Hither had Rickie moved in ten days--from disgust to penitence, from penitence to longing from a life of horror to a new life, in which he still surprised himself by unexpected words. Hullo, Stephen! For the son of his mother had come back, to forgive him, as she would have done, to live with him, as she had planned.
"He's drunk this time," said Agnes wearily. She too had altered: the scandal was ageing her, and Ansell came to the house daily.
"Hullo, Stephen!"
But Stephen was now insensible.
"Stephen, you live here--"
"Good gracious me!" interposed Herbert. "My advice is, that we all go to bed. The less said the better while our nerves are in this state. Very well, Rickie. Of course, Wonham sleeps the night if you wish." They carried the drunken mass into the spare room. A mass of scandal it seemed to one of them, a symbol of redemption to the other. Neither acknowledged it a man, who would answer them back after a few hours' rest.
"Ansell thought he would never forgive me," said Rickie. "For once he's wrong.""Come to bed now, I think." And as Rickie laid his hand on the sleeper's hair, he added, "You won't do anything foolish, will you? You are still in a morbid state. Your poor mother--Pardon me, dear boy; it is my turn to speak out. You thought it was your father, and minded. It is your mother. Surely you ought to mind more?""I have been too far back," said Rickie gently. "Ansell took me on a journey that was even new to him. We got behind right and wrong, to a place where only one thing matters--that the Beloved should rise from the dead.""But you won't do anything rash?"
"Why should I?"
"Remember poor Agnes," he stammered. "I--I am the first to acknowledge that we might have pursued a different policy. But we are committed to it now. It makes no difference whose son he is.
I mean, he is the same person. You and I and my sister stand or fall together. It was our agreement from the first. I hope--No more of these distressing scenes with her, there's a dear fellow. I assure you they make my heart bleed.""Things will quiet down now."
"To bed now; I insist upon that much."
"Very well," said Rickie, and when they were in the passage, locked the door from the outside. "We want no more muddles," he explained.
Mr. Pembroke was left examining the hall. The bust of Hermes was broken. So was the pot of the palm. He could not go to bed without once more sounding Rickie. "You'll do nothing rash," he called.
"The notion of him living here was, of course, a passing impulse. We three have adopted a common policy.""Now, you go away!" called a voice that was almost flippant. "Inever did belong to that great sect whose doctrine is that each one should select--at least, I'm not going to belong to it any longer. Go away to bed.""A good night's rest is what you need," threatened Herbert, and retired, not to find one for himself.
But Rickie slept. The guilt of months and the remorse of the last ten days had alike departed. He had thought that his life was poisoned, and lo! it was purified. He had cursed his mother, and Ansell had replied, "You may be right, but you stand too near to settle. Step backwards. Pretend that it happened to me. Do you want me to curse my mother? Now, step forward and see whether anything has changed." Something had changed. He had journeyed--as on rare occasions a man must--till he stood behind right and wrong. On the banks of the grey torrent of life, love is the only flower. A little way up the stream and a little way down had Rickie glanced, and he knew that she whom he loved had risen from the dead, and might rise again. "Come away--let them die out--let them die out." Surely that dream was a vision! To-night also he hurried to the window--to remember, with a smile, that Orion is not among the stars of June.
"Let me die out. She will continue," he murmured, and in ****** plans for Stephen's happiness, fell asleep.
Next morning after breakfast he announced that his brother must live at Dunwood House. They were awed by the very moderation of his tone. "There's nothing else to be done. Cadover's hopeless, and a boy of those tendencies can't go drifting. There is also the question of a profession for him, and his allowance.""We have to thank Mr. Ansell for this," was all that Agnes could say; and "I foresee disaster," was the contribution of Herbert.
"There's plenty of money about," Rickie continued. "Quite a man's-worth too much. It has been one of our absurdities. Don't look so sad, Herbert. I'm sorry for you people, but he's sure to let us down easy." For his experience of drunkards and of Stephen was small.
He supposed that he had come without malice to renew the offer of ten days ago.
"It is the end of Dunwood House."
Rickie nodded, and hoped not. Agnes, who was not looking well, began to cry. "Oh, it is too bad," she complained, "when I've saved you from him all these years." But he could not pity her, nor even sympathize with her wounded delicacy. The time for such nonsense was over. He would take his share of the blame: it was cant to assume it all.
Perhaps he was over-hard. He did not realize how large his share was, nor how his very virtues were to blame for her deterioration.
"If I had a girl, I'd keep her in line," is not the remark of a fool nor of a cad. Rickie had not kept his wife in line. He had shown her all the workings of his soul, mistaking this for love;and in consequence she was the worse woman after two years of marriage, and he, on this morning of *******, was harder upon her than he need have been.
The spare room bell rang. Herbert had a painful struggle between curiosity and duty, for the bell for chapel was ringing also, and he must go through the drizzle to school. He promised to come up in the interval, Rickie, who had rapped his head that Sunday on the edge of the table, was still forbidden to work. Before him a quiet morning lay. Secure of his victory, he took the portrait of their mother in his hand and walked leisurely upstairs. The bell continued to ring.