 5. Mr. Dirdle's and Friend John Jasper, on his way home through the clothes, is brought to a standstill by the spectacle of Stoney Dirdle's dinner-bundle and all, leaning his back against the iron railing of the burial-ground, enclosing it from the old cloister arches, and a hideous small boy in rags flinging stones at him as a well-defined mark in the moonlight. Sometimes the stones hit him, and sometimes they miss him, but Dirdle's seems indifferent to either fortune. The hideous small boy on the contrary, whenever he hits Dirdle's, blows a whistle of triumph through a jagged gap convenient for the purpose in the front of his mouth, where half his teeth are wanting, and whenever he misses him, yelps out, maltykin, and tries to atone for the failure by taking a more correct and vicious aim. What are you doing to the man? demands Jasper, stepping out into the moonlight from the shade. Making a cock-shive him, replies the hideous small boy, give me those stones in your hand. Yes, I'll give them you down your throat if you come to catch an old of me, says the small boy, shaking himself loose and backing, or smash your eye if you don't look out. Baby devil that you are, what has the man done to you? He won't go home. What is that to you? It gives me a vape me to pelf him home, if I catch him out too late, says the boy, and then chants like a little savage, half-stumbling and half-dancing among the rags and laces of his dilapidated boots, I'll catch him out after ten, then he don't go home, then I shy, with a comprehensive sweep on the last word, and one more delivery at Dirtles. This would seem to be a poetical note of preparation agreed upon as a caution to Dirtles to stand clear if he can, or to betake himself homeward. John Jasper invites the boy with a beck of his head to follow him, feeling it hopeless to drag him or coax him, and crosses to the iron railing where the stony and stoned one is profoundly meditating. Do you know this thing, this child, asks Jasper, at a loss for a word that will define this thing? Deputy, says Dirtles with a knot, is that it his name? Deputy, asserts Dirtles. I'm Van Thurven up at the Traveller's Tut me in Gasperk's guarding, this thing explains. All us Van Thurven's at Traveller's lodgings is named Deputy. When we are chock-full and the Traveller's is all a bed, comes out for me elf. Then withdrawing into the road and taking aim, he resumes, There's David, then, I'll catch him out after ten. Hold your hand, cries Jasper, and don't throw while I stand so near him, or I'll kill you. Some Dirtles, let me walk home with you to-night, shall I carry your bundle? Not on any account, replies Dirtles, adjusting it, Dirtles was making his reflections here when you come up, sir, surrounded by his works, like a popular author, your own brother in law, introducing a sarcophagus within the railing, white and cold in the moonlight. This is Sapsie, introducing the monument of that devoted wife, late incumbent, introducing the reverent gentleman's broken column, departed assessed taxes, introducing a vase and towel standing on what might represent the cake of soap, former pastry cook and muffin-maker much respected, introducing gravestone. All safe and sound here, sir, and all Dirtles' work, of the common folk that is merely bundled up in turf and brambles, the less said the better, a poor lot, soon forgot. This creature, a deputy, is behind us, says Jasper, looking back. Is he to follow us? The relations between Dirtles and Deputy are of a capricious kind, for on Dirtles' turning himself about with a slow gravity of beary suddenness, Deputy makes a pretty wide circuit into the road and stands on the defensive. You never cry witty warning before you begun to-night, says Dirtles, unexpectedly reminded of, or imagining, an injury. You lie, I did, says Deputy, in his only form of polite contradiction. Own brother, sir, observed Dirtles, turning himself about again and, as unexpectedly forgetting his offence, as he had recalled or conceived it, own brother to Peter the Wild Boy, but I gave him an object in life. About which he takes aim, Mr. Jasper suggests. That's it, sir, returns to Dirtles, quite satisfied, at which he takes aim. I took him in hand and gave him an object. What was he before? A destroyer. What work did he do? Nothing but destruction. What did he earn by it? Short terms in cloister and jail. Not a person, not a piece of property, not a window. Not a horse, nor a dog, nor a cat, nor a bird, nor a fowl, nor a pig, but what he stoned for want of an enlightened object. I put that enlightened object before him, and now he can turn his honest hate knee by the three-peneth a week. I wonder he has no competitors. He has plenty, Mr. Jasper, but he stones them all away. Now I don't know what this scheme of mine comes to, pursues Dirtles, considering about it with the same sodden gravity. I don't know what you may precisely call it. It ain't a sort of scheme of a national education. I sure to say not, replies Jasper. I should say not, assents Dirtles, then we won't try and give it a name. He still keeps behind us, repeats Jasper, looking over his shoulder. Is he to follow us? We can't help going round by the traveller's tuppany, if we go the short way, which is the back way, Dirtles answers, and we'll drop him there. So they go on, deputy as a rear-rank one, taking open order, and invading the silence of the hour and place by stoning every wall, post-pillar, and other inanimate object by the deserted way. Is there anything new down in the crypt, Dirtles, asks John Jasper? Anything old, I think, you mean? It ain't a spot for novelty. Any new discovery on your part, I mean? There's an olden under the seventh pillar on the left as you go down the broken steps of the little underground chapel as formerly was. I make him out, so far as I've made him out yet, to be one of them oldens with a crook, to judge from the size of the passages in the walls and of the steps and doors by which they come and went. Them crooks must have been a good deal in the way of the oldens. Two on a meeting promiscuous might have eached one another by the might they're pretty often, I should say. Without any endeavour to correct the literality of this opinion, Jasper surveys his companion, covered from head to foot with old mortar, lime and stone grit, as though he, Jasper, were getting imbued with a romantic interest in his weird life. Yours is a curious existence. Without furnishing the least cue to the question, whether he receives this as a compliment or quite as the reverse, Dirtles gruffly answers, Yours is another. Well, inasmuch as my lot is cast in the same old earthy, chilly, never-changing place, yes. But there is much more mystery and interest in your connection with the cathedral than in mine. Indeed I am beginning to have some idea of asking you to take me on as a sort of student or free-prentice under you, and to let me go about with you sometimes, and see some of these odd nooks in which you pass your days. The stony one replies in a general way, All right, everybody knows where to find Dirtles when he's wanted, which, if not strictly true, is approximately so, if taken to express that Dirtles may always be found in a state of vagabondage somewhere. What I dwell upon most, says Jasper, pursuing his subject of romantic interest, is the remarkable accuracy with which you would seem to find out where people are buried. What is the matter? That bundle is in your way. Let me hold it. Dirtles has stopped and backed a little, deputy attentive to all his movements immediately skirmishing into the road, and was looking about some ledge or corner to place his bundle on when thus relieved of it. Just you give me my hammer out of that, says Dirtles, and I'll show you. Clink, clink, and his hammer is handed him. Now, look here, you pitch your note, don't you, Mr. Jasper? Yes. So I sound for mine. I take my hammer, and I tap. Here he strikes the pavement, and the attentive deputy skirmishes at a rather wider range, as supposing that his head may be in requisition. I tap, tap, tap, solid. I go on tapping. Solid still. Tap again, and lower, although. Tap again, persevering. Solid in hollow. Tap, tap, tap, to try it better. Solid in hollow, and inside solid, although again. There you are, old and crumbled away in stone coffin, in vault. Astonishing. I have even done this, says Dirtles, drawing out his two-foot rule, deputy meanwhile skirmishing nearer, as suspecting that treasure may be about to be discovered, which may somehow lead to his own enrichment, and the delicious treat of the discoverers being hanged by the neck on his evidence, until they are dead. Say that hammer of mine's a wall. My work. Two, four, and two is six. Measuring on the pavement. Six foot inside that wall is Mrs. Sapsy. Not really Mrs. Sapsy. Say Mrs. Sapsy. Her walls thicker, but say Mrs. Sapsy. Dirtles taps that wall, represented by that hammer, and says, after good sounding, something betwixt us. Sure enough, some rubbish has been left in that same six-foot space by Dirtles' men. Jasper opines that such accuracy is a gift. I wouldn't have it at a gift, returns Dirtles, by no means receiving the observation in good part. I worked it out for myself. Dirtles comes by his knowledge, through grubbing deep for it, and having it up by the roots, when he don't want to come. Hello, you deputy. Thitty! his deputy shrill response, standing off again. Catch that apnae, and don't let me see any more of you tonight, after we come to the traveller's tuppany. Morning! returns deputy, having caught the apnae, and appearing by this mystic word to express his assent to the arrangements. They have but to cross what was once the vineyard, belonging to what was once the monastery, to come into the narrow back lane wherein stands the crazy wooden house of two low stories, currently known as the traveller's tuppany. The house all warped and distorted, like the morals of the travellers, with scant remains of a latticework porch over the door, and also of a rustic fence before its stamped-out garden, by reason of the travellers having been so bound to the premises by a tender sentiment, or so fond of having a fire by the roadside in the course of the day, that they can never be persuaded or threatened into departure without violently possessing themselves of some wooden forget-me-not, and bearing it off. The semblance of an inn is attempted to be given to this wretched place by fragments of conventional red-curtaining in the windows, which rags are made muddily transparent in the night-season by feeble lights of rush or cotton-dip burning dullly in the close air of the inside. As dirdles and jasper come near, they are addressed by an inscribed paper lantern over the door, setting forth the purport of the house. They are also addressed by some half-dozen other hideous small boys, whether tuppany lodgers or followers or hangers-on of such who knows, who, as if attracted by some carrion's scent of deputy in the air, start into the moonlight, as vultures might gather in the desert, and instantly fall to stoning him and one another. Stop, you young brutes!" cries Jasper angrily, and let us go by. This remonstrance being received with yells and flying stones according to a custom of late years comfortably established among the police regulations of our English communities, where Christians are stoned on all sides, as if the days of St Stephen were revived, dirdles remarks of the young savages with some point that they haven't got an object, and leads the way down the lane. At the corner of the lane Jasper, hotly enraged, checks his companion and looks back. All is silent. Next moment a stone coming rattling at his hat and a distant yell of "'Fright cock, morning!' followed by a crow, as from some infernally hatched shanticleer apprising him under whose victorious fire he stands. He turns the corner into safety and takes dirdles home, dirdles stumbling among the litter of his stony yard, as if he were going to turn head foremost into one of the unfinished tombs. John Jasper returns by another way to his gate-house, and entering softly with his key finds his fire still burning. He takes from a locked press a peculiar-looking pipe, which he fills but not with tobacco, and having adjusted the contents of the bowl very carefully with a little instrument ascends an inner-stair case of only a few leading to two rooms. One of these is his own sleeping chamber. The other is his nephew's. There is a light in each. His nephew lies asleep, calm and untroubled. John Jasper stands looking down upon him, his unlighted pipe in his hand for some time with a fixed and deep attention. Then hushing his footsteps, he goes to his own room, lights his pipe, and delivers himself to the spectres it invokes at midnight. CHAPTER VI Philanthropy in Minor Cannon Corner The reverent Septimus Crispsparkle. Septimus, because six little brother Crispsparkles before him, went out one by one as they were born, like six weak little rush-lights as they were lighted. Having broken the thin morning ice near Cloisterham Weir with his amiable head, much to the invigoration of his frame, was now assisting his circulation by boxing at a looking-glass with great science and prowess. A fresh and healthy portrait the looking-glass presented of the reverent Septimus, fainting and dodging with the utmost artfulness and hitting out from the shoulder with the utmost straightfulness, while his radiant features teemed with innocence and soft-hearted benevolence beamed from his boxing-gloves. It was scarcely breakfast time yet, for Mrs. Crispsparkle, mother not wife of the reverent Septimus, was only just down and waiting for the urn. Indeed, the reverent Septimus left off at this very moment to take the pretty old lady's entering face between his boxing-gloves and kiss it. Having done so with tenderness, the reverent Septimus turned to again, countering with his left and putting in his right in a tremendous manner. I say every morning of my life that you'll do it at last, except—remarked the old lady looking on—and so you will. Do what, my dear? Break the pure glass or burst a blood vessel. Neither please God, my dear? Here's wind, my, look at this! In a concluding round of great severity the reverent Septimus administered and escaped all sorts of punishment, and wound up by getting the old lady's cap into chancery, such is the technical term used in scientific circles by the learned in the noble art, with a lightness of touch that hardly stirred the lightest lavender or cherry-ribboned on it. Magnanimously releasing the defeated just in time to get his gloves into a drawer and feign to be looking out of window in a contemplative state of mind when a servant entered, the reverent Septimus then gave place to the urn and other preparations for breakfast. These completed, and the two alone again, it was pleasant to see, or would have been if there had been any one to see it, which there never was, the old lady standing to say the Lord's prayer aloud, and her son, Minor nevertheless, standing with bent head to hear it, he being within five years of forty, much as he had stood to hear the same words from the same lips when he was within five months of four. What is prettier than an old lady, except a young lady, when her eyes are bright, when her figure is trim and compact, when her face is cheerful and calm, when her dress is as the dress of a china shepherdess, so dainty in its colours, so individually assorted to herself, so neatly moulded on her. Nothing is prettier thought the good canon frequently, when taking his seat at table opposite his long widowed mother. Her thought at such times may be condensed into the two words that oftenest did duty together in all her conversations. Mysept! they were a good pair to sit breakfasting together in Minor canon corner close to him, for Minor canon corner was a quiet place in the shadow of the cathedral which the coring of the rooks, the echoing footsteps of rare passes, the sound of the cathedral bell, or the roll of the cathedral organ, seemed to render more quiet than absolute silence. Swaggering fighting men had had their centuries of ramping and raving about Minor canon corner, and beaten serfs had had their centuries of drudging and dying there, and powerful monks had had their centuries of being sometimes useful and sometimes harmful there, and behold, they were all gone out of Minor canon corner, and so much the better. Perhaps one of the highest uses of their ever having been there was, that they might be left behind, that blessed air of tranquility which pervaded Minor canon corner, and that serenely romantic state of mind productive for the most part of pity and forbearance, which is engendered by a sorrowful story that is all told, or a pathetic play that is played out. Red brick walls harmoniously toned down in colour by time, strong-rooted ivy, latticed windows, panelled rooms, big, oaken beams in little places, and stone-walled gardens where annual fruit yet ripened upon monkish trees, were the principal surroundings of pretty old Mrs. Crisp Sparkle and the Reverend Septimus as they sat at breakfast. And what, Mardia, inquired the Minor canon, giving proof of a wholesome and vigorous appetite, does the letter say? The pretty old lady, after reading it, had just laid it down upon the breakfast-cloth. She handed it over to her son. Now the old lady was exceeding proud of her bright eyes being so clear that she could read writing without spectacles. Her son was also so proud of the circumstance, and so dutifully bent on her deriving the utmost possible gratification from it, that he had invented the pretense that he himself could not read writing without spectacles. Therefore he now assumed a pair of grave and prodigious proportions which not only seriously inconvenienced his nose and his breakfast, but seriously impeded his perusal of the letter, for he had the eyes of a microscope and a telescope combined when they were unassisted. It's from Mr. Honey Thunder, of course, said the old lady, folding her arms. Of course, assented her son. He then lamely went on. Haven of Philanthropy. Chief Office's London Wednesday. Dear Madam, I write in the—in the what's this? What does he write in? In the chair, said the old lady. The reverent Septimus took off his spectacles that he might see her face, as he exclaimed. Why, what should he write in? Bless me, bless me, Sept, returned the old lady. You don't see the context. Give it back to me, my dear. Glad to get his spectacles off, for they always made his eyes water, her son obeyed, murmuring that his sight for reading manuscript got worse and worse daily. I write, his mother went on, reading very perspiciously and precisely, from the chair to which I shall probably be confined for some hours. Septimus looked at the row of chairs against the wall, with a half-protesting and half-appealing countenance. We have, the old lady read on with a little extra emphasis, a meeting of our convened chief composite committee of central and district philanthropists, at our head haven as above, and it is their unanimous pleasure that I take the chair. Septimus breathed more freely and muttered, Oh, if he comes to that, let him. Not to lose a day's post, I take the opportunity of a long report being read, denouncing a public miscreant. It is a most extraordinary thing, interposed to the gentle minor canon, laying down his knife and fork to rub his ear in a vexed manner, that these philanthropists are always denouncing somebody, and it is another most extraordinary thing, that they are always so violently flush of miscreants. Denouncing a public miscreant, the old lady resumed, to get our little affair of business off my mind. I have spoken with my two wards, Neville and Helena Landless, on the subject of their defective education, and they give in to the plan proposed, as I should have taken good care they did, whether they liked it or not. It is another most extraordinary thing, remarked the minor canon in the same tone as before, that these philanthropists are so given to seizing their fellow creatures by the scruff of the neck, and, as one may say, bumping them into the paths of peace. I beg your pardon, my dear, for interrupting. Therefore, dear madam, you will please prepare your son the reverent Mr. Septimus to expect Neville as an inmate to be read with, on Monday next. On the same day Helena will accompany him to Cloisterham, to take up her quarters at the nun's house, the establishment recommended by yourself and son jointly. Please likewise to prepare for her reception and tuition there. The terms in both cases are understood to be exactly as stated to me in writing by yourself when I opened a correspondence with you on this subject, after the honour of being introduced to you at your sister's house in town here. With compliments to the reverent Mr. Septimus, I am, dear madam, your affectionate brother in philanthropy. Luke, honey thunder. Well, ma, said Septimus, after a little more rubbing of his ear, we must try it. There can be no doubt that we have room for an inmate, and that I have time to bestow upon him and inclination too. I must confess to feeling rather glad that he is not Mr. Honey Thunder himself, though that seems wretchedly prejudiced, does it not, for I never saw him. Is he a large man, ma? I should call him a large man, my dear, the old lady replied after some hesitation, but that his voice is so much larger than himself, than any body. Ha! said Septimus, after finishing his breakfast as if the flavour of the superior family Sushong, and also of the ham and toast and eggs, were a little on the wane. Mrs. Crisp Sparkle's sister, another piece of Dresden China, and matching her so neatly that they would have made a delightful pair of ornaments for the two ends of any capacious old-fashioned chimney-piece, and, by right, should never have been seen apart, was the childless wife of a clergyman holding corporate preferment in London City. Mr. Honey Thunder, in his public character of Professor of Philanthropy, had come to know Mrs. Crisp Sparkle during the last rematching of the China ornaments, in other words, during her last annual visit to her sister, after a public occasion of a philanthropic nature, when certain devoted orphans of tender years had been glutted with plumb buns, and plumbumptiousness. These were all the antecedents known in minor canon corner of the coming pupils. I am sure you will agree with me, Ma, said Mr. Crisp Sparkle, after thinking the matter over, that the first thing to be done is to put these young people as much at their ease as possible. There is nothing disinterested in the notion because we cannot be at our ease with them unless they are at their ease with us. Now Jasper's nephew is down here at present, and like takes to like, and youth takes to youth. He is a cordial young fellow, and we will have him to meet the brother and sister at dinner. That's three. We can't think of asking him without asking Jasper. That's four. Add Miss Twinkleton and the fairy bride that is to be, and that's six. Add our two selves, and that's eight. Would eight at a friendly dinner at all put you out, Ma? Nine would, Sept, returned the old lady, visibly nervous. My dear Ma, I particularise eight. The exact size of the table and the room, my dear. So it was settled that way, and when Mr. Crisp Sparkle called with his mother upon Miss Twinkleton to arrange for the reception of Miss Helena Landless at the nun's house, the two other invitations having reference to that establishment were proffered and accepted. Miss Twinkleton did indeed glance at the globes as regretting that they were not formed to be taken out into society, but became reconciled to leaving them behind. Instructions were then dispatched to the philanthropist for the departure and arrival in good time for dinner of Mr. Neville and Miss Helena, and the stock for soup became fragrant in the air of minor canon corner. In those days there was no railway to cloister him, and Mr. Sapsy said there never would be. Mr. Sapsy said more. He said there never should be. And yet marvellous to consider, it has come to pass in these days that express trains don't think cloister him worth stopping at, but yell and whirl through it on their larger errands, casting the dust off their wheels as a testimony against its insignificance. Some remote fragment of main line to somewhere else there was, which was going to ruin the money market if it failed, and church and state if it succeeded. And, of course, the Constitution whether or no. But even that had already so unsettled cloister him traffic, that the traffic, deserting the high road, came sneaking in from an unprecedented part of the country by a back stable way, for many years labelled at the corner beware of the dog. To this ignominious avenue of approach Mr. Chris Barkle repaired, awaiting the arrival of a short squat omnibus with a disproportionate heap of luggage on the roof, like a little elephant with infinitely too much castle, which was then the daily service between cloister him and external mankind. As this vehicle lumbered up, Mr. Chris Barkle could hardly see anything else of it for a large outside passenger seated on the box, with his elbows squared and his hands on his knees, compressing the driver into a most uncomfortably small compass, and glowering about him with a strongly marked face. Is this cloister him? demanded the passenger in a tremendous voice. It is, replied the driver, rubbing himself as if he ached after throwing the reins to the ostler, and I never was so glad to see it. Tell your master to make his box seat wider then. Your master is morally bound and ought to be legally bound, under tremendous penalties, to provide for the comfort of his fellow man. The driver instituted with the palms of his hands a superficial perquisition into the state of his skeleton, which seemed to make him anxious. Have I sat upon you? asked the passenger. You have, said the driver, as if he didn't like it at all. Take that card, my friend. I think I won't deprive you on it, returned the driver, casting his eyes over it with no great favour, without taking it. Watch the good of it to me. Be a member of that society, said the passenger. What shall I get by it? asked the driver. Brotherhood! returned the passenger in a ferocious voice. Thank he, said the driver, very deliberately as he got down. My mother was contented with myself, and so am I. I don't want no brothers, but you must have them! replied the passenger, also descending. Whether you like it or not, I am your brother. I say, he postulated the driver, becoming more chafed in temper. Not too far, the worm will, when... But here Mr. Chris Sparkle interposed, remonstrating a sigh in a friendly voice. Joe, Joe, Joe, don't forget yourself, Joe, my good fellow. And then when Joe peaceably touched his hat, accosting the passenger with Mr. Honey Thunder. That is my name, sir. My name is Chris Sparkle. Reverend Mr. Septimus, glad to see you, sir. Neville and Helena are inside. Having a little succumbed of late, under the pressure of my public labours, I thought I would take a mouthful of fresh air, and come down with them and return at night. So you are the reverent Mr. Septimus. Are you? Surveying him on the whole with disappointment, and twisting a double eyeglass by its ribbon, as if he were roasting it, but not otherwise using it. I expect it to see you older, sir. I hope you will, was the good, humid reply. Eh? demanded Mr. Honey Thunder. Only a poor joke, not worth repeating. Joke? I... I never see a joke. Mr. Honey Thunder frowningly retorted. A joke is wasted on me, sir. Where are they? Helena and Neville come here. Mr. Chris Sparkle has come down to meet you. An unusually handsome live young fellow, and an unusually handsome live girl, much alike, both very dark and very rich in colour. She, of almost the gypsy type, something untamed about them both. A certain air upon them of hunter and huntress, yet with all a certain air of being the objects of the chase, rather than the followers. Slender, supple, quick of eye and limb, half shy, half defiant, fierce of look, an indefinable kind of pause coming and going on their whole expression, both of face and form, which might be equally likened to the pause before a crouch or a bound. The rough mental notes made in the first five minutes by Mr. Chris Sparkle would have read thus verbatim. He invited Mr. Honey Thunder to dinner with a troubled mind, for the discomforture of the dear old Chinese shepherdess lay heavy on it, and gave his arm to Helena Landless. Both she and her brother, as they walked altogether through the ancient streets, took great delight in what he pointed out of the cathedral and the monastery ruin, and wondered, so his notes ran on, much as if they were beautiful barbaric captives brought from some wild tropical domain. Mr. Honey Thunder walked in the middle of the road, shouldering the natives out of his way, and loudly developing a scheme he had for making a raid on all the unemployed persons in the United Kingdom, laying every one of them by the heels in jail, and forcing them on pain or prompt extermination to become philanthropists. Mrs. Chris Sparkle had need of her own share of philanthropy when she beheld this very large and very loud excrescence on the little party. Always something in the nature of a boil upon the face of society, Mr. Honey Thunder expanded into an inflammatory when in minor canon corner. Though it was not literally true, as was facetiously charged against him by public unbelievers, that he called aloud to his fellow-creatures, curse your souls and bodies, come here, and be blessed. Still his philanthropy was of that gun-powderous sort that the difference between it and animosity was hard to determine. You were about to abolish military force, but you were first to bring all commanding officers who had done their duty to trial by court-martial for that offence and shoot them. You were to abolish war, but were to make converts by making war upon them and charging them with loving war as the apple of their eye. You were to have no capital punishment, but were first to sweep off the face of the earth all legislators, jurists and judges who were of the contrary opinion. You were to have universal concord and were to get it by eliminating all the people who wouldn't or conscientiously couldn't be concordant. You were to love your brother as yourself, but after an indefinite interval of maligning him very much as if you hated him and calling him all manner of names. Above all things you were to do nothing in private or on your own accord. You were to go to the offices of the haven of philanthropy and put your name down as a member and a professing philanthropist. Then you were to pay up your subscription, get your card of membership and your ribbon and medal and were ever more to live upon a platform and ever more to say what Mr. Honey Thunder said and what the treasurer said and what the sub-treasurer said and what the committee said and what the sub-committee said and what the secretary said and what the vice secretary said and this was usually said in the unanimously carried resolution under hand and seal to the effect that this assembled body of professing philanthropists' views with indignant scorn and contempt not unmixed with utter detestation and loathing abhorrence in short the baseness of all those who do not belong to it pledges itself to make as many obnoxious statements as possible about them without being at all particular as to facts. The dinner was a most doleful breakdown. The philanthropist deranged the symmetry of the table, sat himself in the way of the waiting, blocked up the thoroughfare and drove Mr. Tope, who assisted the parliament to the verge of distraction by passing plates and dishes on over his own head. Nobody could talk to anybody because he held forth to everybody at once as if the company had no individual existence but were a meeting. He impounded the reverent Mr. Septimus as an official personage to be addressed or kind of human peg to hang his oratorial hat on and fell into the exasperating habit common among such orators of impersonating him as a wicked and weak opponent. Thus he would ask And will you, sir, now stultify yourself by telling me and so forth when the innocent man had not opened his lips nor meant to open them or he would say Now, Caesar, to what a position you are reduced I will leave you no escape after exhausting all the resources of fraud and falsehood during years upon years after exhibiting a combination of dastardly meaningless with ensanguine daring such as the world has not often witnessed. You have now the hypocrisy to bend the knee before the most degraded of mankind and to sue and whine and howl for mercy where at the unfortunate minor canon would look in part indignant and in part perplexed while his worthy mother sat bridling with tears in her eyes and the remainder of the party lapsed into a sort of gelatinous state in which there was no flavour or solidity and very little resistance. But the gush of philanthropy that burst forth when the departure of Mr. Honey Thunder began to impend must have been highly gratifying to the feelings of that distinguished man. His coffee was produced by the special activity of Mr. Tope a full hour before he wanted it. Mr. Crisp Sparkle sat with his watch in his hand for about the same period lest he should overstay his time. The four young people were unanimous in believing that the cathedral clock struck three-quarters when it actually struck but one. Miss Twenkelton estimated the distance to the omnibus at five and twenty minutes' walk when it was really five. The affectionate kindness of the whole circle hustled him into his greatcoat and shoved him out into the moonlight as if he were a fugitive traitor with whom they sympathised and a troop of horse were at the back door. Mr. Crisp Sparkle and his new charge who took him to the omnibus were so fervent in their apprehensions of his catching cold that they shut him up in it instantly and left him with still half an hour to spare. End of chapter 6 Read by Alan Chant of Tumbridge, Kent, England during the summer of 2007 Chapter 7 of The Mystery of Edwin Drude 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 Alan Chant The Mystery of Edwin Drude The Unfinished Novel by Charles Dickens Chapter 7 More Confidences Than One I know very little of that, gentlemen sir said Neville to the minor canon as they turned back You know very little of your guardian? the minor canon repeated Almost nothing How came he to be my guardian? I'll tell you sir I suppose you know that we come my sister and I from Ceylon Indeed, no I wonder at that We lived with a stepfather there Our mother died there when we were little children We have had a wretched existence She made him our guardian and he was a miserly wretch who grudged us food to eat and clothes to wear At his death he passed us over to this man for no better reason that I know of than his being a friend or connection of his whose name was always in print and catching his attention That was lately, I suppose Quite lately sir This stepfather of ours was a cruel brute as well as a grinding one It is well he died when he did I might have killed him Mr. Chris Barkle stopped short in the moonlight and looked at his hopeful pupil in consternation I surprise you sir He said with a quick change to a submissive manner You shock me Unspeakably shock me The pupil hung his head for a little while as they walked on and then said You never saw him beat your sister I have seen him beat mine more than once or twice and I never forgot it Nothing said Mr. Chris Barkle Not even a beloved and beautiful sister's tears under dastardly ill-usage He became less severe in spite of himself as his indignation rose Could justify those horrible expressions that you used I am sorry I used them and especially to you sir I beg to recall them but permit me to set you right on one point You spoke of my sister's tears My sister would have let him tear her to pieces before she would have let him believe that he could make her shed a tear Mr. Chris Barkle reviewed those mental notes of his and was neither at all surprised to hear it nor at all disposed to question it Perhaps you will think it strange sir This was said in a hesitating voice that I should so soon ask you to allow me to confide in you and to have the kindness to hear a word or two from me in my defence Defence Mr. Chris Barkle repeated You are not on your defence Mr. Neville I think I am sir At least I know I should be if you were better acquainted with my character Well Mr. Neville was the rejoiner What if you leave me to find it out? Since it is your pleasure sir Answered the young man with a quick change in his manner to sullen disappointment Since it is your pleasure to check me in my impulse I must submit There was that in the tone of this short speech which made the conscientious man to whom it was addressed uneasy It hinted to him that he might without meaning it turn aside a trustfulness beneficial to a misshapen young mind and perhaps to his own power of directing and improving it They were within sight of the lights in his windows and he stopped Let us turn back and take a turn or two up and down Mr. Neville or you may not have time to finish what you wish to say to me You are hasty in thinking that I meant to check you Quite the contrary I invite your confidence You have invited it sir without knowing it ever since I came here I say ever since as if I had been here a week The truth is we came here, my sister and I, to quarrel with you and affront you and break away again Really? said Mr. Crisp Sparkle at a dead loss for anything else to say You see we could not know what you were beforehand sir could we? Clearly not said Mr. Crisp Sparkle and having liked no one else with whom we have ever been brought into contact we had made up our minds not to like you Really? said Mr. Crisp Sparkle again But we do like you sir and we see an unmistakable difference between your house and your reception of us and anything else we have ever known this and my happening to be alone with you and everything around us seeming so quiet and peaceful after Mr. Honey Thunder's departure and Cloisterham being so old and grave and beautiful with the moon shining on it these things inclined me to open my heart I quite understand Mr. Neville and it is salutary to listen to such influences In describing my own imperfection sir I must ask you not to suppose that I am describing my sisters she has come out of the disadvantages of our miserable life as much better than I am as that cathedral tower is higher than those chimneys Mr. Crisp Sparkle in his own breast was not so sure of this I have had sir from my earliest remembrance to suppress a deadly and bitter hatred this has made me secret and revengeful I have been always tyrannically held down by the strong hand this has driven me in my weakness to the resource of being false and mean I have been stinted of education, liberty, money, dress the very necessities of life, the commonest pleasures of childhood the commonest possessions of youth this has caused me to be utterly wanting in I don't know what emotions or remembrances or good instincts I have not even a name for the thing you see that you have had to work upon in other young men to whom you have been accustomed this is evidently true but this is not encouraging thought Mr. Crisp Sparkle as they turned again and to finish with sir I have been brought up among abject and servile dependence of an inferior race and I may easily have contracted some affinity with them sometimes I don't know but that it may be a drop of what is tigerish in their blood as in the case of that remark just now thought Mr. Crisp Sparkle in a last word of reference to my sister sir we are twin children you ought to know to her honour that nothing in our misery ever subdued her though it often cowed me when we ran away from it we ran away four times in six years to be soon brought back and cruelly punished the flight was always of her planning and leading each time she dressed as a boy and showed me the daring of a man I take it we were seven years old when we first camped but I remember when I lost the pocket knife with which she was to have cut her hair short how desperately she tried to tear it out or bite it off I have nothing further to say sir except that I hope you will bear with me and make allowance for me of that Mr. Neville you may be sure returned the minor cannon I don't preach more than I can help but I will not repay your confidence with a sermon but I entreat you to bear in mind very seriously and steadily that if I am to do you any good it can only be with your own assistance and that you can only render that efficiently by seeking aid from heaven I will try to do my part sir and Mr. Neville I will try to do mine here is my hand on it may God bless our endeavours they were now standing at his house door and a cheerful sound of voices and laughter was heard within we will take one more turn before going in said Mr. Chris Sparkle for I want to ask you a question when you said you were in a changed mind concerning me you spoke not only for yourself but for your sister too undoubtedly I did sir excuse me Mr. Neville but I think you have had no opportunity of communicating with your sister since I met you Mr. Honey Thunder was very eloquent but perhaps I may venture to say with out ill nature that he rather monopolised the occasion may you not have answered for your sister without sufficient warrant Neville shook his head with a proud smile you don't know sir yet what a complete understanding can exist between my sister and me though no spoken word perhaps hardly as much as a look may have passed between us she not only feels as I have described but she very well knows that I am taking this opportunity of speaking to you both for her and for myself Mr. Chris Sparkle looked in his face with some incredulity but his face expressed such absolute and firm conviction of the truth of what he said that Mr. Chris Sparkle looked at the pavement and mused until they came to his door again I will ask for one more turn sir this time said the young man with a rather heightened colour rising in his face but for Mr. Honey Thunder's I think you called it eloquent sir somewhat slyly I yes I called it eloquence said Mr. Chris Sparkle but for Mr. Honey Thunder's eloquence I might have had no need to ask you what I am going to ask you this Mr. Edwin drewed sir I think that's the name quite correct said Mr. Chris Sparkle D-R-W-D does he or did he read with you sir never Mr. Neville he comes here visiting his relation Mr. Jasper is Miss Budd his relation too sir now why should he ask that with sudden superciliousness thought Mr. Chris Sparkle then he explained aloud what he knew of the little story of their betrothal oh that's it is it said the young man I understand his air of proprietorship now this was said so evidently to himself or to anybody rather than Mr. Chris Sparkle that the latter instinctively felt as if to notice it would be almost tantamount to noticing a passage in a letter which he had read by chance over the writer's shoulder a moment afterward they re-entered the house Mr. Jasper was seated at the piano as they came into his drawing room and was accompanying Miss Rosebud while she sang it was a consequence of his playing the accompaniment without notes and of her being a heedless little creature very apt to go wrong that he followed her lips most attentively with his eyes as well as hands carefully and softly hinting the keynote from time to time standing with an arm drawn round her but with a face far more intent on Mr. Jasper than on her singing stood Helena between whom and her brother an instantaneous recognition passed in which Mr. Chris Sparkle saw or thought he saw the understanding that had been spoken of flash out Mr. Neville then took his admiring station leaning against the piano opposite the singer Mr. Chris Sparkle sat down by the china shepherdess Edwin drew gallantly furled and unfurled Miss Twinkleton's fan and that lady passively claimed that sort of exhibit as proprietorship in the accomplishment on view which Mr. Tope the verger daily claimed in the cathedral service the song went on it was a sorrowful strain of parting and the fresh young voice was very plaintive and tender as Jasper watched the pretty lips and ever and again hinted the one note as though it were a low whisper from himself the voice became less steady until all at once the singer broke into a burst of tears and shrieked out with her hands over her eyes I can't bear this I am frightened take me away with one swift turn of her live figure Helena laid the little beauty on a sofa as if she had never caught her up then on one knee beside her and with one hand upon her rosy mouth while with the other she appealed to all the rest Helena said to them it's nothing it's all over don't speak to her for one minute and she is well Jasper's hands had in the same instant lifted themselves from the keys and were now poised above them as though he waited to resume in that attitude he yet sat quiet not even looking round when all the rest had changed their places and were reassuring one another Puss is not used to an audience that's the fact said Edwin Druid she got nervous and couldn't hold out besides Jack you are such a conscientious master and require so much that I believe you make her afraid of you no wonder no wonder repeated Helena there Jack you here you would be afraid of him under similar circumstances wouldn't you Miss Landless not under any circumstances returned Helena Jasper brought down his hands looked over his shoulder and begged to thank Miss Landless for her vindication of his character then he fell to dumbly playing without striking the notes while his little pupil was taken to an open window for air and was otherwise petted and restored when she was brought back his place was empty Jack's gone pussy Edwin told her I am more than half afraid he didn't like to be charged with being a monster who had frightened you but she answered never a word and shivered as if they had made her a little too cold Miss Twinkleton now opining that indeed these were late hours for Mrs. Crisp's sparkle for finding ourselves outside the walls of the nun's house and that we who undertook the formation of the future wives and mothers of England these last words in a lower voice as requiring to be communicated in confidence were really bound voice coming up again to set a better example than one of rakish habits the papers were put in requisition and the two young cavaliers volunteered to see the lady's home it was soon done and the gate of the nun's house closed upon them the borders had retired and only Mrs. Tisha in solitary vigil awaited the new pupil her bedroom being within roses very little introduction or explanation was necessary before she was placed in charge of her new friend and left for the night this is a blessed relief, my dear, said Helena that I have been dreading all day that I shall be brought to bay at this time there are not many of us, returned Rosa and we are good natured girls at least the others are I can answer for them I can answer for you laughed Helena searching the lovely little face with her dark, fiery eyes and tenderly caressing the small figure you will be a friend to me, won't you? I hope so but the idea of my being a friend to you seems too absurd, though why? oh, I am such a might of a thing and you are so womanly and handsome you seem to have resolution and power enough to crush me I sink into nothing by the side of your presence even I am a neglected creature, my dear unacquainted with all accomplishments sensitively conscious that I have everything to learn and deeply ashamed to own my ignorance and yet you acknowledge everything to me? said Rosa my pretty one, can I help it? there is a fascination in you oh, is there, though? pouted Rosa half ingest and half in earnest what a pity master Eddie doesn't feel it more of course her relations towards that young gentleman had been already imparted in minor canon corner why, surely, he must love you with all his heart? cried Helena with an earnestness that threatened to blaze into ferocity if he didn't eh? oh, well, I suppose he does said Rosa pouting again I am sure I have no right to say he doesn't perhaps it's my fault perhaps I am not as nice to him as I ought to be I don't think I am but it is so ridiculous Helena's eyes demanded what was we are said Rosa answering as if she had spoken we are such a ridiculous couple and we are always quarrelling why? because we both know we are ridiculous, my dear Rosa gave that answer as if it were the most conclusive answer in the world Helena's masterful look was intent upon her face for a few moments and then she impulsively put out both her hands and said, you will be my friend and help me indeed, my dear, I will replied Rosa in a tone of affectionate childishness that went straight and true to her heart I will be as good a friend as such a might of a thing can be to such a noble creature as you and be a friend to me, please I don't understand myself and I want a friend who can understand me very much indeed Helena landless kissed her and retaining both her hands said who is Mr. Jasper? Rosa turned aside her head in answering Eddie's uncle and my music master you do not love him ah, she put her hands up to her face and shook with fear or horror you know that he loves you who, don't, don't, don't! cried Rosa dropping on her knees clinging to her new resource don't tell me of it he terrifies me he haunts my thoughts like a dreadful ghost I feel that I am never safe from him I feel as if he could pass in through the wall when he is spoken of she actually did look round as if she dreaded to see him standing in the shadow behind her try and tell me more about it, darling yes, I will, I will because you are so strong but hold me the while and stay with me afterwards my child you speak as if he had threatened you in some dark way he has never spoken to me about that never what has he done? he has made a slave of me with his looks he has forced me to understand him without his saying a word and he has forced me to keep silence without his uttering a threat when I play he never moves his eyes from my hands when I sing he never moves his eyes from my lips when he corrects me and strikes a note or a chord or plays a passage he himself is in the sounds whispering that he pursues me as a lover and commanding me to keep his secret I avoid his eyes but he forces me to see them without looking at them even when a glaze comes over them which is sometimes the case and he seems to wander away into a frightful sort of dream in which he threatens most he obliges me to know it and to know that he is sitting close at my side more terrible to me than ever what is this imagined threatening pretty one? what is threatened? I don't know I have never even dared to think or wonder what it is and was this all tonight? this was all except that tonight when he watched my lips so closely as I was singing besides feeling terrified I felt ashamed and passionately hurt it was as if he kissed me and I couldn't bear it but cried out you must never breathe this to anyone Eddie is devoted to him but you said tonight that you would not be afraid of him under any circumstances and that gives me who am so much afraid of him courage to tell only you hold me stay with me I am too frightened to be left by myself the lustrous gypsy face drooped over the clinging arms and bosom and the wild black hair fell down protectingly over the childish form there was a slumbering gleam of fire in the intense dark eyes though they were softened with compassion and admiration let whomsoever it most concerned look well to it End of Chapter 7 Read by Alan Chant of Tumbridge Kent, England during the summer of 2007 Chapter 8 of The Mystery of Edwin Drude 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 Alan Chant The Mystery of Edwin Drude The Unfinished Novel by Charles Dickens Chapter 8 Daggers Drawn The two young men, having seen the damsels their charges enter the courtyard of the nun's house and finding themselves coldly stared at by the brazen door plate as if the battered old bow with the glass in his eye were insolent look at one another look along the perspective of the moonlit street and slowly walk away together Do you stay here long, Mr. Drude? says Neville Oh, not this time, is the careless answer I leave for London again tomorrow but I shall be here on and off until next mid-summer then I shall take my leave of Cloisterham and England too for many a long day, I expect Are you going abroad? Going to wake up Egypt a little, is the condescending reply Are you reading? Reading? repeats Edwin Drude with a touch of contempt No, do we, working, engineering my small patrimony was left a part of the capital of the firm I am with by my father, a former partner and I am a charge upon the firm until I come of age and then I step into my modest share in the concern Jack, you met him at dinner? His, until then, my guardian and trustee I heard from Mr. Crisparkel of your other good fortune What do you mean by my other good fortune? Neville has made his remark in a watchfully advancing and yet furtive and shy manner very expressive of that peculiar air already noticed of being at once hunter and hunted Edwin has made his retort with an abruptness not at all polite They stop and interchange a rather heated look I hope, says Neville, that there is no offence Mr. Drude in my innocently referring to your betrothal By George, cries Edwin, leading on again in a somewhat quicker pace Everybody in this chattering old cloisterum refers to it I wonder no public house has been set up with my portrait for the sign of the betroth's head or Puss's portrait, one or the other I am not accountable for Mr. Crisparkel for mentioning the matter to me quite openly Neville begins No, that's true, you are not, Edwin drew the sense But, resumes Neville, I am accountable for mentioning to you and I did so on the supposition that you could not fail to be highly proud of it Now there are these two curious touches of human nature working the secret springs of this dialogue Neville Landlis is already enough impressed by little Rosebud to feel indignant that Edwin Drude, far below her should hold his prize so lightly Edwin Drude is already enough impressed by Helena to feel indignant that Helena's brother, far below her should dispose of him so coolly and put him out of the way so entirely However the last remark had better be answered so says Edwin I don't know Mr. Neville adopting that mode of address from Mr. Crisparkel that what people are proudest of they usually talk most about I don't know either that what they are proudest of they most like other people to talk about but I live a busy life and I speak under correction by you readers who ought to know everything and I daresay do By this time they had both become savage Mr. Neville, out in the open Edwin Drude under the transparent cover of her popular tune and a stop now and then to pretend to admire picturesque effects in the moonlight before him It does not seem to me very civil in you remarks Neville at length reflect upon a stranger who comes here not having had your advantages to try to make up for lost time but to be sure I was not brought up in busy life and my ideas of civility were formed among heathens Perhaps the best civility whatever kind of people we are brought up among retorts Edwin Drude is to mind our own business if you will set me that example I promise to follow it do you know that you take a great deal too much upon yourself is the angry rejoiner and in that part of the world I come from you would be called to account for it by home for instance asks Edwin Drude coming to a halt and surveying the other with a look of disdain but here a startling right hand is laid on Edwin's shoulder and Jasper stands between them for it would seem that he too has strolled round by the nun's house and has come up behind them on the shadowy side of the road Ned, Ned, Ned he says we must have no more of this I don't like this I have overheard high words between you two remember my dear boy you are almost in the position of host tonight you belong as it were to the place and in a manner represented towards a stranger Mr. Neville is a stranger and you should respect the obligations of hospitality and Mr. Neville laying his left hand on the inner shoulder of that young gentleman and thus walking on between them hand to shoulder on either side you will pardon me but I appeal to you to govern your temper too now what is a miss but why ask let there be nothing amiss and the question is superfluous we are all three on a good understanding are we not after a silent struggle between the two young men who shall speak last Edwin Drude strikes in with so far as I am concerned Jack there is no anger in me nor in me says Neville Landless though not so freely or perhaps so carelessly but if Mr. Drude knew all that lies behind me far away from here he might know better how it is that sharp edged words have sharp edges to wound me perhaps says Jasper in a soothing manner we had better not say anything having the appearance of a remonstrance or condition it might not seem generous frankly and freely you see there is no anger in Ned frankly and freely there is no anger in you Mr. Neville none at all Mr. Jasper still not quite so frankly or so freely or be it said once again not quite so carelessly perhaps all over then now my bachelor gatehouse is a few yards from here and the heater is on the fire and the wine and glasses are on the table and it is not a stone's throw from minor cannon corner Ned you are up and away tomorrow we will carry Mr. Neville in with us and take a stirrup cup with all my heart Jack and with all mine Mr. Jasper Neville finds it impossible to say less but would rather not go he has an impression upon him that he has lost hold of his temper feels that Edwin Drude's coolness so far from being infectious makes him red hot Mr. Jasper still walking in the centre hand to shoulder on either side beautifully turns the refrain of a drinking song and they all go up to his rooms there the first object visible when he adds the light of a lamp to that of the fire is the portrait over the chimney-piece it is not an object calculated to improve the understanding between the two young men as rather awkwardly reviving the subject of their difference accordingly they both glance at it consciously but say nothing Jasper however who would appear from his conduct to have gained but an imperfect clue to the cause of their late high words directly calls attention to it you recognize that picture Mr. Neville shading the lamp to throw the light upon it I recognize it but it is far from flattering the original oh you are hard upon it it was done by Ned who made me a present of it I am sorry for that Mr. Drude Neville apologizes with a real intention to apologize if I had known I was in the artist's presence oh a joke sir, a mere joke Edwin cuts in with a provoking yawn a little humoring of Pussy's points I am going to paint her gravely one of these days if she's good the air of leisurely patronage and indifference with which this is said as the speaker throws himself back in a chair and clasps his hands at the back of his head as a rest for it is very exasperating to the excitable and excited Neville Jasper looks observantly from the one to the other slightly smiles and turns his back to mix a jug of mulled wine at the fire it seems to require much mixing and compounding I suppose Mr. Neville says Edwin quick to resent the indignant protest against himself in the face of young landlis which is fully as visible as the portrait or the fire or the lamp I suppose that if you painted the picture of your lady love I can't paint is the hasty interruption that's your misfortune and not your fault you would if you could but if you could I suppose you would make her no matter what she was in reality Juno, Minerva, Diana and Venus all in one eh? I have no lady love and I can't say if I were to try my hand says Edwin with a boyish boastfulness getting up in him on a portrait of Miss Landlis in earnest mind you in earnest you should see what I could do my sister's consent to sit for it being first got I suppose as it never will be got I am afraid I shall never see what you can do I must bear the loss Jasper turns round from the fire fills a large goblet glass for Edwin and hands each his own then fills for himself saying come Mr. Neville we are to drink to my nephew Ned as it is his foot that is in the stirrup metaphorically our stirrup cup is to be devoted to him Ned my dearest fellow my love Jasper sets the example of nearly emptying his glass and Neville follows it Edwin Druid says thank you both very much and follows the double example look at him cries Jasper stretching out his hand admiringly and tenderly though rallyingly too see where he lounges so easily Mr. Neville the world is all before him where to choose a life of stirring work and interest a life of change and excitement a life of domestic ease and love look at him Edwin Druid's face has become quickly and remarkably flushed with the wine so has the face of Neville Landlis Edwin sits still thrown back in his chair making that rest of clasped hands for his head see how little he heeds it all Jasper proceeds in a bantering vein it is hardly worth his while to pluck the golden fruit that hangs ripe on the tree for him and yet consider the contrast Mr. Neville you and I have no prospect of stirring work and interest or of change and excitement or of domestic ease and love you and I have no prospect unless you are more fortunate than I am which may easily be but the tedious unchanging round of this dull place upon my soul Jack says Edwin complacently I feel quite apologetic for having my way smoothed as you describe but you know what I know Jack and it may not be so very easy as it seems after all may it pussy to the portrait with a snap of his thumb and finger we have got to hit it off yet haven't we pussy you know what I mean Jack his speech has become thick and indistinct Jasper quiet and self-possessed and looks to Neville as expecting his answer or comment when Neville speaks his speech is also thick and indistinct it might have been better for Mr. Druid to have known some hardships he says defiantly pray retorts Edwin turning merely his eyes in that direction pray might it have been better for Mr. Druid to have known some hardships hi Jasper ascends with an air of interest let us know why because they might have made him more sensible says Neville of course fortune that is not by any means necessarily the result of his own merits Mr. Jasper quickly looks to his nephew for his rejoiner have you known hardships may I ask says Edwin Druid sitting upright Mr. Jasper quickly looks to the other for his retort I have and what have they made you sensible of Mr. Jasper's play of eyes between the two holds good throughout the dialogue to the end I have told you once before tonight you have done nothing of the sort I tell you I have that you take a good deal too much upon yourself you added something else to that if I remember yes I did say something else say it again I said that in the part of the world I come from you will be called to account for it only there cries Edwin Druid with a contemptuous laugh a long way off I believe yes I see that part of the world is at a safe distance say here then rejoins the other rising in a fury say it anywhere your vanity is intolerable your conceit is beyond endurance you talk as if you were some rare and precious prize instead of a common boaster you are a common fellow and a common boaster poo-poo says Edwin Druid equally furious but more collected how should you know you may know a black common fellow or a black common boaster when you see him and no doubt you have a large acquaintance that way but you are no judge of white men this insulting allusion to his dark skin infuriates Neville to that violent degree that he flings the dregs of his wine at Edwin Druid and is in the act of flinging the goblet after it when his arm is caught in the nick of time by Jasper Ned my dear fellow he cries in a loud voice I entreat you I command you to be still there has been a rush of all the three and a clattering of glasses and overturning of chairs Mr. Neville for shame give this glass to me open your hand sir I will have it but Neville throws him off and pauses for an instant in a raging passion with the goblet yet in his uplifted hand then he dashes it down under the grate with such force that the broken splinters fly out again in a shower and he leaves the house when he first emerges into the night air nothing around him is still or steady nothing around him shows like what it is he only knows that he stands with a bare head in the midst of a blood-red whirl waiting to be struggled with and to struggle to the death but nothing happening and the moon looking down upon him as if he were dead after a fit of wrath he holds his steam hammer beating head and heart and staggers away then he becomes half-conscious of having heard himself bolted and barred out like a dangerous animal and thinks what shall he do some wildly passionate ideas of the river dissolve under the spell of the moonlight on the cathedral and the graves and the remembrance of his sister and the thought of what he owes to the good man who has but that very day won his confidence and given him his pledge he repairs to minor cannon-corner and knocks softly at the door it is Mr. Crisp's varkals accustomed to sit up last of the early household very softly touching his piano and practising his favourite parts in concerted vocal music the south wind that goes where it lists by way of cannon-corner on a still night is not more subdued than Mr. Crisp's sparkle at such times regardful of the slumbers of the china shepherdess his knock is immediately answered by Mr. Crisp's sparkle himself when he opens the door candle in hand his cheerful face falls and disappointed amazement is in it Mr. Neville, in this disorder where have you been? I have been to Mr. Jasperser with his nephew come in the minor cannon props him by the elbow with a strong hand in a strictly scientific manner worthy of his morning trainings and turns him into his own little book-room and shuts the door I have begun ill, sir I have begun dreadfully ill too true you are not sober, Mr. Neville I am afraid I am not, sir though I can satisfy you at another time that I have had a very little indeed to drink and that it overcame me in the strangest and most sudden manner Mr. Neville, Mr. Neville says the minor cannon shaking his head with a sorrowful smile I have heard that said before I think my mind is much confused but I think it is equally true of Mr. Jasperser's nephew, sir very likely is the dry rejoiner we quarreled, sir he insulted me most grossly he had heated that tigerish blood I told you of today before then Mr. Neville rejoins the minor cannon mildly but firmly I request you not to speak to me with that clenched right hand unclenched, if you please he goaded me pursued the young man instantly obeying beyond my power of endurance I cannot say whether or no he meant it at first but he did it he certainly meant it at last in short, sir with an irrepressible outburst in the passion into which he lashed me I would have cut him down if I could and I tried to do it you have clenched that hand again is Mr. Chris Sparkle's quiet commentary I beg your pardon, sir you know your room for I showed it to you before dinner but I will accompany you to it once more your arm, if you please softly, for the house is all a bed scooping his hand into the same scientific elbow rest as before and backing it up with the inert strength of his arm as skillfully as a police expert and with an apparent repose quite unattainable by novices Mr. Chris Sparkle conducts his pupil to the pleasant and orderly old room prepared for him arrived there the young man throws himself into a chair and flinging his arms upon his reading-table rests his head upon them with an air of wretched self-reproach the gentle minor cannon has had it in his thoughts to leave the room without a word but looking round at the door and seeing this dejected figure he turns back to it touches it with a mild hand says, good night a sob is his only acknowledgement he might have had many a worse perhaps could have had few better another soft knock at the outer door attracts his attention and he goes downstairs he opens it to Mr. Jasper holding in his hand the pupil's hat we had an awful scene with him says Jasper in a low voice has it been as bad as that? murderous Mr. Chris Sparkle remonstrates no, no, no do not use such strong words he might have laid my dear boy dead at my feet it is no fault of his that he did not but that I was through the mercy of God swift and strong with him he would have cut him down on my half the phrase smites home ah, thinks Mr. Chris Sparkle his own words seeing what I have seen to-night and hearing what I have heard adds Jasper with great earnestness I shall never know peace of mind when there is danger of those two coming together with no one else to interfere it was horrible there is something of the tiger in his dark blood ah, thinks Mr. Chris Sparkle so he said you my dear sir pursues Jasper taking his hand even you have accepted a dangerous charge you need have no fear for me Jasper returns Mr. Chris Sparkle with a quiet smile I have none for myself I have none for myself returns Jasper with an emphasis on the last pronoun because I am not nor am I in the way of being the object of his hostility but you may be and my dear boy has been good night Mr. Chris Sparkle goes in with the hat that has so easily so almost imperceptibly acquired the right to be hung up in his hall hangs it up and goes thoughtfully to bed End of Chapter 8 Read by Alan Chant of Tumbridge Kent, England during the late summer of 2007