CHAPTER I.
OLD ENGLAND FOR EVER.
The good ship Kenwick Castle lay off Madeira. Few of her passengers cared to land, for they were homeward bound, and desired nothing so much as to get away speedily. Neither were they as much impressed as on the outward journey, by the soft brilliancy of the atmosphere and the picturesque loveliness of the crimped coast of the island. The towering peaks, the rainbow-spanned gorges and ravines, the dense foliage of the forests, the vineyards and the plantations—made up a picture worthy of admiration; but the eyes that looked across the waters to the white houses of Funchal were wearying for the quiet beauty of English meadows.
The scene between the ship and the shore was a lively one. Boats flashed in the sun, and a clamorous company of Portuguese, Moorish, and negro salesmen offered fruits, baskets, chairs, and ornaments of all sorts, so that those who had forgotten to bring presents for their friends might easily purchase them now. Swimming boys—black-skinned and coffee-coloured—were shouting for money to be thrown into the sea to test their diving powers, and boatmen were eager for customers. But the captain and the crew looked only for fresh passengers, and did but wait with dogged patience until they should arrive.
Two young men were leaning over the side of the vessel, and watching the boats and the shore.
“There are passengers coming,” said one. “It would indeed be strange if Miss Wentworth were among them.”
“Too strange to be true, I imagine. She is probably in England.”
“Yes. But she usually leaves Madeira about this time. I wish she might happen to be going with us.”
“So do I, heartily. And, look—look at the lady in the second boat. She is very like her.”
“How curious. It is really she. Let us see if we can help her.”
They hurried to the gangway and welcomed with great cordiality a lady whom everybody seemed glad to see, not a young lady, however, but a placid, kindly-looking woman, tall and matronly, who was between fifty and sixty years of age. She thanked the young men who had eagerly offered their services, but she evidently did not recognise them nor quite understand their manifest pleasure.
“How are you, Miss Wentworth? It is good to meet you again. You have forgotten us, I see. We came out with you six years ago in the Drummond Castle. My friend is John Dallington, and I am Arthur Knight.”
“Oh, yes, I remember! You were both sent from England to be out of the way; because your presence at home was embarrassing.”
“Exactly; and we have been together ever since. We have travelled nearly all over the world; but they cannot do without us any longer in England, so we are homeward bound, as you are. Don’t you want to know how we have been getting along since we parted from you at the hotel yonder?”
“I shall like to hear anything you have to tell me. You are both so altered that I should not have known you. You have grown, I think, and passed from youth into manhood. Six years make a great difference when you are young. What has become of the gentleman who went to take care of you? Is he with you still?”
“No, he is not. We must tell you of him presently.”
They made a pleasant-looking trio, frequently, during the three days that sufficed to carry them to England, as, with chairs drawn together on the deck, they talked of the past and the future. Miss Wentworth was an interested listener. Her fifty years had made her very kindly and sympathetic, and the motherliness of her nature rendered her the friend of every one who came within her reach, and especially of the young. She had been kind to the two youths, when, a little sore-hearted and rebellious, they were outward bound, and among the things which she had said to “hearten them up” had been one which they had not forgotten. They were therefore the more glad to see her now that their banishment was ended, and they were about to begin life in earnest.
Of the two young men, though Dallington was the more handsome, Knight was by far the more attractive. Rather taller than the average Englishman, strong and graceful in figure, with a broad forehead, masculine nose, firm lips, and wide chin, he was the personification of strength and manliness; but there was something about him which told also of great tenderness, refinement, and self-mastery. There was not a particle of self-assertion in him, and yet he was one who would never be overlooked, even in a crowd. When he entered a room people naturally observed him, when he spoke everybody listened; for he had the rare gift of magnetic influence, which seems to be possessed by only a few in a century.
Miss Wentworth had recognised this on her first meeting with him. She felt sure that if he lived the world would hear of Arthur Knight, and she was full of desire that the life so vigorous and forceful might be altogether on the side of righteousness and truth. So wistful was she that she could not let him go without one or two earnest words. She believed that “the Christian is the highest type of man,” and her faith in the power of the living Christ to draw and train disciples was great. She had doubts of the presumption which talks to people about “their souls,” yet she did summon courage to say to those young men, who glibly informed her that they did not believe in the Founder of the Christian religion, “No, for you do not need Him now; but when you do, you will find that He is both able and willing to help you.”
These words neither of the three had forgotten; and Knight referred to them in one of their conversations.
“I proved the truth of what you said, Miss Wentworth, in a very extraordinary manner. I had not the slightest sympathy with religion in any form. My mother died when I was about three, I can scarcely remember her; but my father, who was a Dissenter, took me to chapel with him always; though I never really entered into the service. I did not join in the prayer, for I did not want the things for which the minister asked, and the sermons never concerned me. They were for the most part disquisitions on texts, for which I did not care, and they seemed to me to have nothing whatever to do with the ordinary lives of the people. I cannot remember ever hearing anything to make a false or selfish man uncomfortable, and I could not see that those who were church members were at all better than those who were not. And I really believed that the whole thing was a farce.”
“I never went as far as that,” said Dallington. “But I did not have as much of it as my friend. We were Church people; and we had no prayer-meetings in the vestry, nor psalm-singing at home.”
“I had enough of it, and it was really irksome; and when I began to read books that were opposed to Christianity I agreed with every word that was said, and decided that as for religion there was absolutely nothing in it.”
“Yes?”
“But I know now that there is. You were asking me about my old tutor. He is dead; and it was at his death that I put your words to the test. It was very painful. We were alone, with none but Arabs near us. He was awfully ill; and when the thought came to him that he would probably die, he was altogether unnerved. The fact is that he was really afraid of what might be after death. He said to me, ‘Arthur, if there is a hereafter I am not prepared for it.’ Then I told him what you had said.”
At this point of the conversation John Dallington arose and walked to the side of the vessel.
“Mr. Knight, if you would rather not talk about it, do not tell me,” said Miss Wentworth, in a low voice.
“But I want you to know,” said Knight. “One cannot talk much about it; but I ought to tell you, and I will. I had never prayed before, but then with all my heart I called upon Jesus Christ. I asked Him, if it were true, as so many people believed, that He was really the living Saviour, to reveal Himself now. And He did.”
“But your friend did not live.”
“No; we did not ask for that. That was not what we most wanted. What we needed was the assurance that there is Some One who sees us in our weakness and cares for our pain, and hears us when we cry. The assurance came so certainly that I have never doubted since. Hutton grew first calm, and then radiantly happy—as I had never seen him before. He looked up with a wonderful light upon his face, as if he could really see what is beyond, and he died with the name of Jesus upon his lips.”
“I am very glad. And what of yourself?”
“Of course, I cannot explain things. Dallington and I have received pretty regularly from England all the books and journals which we could get; and I know that this is a time of great doubt. I cannot answer the questions that are asked. But”—and the young man bowed his head reverently—“I believe in the Son of God, and I rest in His salvation.”
Such a conversation could not be a protracted one. Miss Wentworth could only look the sympathy and joy which she felt; and Arthur Knight walked the length of the deck twice, and then joined his friend. When the three met again on the following day the talk was of a less serious character.
“I wonder,” said Miss Wentworth, “if you are going to rave against everything English, as so many of our countrymen do?”
“No, indeed,” replied Dallington; “I think we shall be more likely to err in the opposite direction. I, for one, am proud of my country. I suppose we might learn a few things from other nations, but I am very well satisfied to be an Englishman.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I have an estate to look after,” said Dallington. “I am going to take care of my mother, and find out the best way of growing fruit and corn.”
“And I am going to help my father,” said Knight. “He is a manufacturer.”
“But his son does not wish to be a manufacturer,” said Dallington, significantly. “He hopes to talk the people of England round to his ideas.”
Knight’s face flushed almost painfully. “We cannot always alter circumstances,” he said; “but I confess that there is to me a marvellous fascination in a listening crowd. There is, however, no lack of orators in England.”
“A new man who has something to say, and knows how to say it, has always his chance, though,” said Miss Wentworth.
What his dreams had been by night and day the young man did not tell. He said, “My father’s business is a large one. I have some ideas on the subject of heads and hands, or masters and men; and hope I may have the opportunity of putting them into practice.”
“Oh! surely you have not been abroad to learn Socialism. We English people are afraid of that,” said Miss Wentworth.
“And yet many are dissatisfied with things as they are.”
“Certainly, and they have need to be. Side by side with all the good there are evils of which every decent person is utterly ashamed.”
“Then why do the decent people allow them to exist?”
“I suppose they cannot help it.”
“But they could if they would. They have the power and the influence, if they only had the will. Very much of the wealth, too, is in the hands of religious people, and if only they cared, as I think they ought, the great evils which are a disgrace to England might be stamped out in a year.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I feel sure of it. Englishmen do but need to know God’s greatness and their own, and then they could lift our country up to its name as a Christian land.”
Miss Wentworth laughed a little. “That would bring the Millennium much sooner than it is expected,” she said.
“Another Wesley is wanted, or even a non-political Gladstone, that is all. The people are ready for the man who has an understanding of the times.”
It was early in the morning, just after daybreak, that the long-looked-for homeland appeared in sight. Nobody had slept much that night, for the thoughts of the passengers had gone on before their eyes to the green heights of Plymouth Hoe. Yet it was not so much because of its historical associations that it so haunted them, but because it would give them the first glimpse of the old country. A cheer arose from the throats of the watchers as soon as it first came in sight, and preparations for disembarking were so rapidly completed that every one was ready long before the land was reached.
Arthur Knight stood with folded arms and glowing eyes looking at the land. How he had dreamed of that moment, and prayed, “Here am I, send me.” It was strange for a modern young man to be thinking of St. Paul and of Peter the Hermit, but he was. He believed, as they did, that he had received a God-inspired impulse, and that he had a message to deliver for which there were hundreds of thousands of people waiting in this dear native land of his. He was in a state of exaltation, tempered, however, with deep humility. “I am not worthy, yet send me,” he said. “Let me go to the crowded towns and the lonely villages, and tell the people what Thou hast told me.”
He uttered the words aloud, for no one was quite close, and the next moment he stepped ashore, and a man came forward to greet him. “Welcome home, Mr. Arthur. I am very glad to see you.”
“How do you do, Hancourt? How is my father?”
“Mr. Knight is well, sir; so am I, only I am much worried. As you said you wished to talk to me I have taken the liberty to engage a private compartment for the journey to London,” said the man.
“Very good. When does the train start?”
“Almost immediately. Can I look after your luggage?”
Knight at once took leave of his travelling companions. “My father’s chief business manager has come to meet me at my request,” he said, “and we travel together. Good-bye, Dallington, and thank you for everything, old fellow. Hope you will find your Margaret unchanged. I should be sorry to think we had come to the end of the story. Remember, we are but beginning it.”
“I will not forget,” answered Dallington.
“Good-bye, Miss Wentworth. I am glad to have your address. You will be sure to hear from me.”
When they were in the carriage, Knight and Hancourt looked steadfastly at each other before either spoke, and each noted the changes which the years had made.
“How is Mrs. Hancourt? And how are your children?” asked Knight.
“They are very well, thank you. Mr. Arthur, I am not sure that I ought to have met you, for there have been many changes in the last few months, and I am no longer in your father’s employment.”
“How is that? I thought my father could not do without you.”
“You are wanted at home, sir. Mr. Knight has become a universal manufacturer, and has an enormous business, or a dozen businesses, and employs thousands of hands. He has been for the last few years making money fast; but as fast as he has got rich his workpeople have got poor, and that is not right, Mr. Arthur.”
“You must take care what you say of my father, Hancourt.”
“Very good, sir. I am out of the concern, so it is nothing to me; but I hope you will let me tell you what is in my heart.”
“Go on, then.”
“Lately, indeed almost ever since you went away, the master has been cutting things very close and underselling everybody, and to do that he has used the commonest material, and has frequently lowered the wages of his hands. Many things which go across the sea are not worth the cost of carriage; they are just put together to look well and that is all. I think it is a great pity, and I ventured to say so to Mr. Knight, because he will lose his customers, and the business will go down as quickly as it went up if he does not change his method. But Mr. Knight told me he did not care for that. He thinks it is no business of his that other English manufacturers will be suspected because he has got England a bad name, but I think it ought to be, and that such conduct is unpatriotic. But excuse me, Mr. Arthur, I can’t help getting warm over it. I want to ask you, however, if you will not try and bring about a better state of things?”
Arthur felt as if a stone had been given him when he asked for bread. Could it be that this and not that was his duty? How should he give up his cherished ideas, and the work to which he honestly believed himself called, and come down to business?
Hancourt broke in upon his musings. “You see, sir, I am one of the people, and know what it is to work for starvation wages, and so I thought I would try and enlist your sympathy.”
“What are you doing yourself?”
“Nothing, sir, and I have a wife and two children. But I am afraid I have spoiled your home-coming.”
Indeed, he had.