all roads lead to calvary-第8部分

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lish　something　really　useful。　　There　had　been　some　difficulty　about　his　getting　up　again；　Sir　William　being　an　elderly　gentleman　subject　to　rheumatism；　and　Joan　had　had　to　expend　no　small　amount　of　muscular　effort　in　assisting　him；　so　that　the　episode　which　should　have　been　symbolical　ended　by　leaving　them　both　red　and　breathless。

He　referred　to　the　matter　again　the　same　evening　in　the　library　while　Lady　William　slept　peacefully　in　the　blue　drawing…room；　but　as　it　appeared　necessary　that　the　compact　should　be　sealed　by　a　knightly　kiss　Joan　had　failed　to　ratify　it。

She　blamed　herself　on　her　way　home。　　The　poor　old　gentleman　could　easily　have　been　kept　in　his　place。　　The　suffering　of　an　occasional　harmless　caress　would　have　purchased　for　her　power　and　opportunity。　Had　it　not　been　somewhat　selfish　of　her？　　Should　she　write　to　him　see　him　again？

She　knew　that　she　never　would。　　It　was　something　apart　from　her　reason。　　It　would　not　even　listen　to　her。　　It　bade　or　forbade　as　if　one　were　a　child　without　any　right　to　a　will　of　one's　own。　　It　was　decidedly　exasperating。

There　were　others。　　There　were　the　editors　who　frankly　told　her　that　the　business　of　a　newspaper　was　to　write　what　its　customers　wanted　to　read；　and　that　the　public；　so　far　as　they　could　judge；　was　just　about　fed　up　with　plans　for　New　Jerusalems　at　their　expense。　　And　the　editors　who　were　prepared　to　take　up　any　number　of　reforms；　insisting　only　that　they　should　be　new　and　original　and　promise　popularity。

And　then　she　met　Greyson。

It　was　at　a　lunch　given　by　Mrs。　Denton。　　Greyson　was　a　bachelor　and　lived　with　an　unmarried　sister；　a　few　years　older　than　himself。　　He　was　editor　and　part　proprietor　of　an　evening　paper。　　It　had　ideals　and　was；　in　consequence；　regarded　by　the　general　public　with　suspicion；　but　by　reason　of　sincerity　and　braininess　was　rapidly　becoming　a　power。　　He　was　a　shy；　reserved　man　with　an　aristocratic　head　set　upon　stooping　shoulders。　　The　face　was　that　of　a　dreamer；　but　about　the　mouth　there　was　suggestion　of　the　fighter。　　Joan　felt　at　her　ease　with　him　in　spite　of　the　air　of　detachment　that　seemed　part　of　his　character。　　Mrs。　Denton　had　paired　them　off　together；　and；　during　the　lunch；　one　of　themJoan　could　not　remember　which　had　introduced　the　subject　of　reincarnation。

Greyson　was　unable　to　accept　the　theory　because　of　the　fact　that；　in　old　age；　the　mind　in　common　with　the　body　is　subject　to　decay。

〃Perhaps　by　the　time　I　am　fortyor　let　us　say　fifty；〃　he　argued；　〃I　shall　be　a　bright；　intelligent　being。　　If　I　die　then；　well　and　good。　　I　select　a　likely　baby　and　go　straight　on。　　But　suppose　I　hang　about　till　eighty　and　die　a　childish　old　gentleman　with　a　mind　all　gone　to　seed。　　What　am　I　going　to　do　then？　　I　shall　have　to　begin　all　over　again：　　perhaps　worse　off　than　I　was　before。　　That's　not　going　to　help　us　much。〃

Joan　explained　it　to　him：　　that　old　age　might　be　likened　to　an　illness。　　A　genius　lies　upon　a　bed　of　sickness　and　babbles　childish　nonsense。　　But　with　returning　life　he　regains　his　power；　goes　on　increasing　it。　　The　mind；　the　soul；　has　not　decayed。　　It　is　the　lines　of　communication　that　old　age　has　destroyed。

〃But　surely　you　don't　believe　it？〃　he　demanded。

〃Why　not？〃　laughed　Joan。　　〃All　things　are　possible。　　It　was　the　possession　of　a　hand　that　transformed　monkeys　into　men。　　We　used　to　take　things　up；　you　know；　and　look　at　them；　and　wonder　and　wonder　and　wonder；　till　at　last　there　was　born　a　thought　and　the　world　became　visible。　　It　is　curiosity　that　will　lead　us　to　the　next　great　discovery。　　We　must　take　things　up；　and　think　and　think　and　think　till　one　day　there　will　come　knowledge；　and　we　shall　see　the　universe。〃

Joan　always　avoided　getting　excited　when　she　thought　of　it。

〃I　love　to　make　you　excited；〃　Flossie　had　once　confessed　to　her　in　the　old　student　days。　　〃You　look　so　ridiculously　young　and　you　are　so　pleased　with　yourself；　laying　down　the　law。〃

She　did　not　know　she　had　given　way　to　it。　　He　was　leaning　back　in　his　chair；　looking　at　her；　and　the　tired　look　she　had　noticed　in　his　eyes；　when　she　had　been　introduced　to　him　in　the　drawing…room；　had　gone　out　of　them。

During　the　coffee；　Mrs。　Denton　beckoned　him　to　come　to　her；　and　Miss　Greyson　crossed　over　and　took　his　vacant　chair。　　She　had　been　sitting　opposite　to　them。

〃I've　been　hearing　so　much　about　you；〃　she　said。　　〃I　can't　help　thinking　that　you　ought　to　suit　my　brother's　paper。　　He　has　all　your　ideas。　　Have　you　anything　that　you　could　send　him？〃

Joan　considered　a　moment。

〃Nothing　very　startling；〃　she　answered。　　〃I　was　thinking　of　a　series　of　articles　on　the　old　London　Churchestouching　upon　the　people　connected　with　them　and　the　things　they　stood　for。　　I've　just　finished　the　first　one。〃

〃It　ought　to　be　the　very　thing；〃　answered　Miss　Greyson。　　She　was　a　thin；　faded　woman　with　a　soft；　plaintive　voice。　　〃It　will　enable　him　to　judge　your　style。　　He's　particular　about　that。　　Though　I'm　confident　he'll　like　it；〃　she　hastened　to　add。　　〃Address　it　to　me；　will　you。　　I　assist　him　as　much　as　I　can。〃

Joan　added　a　few　finishing　touches　that　evening；　and　posted　it；　and　a　day　or　two　later　received　a　note　asking　her　to　call　at　the　office。

〃My　sister　is　enthusiastic　about　your　article　on　Chelsea　Church　and　insists　on　my　taking　the　whole　series；〃　Greyson　informed　her。　　〃She　says　you　have　the　Stevensonian　touch。〃

Joan　flushed　with　pleasure。

〃And　you；〃　she　asked；　〃did　you　think　it　had　the　Stevensonian　touch？〃

〃No；〃　he　answered；　〃it　seemed　to　me　to　have　more　of　your　touch。〃

〃What's　that　like？〃　she　demanded。

〃They　couldn't　suppress　you；〃　he　explained。　　〃Sir　Thomas　More　with　his　head　under　his　arm；　bloody　old　Bluebeard；　grim　Queen　Bess；　snarling　old　Swift；　Pope；　Addison；　Carlylethe　whole　grisly　crowd　of　them！　　I　could　see　you　holding　your　own　against　them　all；　explaining　things　to　them；　getting　excited。〃　　He　laughed。

His　sister　joined　them；　coming　in　from　the　next　room。　　She　had　a　proposal　to　make。　　It　was　that　Joan　should　take　over　the　weekly　letter　from　〃Clorinda。〃　　It　was　supposed　to　give　the　views　of　a　perhaps　unusuallysane　and　thoughtful　woman　upon　the　questions　of　the　day。　　Miss　Greyson　had　hitherto　conducted　it　herself；　but　was　wishful　as　she　explained　to　be　relieved　of　it；　so　that　she　might　have　more　time　for　home　affairs。　　It　would　necessitate　Joan's　frequent　attendance　at　the　office；　for　there　would　be　letters　from　the　public　to　be　answered；　and　points　to　be　discussed　with　her　brother。　　She　was　standing　behind　his　chair　with　her　hands　upon　his　head。　　There　was　something　strangely　motherly　about　her　whole　attitude。

Greyson　was　surprised；　for　the　Letter　had　been　her　own　conception；　and　had　grown　into　a　popular　feature。　　But　she　was　evidently　in　earnest；　and　Joan　accepted　willingly。　　〃Clorinda〃　grew　younger；　more　self…assertive；　on　the　whole　more　human。　　But　still　so　eminently　〃sane〃　and　reasonable。

〃We　must　not　forget　that　she　is　quite　a　respectable　lady；　connectedaccording　to　her　own　accountwith　the　higher　political　circles；〃　Joan's　editor　would　insist；　with　a　laugh。

Miss　Greyson；　working　in　the　adjoining　room；　would　raise　her　head　and　listen。　　She　loved　to　hear　him　laugh。

〃It's　absurd；〃　Flossie　told　her　one　morning；　as　having　met　by　chance　they　were　walking　home　together　along　the　Embankment。　〃You're　not　'Clorinda'；　you　ought　to　be　writing　letters　to　her；　not　from　her；　waking　her　up；　telling　her　to　come　off　her　perch；　and　find　out　what　the　earth　feels　like。　　I'll　tell　you　what　I'll　do：　I'll　trot　you　round　to　Carleton。　　If　you're　out　for　stirring　up　strife　and　contention；　well；　that's　his　game；　too。　　He'll　use　you　for　his　beastly　sordid　ends。　　He'd　have　roped　in　John　the　Baptist　if　he'd　been　running　the　'Jerusalem　Star'　at　the　time；　and　have　given　him　a　daily　column　for　so　long　as　the　boom　lasted。　　What's　that　matter；　if　he's　willing　to　give　you　a　start？〃

Joan　jibbed　at　first。　　But　in　the　end　Flossie's　arguments　prevailed。　　One　afternoon；　a　week　later；　she　was　shown　into　Carleton's　private　room；　and　the　door　closed　behind　her。　　The　light　was　dim；　and　for　a　moment　she　could　see　no　one；　until　Carleton；　who　had　been　standing　near　one　of　the　windows；　came　forward　and　placed　a　chair　for　her。　　And　they　both　sat　down。

〃I've　glanced　through　some　of　your　things；〃　he　said。　　〃They're　all　right。　　They're　alive。　　What's　your　idea？〃

Remembering　Flossie's　counsel；　she　went　straight　to　the　point。　　She　wanted　to　talk　to　the　people。　　She　wanted　to　get　at　them。　　If　she　had　been　a　man；　she　would　have　taken　a　chair　and　gone　to　Hyde　Park。　As　it　was；　she　hadn't　the　nerve　for　Hyde　Park。　　At　least　she　was　afraid　she　hadn't。　　It　might　have　to　come　to　that。　　There　was　a　trembling　in　her　voice　that　annoyed　her。　　She　was　so　afraid　she　might　cry。　　She　wasn't　out　for　anything　crazy。　　She　wanted　only　those　things　done　that　could　be　done　if　the　people　would　but　lift　their　eyes；　look　into　one　another's　faces；　see　the　wrong　and　the　injustice　that　was　all　around　them；　and　swear　that　they　would　never　rest　till　the　pain　and　the　terror　had　been　driven　from　the　land。　She　wanted　soldiersmen　and　women　who　would　forget　their　own　sweet　selves；　not　counting　their　own　loss；　thinking　of　the　greater　gain；　as　in　times　of　war　and　revolution；　when　men　gave　even　their　lives　gladly　for　a　dream；　for　a　hope　…

Without　warning　he　switched　on　the　electric　lamp　that　stood　upon　the　desk；　causing　her　to　draw　back　with　a　start。

〃All　right；〃　he　said。　　〃Go　ahead。　　You　shall　have　your　tub；　and　a　weekly　audience　of　a　million　readers　for　as　long　as　you　can　keep　them　interested。　　Up　with　anything　you　like；　and　down　with　everything　you　don't。　　Be　careful　not　to　land　me　in　a　libel　suit。　Call　the　whole　Bench　of　Bishops　hypocrites；　and　all　the　ground　landlords　thieves；　if　you　will：　　but　don't　mention　names。　　And　don't　get　me　into　trouble　with　the　police。　　Beyond　that；　I　shan't　interfere　with　you。〃

She　was　about　to　speak。

〃One　stipulation；〃　he　went　on；　〃that　every　article　is　headed　with　your　photograph。〃

He　read　the　sudden　dismay　in　her　eyes。

〃How　else　do　you　think　you　are　going　to　attract　their　attention？〃　he　asked　her。　　〃By　your　eloquence！　　Hundreds　of　men　and　women　as　eloquent　as　you　could　ever　be　are　shouting　to　them　every　day。　　Who　takes　any　notice　of　them？　　Why