian he knows all thought Richard and instantly drew away leagues from his father and threw up fortifications around his love and himself dinner over Richard looked hurriedly at his watch and said with much briskness I shall be in time sir if we walk will you come with me to the station the baronet did not answer Richard was going to repeat the question but found his father's eyes fixed on him so meaningly that he wavered and played with his empty glass I think we will have a little more Claret said the baronet Claret was brought and they were left alone the baronet then drew within arms reach of his son and began I am not aware what you may have thought of me Richard during the years we have lived together and indeed I have never been in a hurry to be known to you and if I had died before my work was done I should not have complained at losing half my reward in hearing you thank me perhaps as it is I never may everything saves selfishness has its recompense I shall be content if you prosper he fetched a breath and continued you had in your infancy a great loss father and son colored simultaneously to make that good to you I chose to isolate myself from the world and devote myself entirely to your welfare and I think it is not vanity that tells me now that the son I have reared is hopeful of God's creatures but for that very reason you are open to be tempted the most and to sink the deepest it was the first of the angels who made the road to hell he paused again Richard fingered at his watch in our house my son there is peculiar blood we go to wreck very easily it sounds like superstition I cannot but think that we are tried as most men are not I see it in us all and you my son are compounded of two races your passions are violent you have had a taste of revenge you have seen in a small way that the pound of flesh draws rivers of blood but there is now in you another power you are mounting to the table land of life where mimic battles are changed to real ones and you come upon it laden equally with force to create and to destroy he deliberated to announce the intelligence with deep meaning there are women in the world my son the young man's heart galloped back to Rainham it is when you encounter them that you are thoroughly on trial it is when you know them that life is either a mockery to you or as some find it a gift of blessedness they are our ordeal love of any human object is the soul's ordeal and they are ours loving them or not the young man heard the whistle of the train he saw the moonlighted wood and the vision of his beloved he could barely hold himself down and listen I believe the baronet spoke with little of the cheerfulness of belief good women exist oh if he knew Lucy but and he gazed on Richard intently it is given to very few to meet them on the threshold I may say to none we find them after hard buffeting and usually when we find the one fitted for us our madness has misshaped our destiny our lot is cast for women are not the end but the means of life in youth we think them the former and thousands who have not even the excuse of youth select a mate or worse with that soul view I believe women punish us for so perverting their uses they punish society the baronet put his hand to his brow as his mind traveled into consequences our most diligent pupil learns not so much as an earnest teacher says the pilgrim's script and Sir Austin in schooling himself to speak with moderation of women was beginning to get a glimpse of their side of the case cold blood now touched on love to hot blood cold blood said it is a passion coming in the order of nature the ripe fruit of our animal being hot blood felt it is a divinity all that is worth living for in the world cold blood said it is a fever which tests our strength and too often leads to perdition hot blood felt lead wither it will I follow it cold blood said it is a name men and women are much in the habit of employing to sanctify their appetites hot blood felt it is worship religion life and so the two parallel lines ran on the baronet became more personal you know my love for you my son the extent of it you cannot know but you must know that it is something very deep and I do not wish to speak of it but a father must sometimes petition for gratitude since the only true expression of it is his son's moral good if you care for my love or love me in return aid me with all your energies to keep you what I have made you and guard you from the snares besetting you it was in my hands once it is ceasing to be so remember my son what my love is it is different I fear with most fathers when I am bound up in your welfare what you do affects me vitally you will take no step that is not intimate with my happiness or my misery and I have had great disappointments my son so far it was well Richard loved his father and even in his frenzied state he could not without emotion hear him thus speak unhappily a baronet who by some fatality never could see when he was winning the battle thought proper in his wisdom to water the dryness of his sermon with a little jocoseness on the subject of young men fancying themselves in love and when they were raw and green absolutely wanting to be that most awful thing which the wisest and strongest of men undertake in hesitation after self-mortification and penance married he sketched the foolish young fellow the object of general ridicule and covert contempt he sketched the woman the strange thing made in our image and with all our faculties passing to the rule of one who in taking her proved that he could not rule himself and had no knowledge of her save as a choice morsel which he would burn the whole world and himself in the bargain to possess he harped upon the foolish young fellow till the foolish young fellow felt his skin tingle and was half suffocated with shame and rage after this the baronet might be as wise as he pleased he had quite undone his work he might analyze love and atomize woman he might accord to her her due position and paint her fair he might be shrewd jocos, gentle pathetic, wonderfully wise he spoke to deaf ears closing his sermon with the question softly uttered have you anything to tell me Richard and hoping for a confession and a thorough re-establishment of confidence Richard struck him cold I have not the baronet relapsed in his chair and made diagrams of his fingers Richard turned his back on further dialogue by going to the window in the section of sky over the street twinkled two or three stars shining faintly feeling the moon the moon was rising the woods were lifting up to her the woods would be there a bed of moss set about flowers in a basket under him breathed to his nostril of the woodland keenly and filled him with delirious longing a succession of hard sighs brought his father's hand on his shoulder you have nothing you could say to me my son tell me Richard remember there is no home for the soul where dwells a shadow of untruth nothing at all sir the young man replied meeting him with the full orbs of his eyes the baronet withdrew his hand and paced the room at last it grew impossible for Richard to control his impatience and he said do you intend me to stay here sir am I not to return to Rainham at all tonight his father was again falsely jocular what and catch the train after giving it ten minutes start Cassandra will take me said the young man earnestly I needn't ride her hard sir or perhaps you would lend me your winkle reed I should be down with him a little better than three hours even then you know the park gates would be locked well I could stable him in the village Dowling knows the horse and would treat him properly may I have him sir the cloud cleared off Richard's face as he asked at least if he missed his love that night he would be near her breathing the same air marking what star was above her bed chamber hearing the hushed night talk of the trees about her dwelling looking at the distances that were like hope half fulfilled and a bodily presence bright as Hesper since he knew her two swallows under the eaves shadowing Lucy's chamber windows two swallows mates in one nest blissful birds who twittered and cheap cheap to the soul lying beauty in her bed around these birds the lovers heart revolved he knew not why he associated them with all his close veiled dreams of happiness seldom a morning passed when he did not watch them leave a nest on their breakfast flight busy in the happy stillness of dawn it seemed to him now that if he could be at Rainham to see them in tomorrow's dawn he would be compensated for his incalculable loss of tonight he would forgive and love his father London the life the world just to see those purple backs and white breasts flash out into the quiet morning air he wanted no more the Baronet's trifling had placed this enormous boon within the young man's visionary grasp he still went on trying the boy's temper you know there would be nobody ready for you at Rainham it is unfair to disturb the maids Richard overrode every objection well then my son said the Baronet preserving his half killer air I must tell you that it is my wish to have you in town then you have not been ill at all sir cried Richard as in his despair he seized the whole plot I have been as well as you could have desired me to be said his father why did they lie to me the young man wrathfully exclaimed I think Richard you can best answer that rejoined Sir Austin very severely severe dread of being signalized as the foolish young fellow prevented Richard from expotulating further Sir Austin saw him grinding his passion into powder for future explosion and thought it best to leave him for a while End of Chapter 21 Chapter 22 The Ordeal of Richard Feverell This is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Rita Butros The Ordeal of Richard Feverell by George Meredith Chapter 22 Indicates the Approaches of Fever For three weeks Richard had to remain in town and endure the teachings of the system in a new atmosphere he had to sit and listen to men of science who came to renew their intimacy with his father and whom of all men his father wished him to respect and study Practically scientific men being in the baronet's estimation the only minds thoroughly mated and enviable he had to endure an introduction to the grandisons and meet the eyes of his kind haunted as he was by the foolish young fellow the idea that he might by any chance be identified with him held the poor youth in silent subjection and it was horrible for it was a continued outrage on the fair image he had in his heart the notion of the world laughing at him because he loved sweet Lucy stung him to momentary frenzies and developed premature philanthropy in his spirit also the system desired to show him wither young women of the parish lead us and he was dragged about at night time to see the sons and daughters of darkness after the fashion prescribed to Mr. Thompson how they danced and ogled down the high road to perdition but from this site possibly the teacher learned more than his pupil since we find him seriously asking his meditative hours in the notebook wherefore wild oats are only of one gender a question certainly not suggested to him at Rainham and again whether men might not be attaching to region and importance to a subject with a dotted tail apparently for he gives it no other in the notebook but as I apprehend he had come to plead in behalf of women here to deduce something from positive observation to Richard the scenes he witnessed were strange wild pictures likely if anything to have increased his missanthropy but for his love certain sweet little notes from Lucy sustained the lover during the first two weeks of exile they seized and now Richard fell into such despondency that his father in alarm had to take measures to hasten their return to Rainham at the close of the third week Barry laid a pair of letters bearing the Rainham postmark on the breakfast table and after reading one attentively the Baronette asked his son if he was inclined to quit the metropolis for Rainham Air cried Richard and relapsed saying as you will aware that he had given a glimpse of his young fellow Barry accordingly received orders to make arrangements for their instant return to Rainham the letter Sir Austin lifted his head from to bespeak his son's wishes was a composition of the wise youth Adrians and ran thus Benson is doggedly recovering he requires great indemnities happy when a faithful fool is the main sufferer in a household I agree with you that our faithful fool is the best servant of great schemes Benson is now a piece of history I tell him that this is indemnity enough and that the sweet muse usually insists upon gentlemen being half flayed before she will condescend to notice them but Benson, I regret to say rejects the comfort so fine a reflection should offer and had rather keep his skin opaque heroism seems partly a matter of training faithful folly is Benson's nature the rest has been thrust upon the young person has resigned the neighborhood I had an interview with the fair papist myself and also with the man blaze they were both sensible though one swore and the other sighed she is pretty I hope she does not paint her legs are strong for she walks to Bellingham twice a week to take her scarlet bath when having confessed and been made clean by the romish unction she walks back the brisker of which my protestant muscular systems is yet aware it was on the road to Bellingham I engaged her she is well in the matter of hair Madame Godiva might challenge her it would be a fair match has it never struck you she is nearer the vegetable than man Mr. Blaze intends her for his son a junction that every lover of fairy mythology must desire to see consummated young Tom is heir to all the aggrimands of the beast the maids of lowburn say I hear that he is a very proculus among them possibly the envious men say it for the maids beauty does not speak bad grammar altogether she is better out of the way the other letter was from Lady Blandish a ladies letter and said I have fulfilled your commission to the best of my ability and heartily said it has made me she is indeed very much above her station pity that it is so she is almost beautiful quite beautiful at times and not in any way what you have been led to fancy her child had no story to tell I have again seen her and talked with her for an hour as kindly as I could I could gather nothing more than we know it is just a woman's history as it invariably commences Richard is the god of her idolatry she will renounce him and sacrifice herself for his sake are we so bad she asked me what she was to do she would do whatever was imposed upon her all but pretend to love another and that she never would and I believe never will you know I am sentimental and I confess we dropped a few tears together her uncle has sent her for the winter to the institution where it appears she was educated and where they are very fond of her and want to keep her which it would be a good thing if they were to do she was interested to him by her father and he never interferes with her religion and is very scrupulous about all that pertains to it though as he says he is a Christian himself in the spring but the poor child does not know this she is to come back and be married to his loud of a son I am determined to prevent that may I not reckon on your promise to aid me when you see her I am sure you will it would be sacrilege to look on and permit such a thing you know they are cousins she asked me where in the world there was one like Richard what could I answer they were your own words and spoken with a depth of conviction I hope he is really calm I shudder to think of him when he comes and discovers what I have been doing I hope I have been really doing right a good deed you say never dies but we cannot always know I must rely on you yes it is I should think easy to suffer martyrdom when one is sure of one's cause but then one must be sure of it I have done nothing lately but to repeat to myself that saying of yours number 54 chapter 7 p.s. I cannot say why except that all wisdom consoles whether it applies directly or not for this reason so many fall from God who have attained to him that they cling to him with their weakness not with their strength I like to know of what you are thinking when you compose this or that saying what suggested it may not one be admitted to inspect the machinery of wisdom I feel curious to know how thoughts real thoughts are born not that I hope to win the secret here is the beginning of one but we poor women can never put together even two of the three ideas which you say go to form a thought when a wise man makes a false step will he not go farther than a fool it has just flitted through me I cannot get on with gibbon so wait your return to recommend the readings I dislike the sneering essence of his writings I keep referring to his face until the dislike seems to become personal how different is it with Wordsworth and yet I cannot escape from the thought that he is always solemnly thinking of himself but I do reverence him but this is curious Byron was a greater egoist and yet I do not feel the same with him he reminds me of a beast of the desert savage and beautiful and the former is what one would imagine a superior donkey reclaimed from the heathen to be a very superior donkey I mean with great power of speech and great natural complacency and whose stubbornness you must admire as part of his mission the worst is that no one will imagine anything sublime in a superior donkey so my simile is unfair and false is it not strange I love Wordsworth best and yet Byron has the greater power over me how is that because Sir Austin wrote beside the quarry and pencil women are cowards and succumb to irony and passion rather than yield their hearts to excellence and nature's inspiration the letter pursued I have finished boyardo and have taken up bernie the letter offends me I suppose we women do not really care for humor you are right in saying we have none ourselves and cackle instead of laugh it is true of me at least that Falstaff is only to us an incorrigible fat man I want to know what he illustrates and Don Quixote what end can be served in making a noble mind ridiculous I hear you say practical so it is we are very narrow I know but we like wit practical again or in your words when I really think they generally come to my aid perhaps it is that it is often all your thought we prefer the rapier thrust to the broad embrace of intelligence he trifled with the letter for some time rereading chosen passages as he walked about the room and considering he scarce knew what there are ideas languages too gross for and shape too arbitrary which comes to us and have a definite influence upon us and yet we cannot fasten on the filmy things and make them visible and distinct to ourselves much less to others why did he twice throw a look into the glass in the act of passing it he stood for a moment with heady wrecked facing it his eyes for the nonce seemed little to peruse his outer features the gray gathered brows and the wrinkles much action of them had traced over the circles half up his high straight forehead the iron gray hair that rose over his forehead and fell away in the fashion of Richard's plume his general appearance showed the tints of years but of their weight and nothing of the dignity of his youth was gone it was so far satisfactory but his eyes were wide as one who looks at his essential self through the mask we wear perhaps he was speculating as he looked on the sort of aspect he presented to the ladies discriminative regard of her feelings he had not a suspicion but he knew with what extraordinary lucidity women can when it pleases them and when their feelings are not quite boiling under the noon day sun sees all the sides of a character and put their fingers on its weak point he was cognizant of the total absence of the humorous in himself the want that most shut him out from his fellows and perhaps the clear-thoughted intensely self-examining gentlemen filmily conceived me also in common with the poet she gazes on as one of the superior gray beast he may have so conceived the case he was capable of that great mindedness and could snatch at times very luminous glances at the broad reflector which the world of fact lying outside our narrow compass holds up for us to see ourselves in when we will unhappily the faculty of laughter which is due to this gift was denied him and having seen he like the companion of friend Balsam could go no farther for a good wind of laughter had relieved him of much of the blight of self-deception and oddness and extravagance had given a healthier view of our atmosphere of life but he had it not journeying back to Bellingham in the train with the heated brain and brilliant eye of his son beside him sir Austin tried hard to feel infallible as a man with a system should feel and because he could not do so after much mental conflict he descended to entertain a personal antagonism to the young woman who had stepped in between his experiment and success he did not think kindly of her lady blandishes and comiums of her behavior beauty annoyed him forgetful that he had in a measure forfeited his rights to it he took the common ground of fathers and demanded why he was not justified in doing all that lay in his power to prevent his son from casting himself away upon the first creature with a pretty face he encountered deliberating thus he lost the tenderness he should have had for his experiment with his elbow and his excessive love for him took a rigorous tone it appeared to him politic reasonable and just that the uncle of this young woman who had so long nurse the prudent scheme of marrying her to his son should not only not be thwarted in his object but encouraged and even assisted at least not thwarted sir Austin had no glass before him while he was hardened in his mind and he had rather forgotten the letter of lady blandish father and son were alone in the railway carriage both were too preoccupied to speak as they neared Bellingham the dark was filling the hollows of the country over the pine hills beyond the station a last rosy streak lingered across a green sky Richard eyed it while they flew along it caught forward it seemed full of the spirit of his love and brought tears of mournful longing to his eyelids the sad beauty of that one spot in the heavens seemed to call out to his soul to swear to his Lucy's truth to him was like the sorrowful visage of his Fleur de loose as he called her appealing to him for faith that tremulous tender way she had of half closing and catching light on the when sometimes she looked up in her lover's face a look so mystic sweet that it had grown to be the fountain of his dreams he saw it yonder and his blood thrilled know you those wand like touches of I know not what before which our grosser being melts and we much as we hope to be in the awaking stand etherealized trembling with new joy they come but rarely rarely even in love when we fondly think them revelations mere sensations they are doubtless and we rank for them no higher in the spiritual scale than so many translucent glorious polypy that quiver on the shores the hues of heaven running through them yet in the harvest of our days it is something for the animal to have had such mere fleshy Polypian experiences to look back upon and they give him and horizon pale seas of luring splendor one who has had them when they do not bound him may find the aisles of bliss sooner than another sensual faith in the upper glories is something let us remember says the pilgrim script that nature though he then ish reaches at her best to the footstool of the highest she is not all dust but a living portion of the spheres in aspiration it is our error to despise her forgetting that through nature only can we ascend cherished trained and purified she is then partly worthy the divine mate who is to make her holy so Saint Simeon saw the hog in nature and took nature for the hog it was one of these strange bodily exultations which thrilled young man he knew not how it was for sadness and his forebodings vanished the soft wand touched him at that moment had Sir Austin spoken openly Richard might have fallen upon his heart he could not he chose to feel injured on the common ground of fathers and to pursue his system by plotting lady Blandish had revived his jealousy of the creature who menaced it and jealousy of a system is unreflecting and vindictive as jealousy of woman he throats and pines breathed sharp in the cool autumn evening about the Bellingham station Richard stood a moment as he stepped from the train and drew the country air into his lungs with large heaves of his chest leaving his father to the felicitations of the station master he went into the low burn road to look for his faithful Tom who had received private orders through Berry to be in attendance with his young master's mayor Cassandra and was lurking in a plantation of furs unenclosed on the borders of the road where Richard, knowing his retainer's zest for conspiracy too well to seek him anywhere but in the part most favored with shelter and concealment found him furtively withing tobacco news Tom, is there an illness? Tom sent his undress cap on one side to scratch at dilemma an old agricultural habit to which he was still a slave in moments of abstract thought or sudden difficulty No, I don't want the rake Mr. Richard he winnied with a false grin as he beheld his master's eye vacantly following the action Speak out he was commanded I haven't had a letter for a week Richard learned the news he took it with surprising outward calm only getting a little closer to Cassandra's neck and looking very hard at Tom without seeing a speck of him which had the effect on Tom of making him sincerely wish his master would punch his head at once rather than fix him in that owl-like way Go on, said Richard huskily Yes, she's gone Well Tom was brought to understand he must make the most of trifles and recited how he had heard from a female domestic at Belthorpe of the name of Davenport formally known to him that the young lady never slept a wink from the hour she knew she was going but sat up in her bed till morning crying most pitifully though she never complained Here at the tears unconsciously streamed down Richard's cheeks Tom said he had tried to see her but Mr. Adrian kept him at work ciphering at a terrible sum that and nothing else all day saying it was to please his young master on his return Likewise, something in Latin added Tom Nam-tib-mo-ser not to make you mad, sir he exclaimed with pathos the wretch had been put to acquire a Latin declension Tom saw her on the morning she went away he said she was very sorrowful looking and nodded kindly to him as she passed in the fly along with young Tom blaze She have got uncommon kind eyes, sir said Tom and crying don't spoil them for which his hand was wrenched Tom had no more to tell save that in rounding the road the young lady had hung out her hand and seemed to move it forward and back as much as to say goodbye, Tom and though she couldn't see me said Tom, I took off my hat I did take it so kind of her to think of a chap like me he was at high pressure sentiment what with his education for a hero and his master's love-stricken state you saw no more of her, Tom? No, sir, that was the last then what was the last you saw of her, Tom? Well, sir, I saw nothing more and so she went out of sight clean gone that she were, sir why did they take her away what have they done with her where have they taken her to these red-hot questionings were addressed to the universal heaven rather than to Tom why didn't she write they were resumed why did she leave she's mine she belongs to me who dared take her away why did she leave without writing Tom yes, sir, said the well-drilled recruit dressing himself up to the word of command he expected a variation of the theme from the change of tone with which his name had been pronounced but it was again where have they taken her to and this was even more perplexing to Tom than his hard sum and arithmetic had been he could only draw down the corners of his card and glance up clearly she had been crying you saw that, Tom? no mistake about that Mr. Richard cryin' all night in all day, I should say and she was crying when you saw her she looked as if she'd just done for a moment, sir but her face was white white as a sheet Richard paused to discover whether his instinct had caught a new view from these facts in her cage always knocking against the same bars fly as he might her tears were the stars in his black night he clung to them as golden orbs inexplicable as they were they were at least pledges of love the hues of sunset had left the west no light was there but the steadfast pale eye of twilight dither he was drawn he mounted Cassandra saying don't think, Tom, I shan't be home to dinner and rode off toward the forsaken home of light over Belforp whereat he saw the one hand of his Lucy waving farewell receding as he advanced his jewel was stolen he must gaze upon the empty box End of Chapter 22