the wheels of chance-第15章

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s　darkness；　loses　something　of　its　weight　and　body；　and　swims　up　towards　heaven。　This　road　that　was　a　mere　rutted　white　dust；　hot　underfoot；　blinding　to　the　eye；　is　now　a　soft　grey　silence；　with　the　glitter　of　a　crystal　grain　set　starlike　in　its　silver　here　and　there。　Overhead；　riding　serenely　through　the　spacious　blue；　is　the　mother　of　the　silence；　she　who　has　spiritualised　the　world；　alone　save　for　two　attendant　steady　shining　stars。　And　in　silence　under　her　benign　influence；　under　the　benediction　of　her　light；　rode　our　two　wanderers　side　by　side　through　the　transfigured　and　transfiguring　night。

Nowhere　was　the　moon　shining　quite　so　brightly　as　in　Mr。　Hoopdriver's　skull。　At　the　turnings　of　the　road　he　made　his　decisions　with　an　air　of　profound　promptitude　（and　quite　haphazard）。　〃The　Right；〃　he　would　say。　Or　again　〃The　Left；〃　as　one　who　knew。　So　it　was　that　in　the　space　of　an　hour　they　came　abruptly　down　a　little　lane；　full　tilt　upon　the　sea。　Grey　beach　to　the　right　of　them　and　to　the　left；　and　a　little　white　cottage　fast　asleep　inland　of　a　sleeping　fishing…boat。　〃Hullo！〃　said　Mr。　Hoopdriver；　sotto　voce。　They　dismounted　abruptly。　Stunted　oaks　and　thorns　rose　out　of　the　haze　of　moonlight　that　was　tangled　in　the　hedge　on　either　side。

〃You　are　safe；〃　said　Mr。　Hoopdriver；　sweeping　off　his　cap　with　an　air　and　bowing　courtly。

〃Where　are　we？〃

〃SAFE。〃

〃But　WHERE？〃

〃Chichester　Harbour。〃　He　waved　his　arm　seaward　as　though　it　was　a　goal。

〃Do　you　think　they　will　follow　us？〃

〃We　have　turned　and　turned　again。〃

It　seemed　to　Hoopdriver　that　he　heard　her　sob。　She　stood　dimly　there；　holding　her　machine；　and　he；　holding　his；　could　go　no　nearer　to　her　to　see　if　she　sobbed　for　weeping　or　for　want　of　breath。　〃What　are　we　to　do　now？〃　her　voice　asked。

〃Are　you　tired？〃　he　asked。

〃I　will　do　what　has　to　be　done。〃

The　two　black　figures　in　the　broken　light　were　silent　for　a　space。　〃Do　you　know；〃　she　said；　〃I　am　not　afraid　of　you。　I　am　sure　you　are　honest　to　me。　And　I　do　not　even　know　your　name！〃

He　was　taken　with　a　sudden　shame　of　his　homely　patronymic。　〃It's　an　ugly　name；〃　he　said。　〃But　you　are　right　in　trusting　me。　I　wouldI　would　do　anything　for　you。　。　。　。　This　is　nothing。〃

She　caught　at　her　breath。　She　did　not　care　to　ask　why。　But　compared　with　Bechamel！〃We　take　each　other　on　trust；〃　she　said。　〃Do　you　want　to　knowhow　things　are　with　me？〃

〃That　man；〃　she　went　on；　after　the　assent　of　his　listening　silence；　〃promised　to　help　and　protect　me。　I　was　unhappy　at　homenever　mind　why。　A　stepmotherIdle；　unoccupied；　hindered；　cramped；　that　is　enough；　perhaps。　Then　he　came　into　my　life；　and　talked　to　me　of　art　and　literature；　and　set　my　brain　on　fire。　I　wanted　to　come　out　into　the　world；　to　be　a　human　beingnot　a　thing　in　a　hutch。　And　he〃　

〃I　know；〃　said　Hoopdriver。

〃And　now　here　I　am〃

〃I　will　do　anything；〃　said　Hoopdriver。

She　thought。　〃You　cannot　imagine　my　stepmother。　No！　I　could　not　describe　her〃

〃I　am　entirely　at　your　service。　I　will　help　you　with　all　my　power。〃

〃I　have　lost　an　Illusion　and　found　a　Knight…errant。〃　She　spoke　of　Bechamel　as　the　Illusion。

Mr。　Hoopdriver　felt　flattered。　But　he　had　no　adequate　answer。

〃I'm　thinking；〃　he　said；　full　of　a　rapture　of　protective　responsibility；　〃　what　we　had　best　be　doing。　You　are　tired；　you　know。　And　we　can't　wander　all　nightafter　the　day　we've　had。〃

〃That　was　Chichester　we　were　near？〃　she　asked。

〃If；〃　he　meditated；　with　a　tremble　in　his　voice；　〃you　would　make　ME　your　brother；　MISS　BEAUMONT。〃

〃Yes？〃

〃We　could　stop　there　together〃

She　took　a　minute　to　answer。　〃I　am　going　to　light　these　lamps；〃　said　Hoopdriver。　He　bent　down　to　his　own；　and　struck　a　match　on　his　shoe。　She　looked　at　his　face　in　its　light；　grave　and　intent。　How　could　she　ever　have　thought　him　common　or　absurd？

〃But　you　must　tell　me　your　namebrother；〃　she　said；　

〃ErCarrington；〃　said　Mr。　Hoopdriver；　after　a　momentary　pause。　Who　would　be　Hoopdriver　on　a　night　like　this？

〃But　the　Christian　name？〃

〃Christian　name？　MY　Christian　name。　WellChris。〃　He　snapped　his　lamp　and　stood　up。　〃If　you　will　hold　my　machine；　I　will　light　yours；〃　he　said。

She　came　round　obediently　and　took　his　machine；　and　for　a　moment　they　stood　face　to　face。　〃My　name；　brother　Chris；〃　she　said；　〃is　Jessie。〃

He　looked　into　her　eyes；　and　his　excitement　seemed　arrested。　〃JESSIE；〃　he　repeated　slowly。　The　mute　emotion　of　his　face　affected　her　strangely。　She　had　to　speak。　〃It's　not　such　a　very　wonderful　name；　is　it？〃　she　said；　with　a　laugh　to　break　the　intensity。

He　opened　his　mouth　and　shut　it　again；　and；　with　a　sudden　wincing　of　his　features；　abruptly　turned　and　bent　down　to　open　the　lantern　in　front　of　her　machine。　She　looked　down　at　him；　almost　kneeling　in　front　of　her；　with　an　unreasonable　approbation　in　her　eyes。　It　was；　as　I　have　indicated；　the　hour　and　season　of　the　full　moon。



XXV

Mr。　Hoopdriver　conducted　the　rest　of　that　night's　journey　with　the　same　confident　dignity　as　before；　and　it　was　chiefly　by　good　luck　and　the　fact　that　most　roads　about　a　town　converge　thereupon；　that　Chichester　was　at　last　attained。　It　seemed　at　first　as　though　everyone　had　gone　to　bed；　but　the　Red　Hotel　still　glowed　yellow　and　warm。　It　was　the　first　time　Hoopdriver　bad　dared　the　mysteries　of　a　'first…class'　hotel。'　But　that　night　he　was　in　the　mood　to　dare　anything。

〃So　you　found　your　Young　Lady　at　last；〃　said　the　ostler　of　the　Red　Hotel；　for　it　chanced　he　was　one　of　those　of　whom　Hoopdriver　had　made　inquiries　in　the　afternoon。

〃Quite　a　misunderstanding；〃　said　Hoopdriver；　with　splendid　readiness。　〃My　sister　had　gone　to　Bognor　But　I　brought　her　back　here。　I've　took　a　fancy　to　this　place。　And　the　moonlight's　simply　dee…vine。〃

〃We've　had　supper；　thenks；　and　we're　tired；〃　said　Mr。　Hoopdriver。　〃I　suppose　you　won't　take　anything；Jessie？〃　

The　glory　of　having　her；　even　as　a　sister！　and　to　call　her　Jessie　like　that！　But　he　carried　it　off　splendidly；　as　he　felt　himself　bound　to　admit。　〃Good…night；　Sis；〃　he　said；　〃and　pleasant　dreams。　I'll　just　'ave　a　look　at　this　paper　before　I　turn　in。〃　But　this　was　living　indeed！　he　told　himself。

So　gallantly　did　Mr。　Hoopdriver　comport　himself　up　to　the　very　edge　of　the　Most　Wonderful　Day　of　all。　It　had　begun　early；　you　will　remember；　with　a　vigil　in　a　little　sweetstuff　shop　next　door　to　the　Angel　at　Midhurst。　But　to　think　of　all　the　things　that　had　happened　since　then！　He　caught　himself　in　the　middle　of　a　yawn；　pulled　out　his　watch；　saw　the　time　was　halfpast　eleven；　and　marched　off；　with　a　fine　sense　of　heroism；　bedward。



THE　SURBITON　INTERLUDE

XXVI

And　here；　thanks　to　the　glorious　institution　of　sleep；　comes　a　break　in　the　narrative　again。　These　absurd　young　people　are　safely　tucked　away　now；　their　heads　full　of　glowing　nonsense；　indeed；　but　the　course　of　events　at　any　rate　is　safe　from　any　fresh　developments　through　their　activities　for　the　next　eight　hours　or　more。　They　are　both　sleeping　healthily　you　will　perhaps　be　astonished　to　hear。　Here　is　the　girlwhat　girls　are　coming　to　nowadays　only　Mrs。　Lynn　Linton　can　tell！in　company　with　an　absolute　stranger；　of　low　extraction　and　uncertain　accent；　unchaperoned　and　unabashed；　indeed；　now　she　fancies　she　is　safe；　she　is；　if　anything；　a　little　proud　of　her　own　share　in　these　transactions。　Then　this　Mr。　Hoopdriver　of　yours；　roseate　idiot　that　he　is！　is　in　illegal　possession　of　a　stolen　bicycle；　a　stolen　young　lady；　and　two　stolen　names；　established　with　them　in　an　hotel　that　is　quite　beyond　his　means；　and　immensely　proud　of　himself　in　a　somnolent　way　for　these　incomparable　follies。　There　are　occasions　when　a　moralising　novelist　can　merely　wring　his　hands　and　leave　matters　to　take　their　course。　For　all　Hoopdriver　knows　or　cares　he　may　be　locked　up　the　very　first　thing　to…morrow　morning　for　the　rape　of　the　cycle。　Then　in　Bognor；　let　alone　that　melancholy　vestige；　Bechamel　（with　whom　our　dealings　are；　thank　Goodness！　over）；　there　is　a　Coffee　Tavern　with　a　steak　Mr。　Hoopdriver　ordered；　done　to　a　cinder　long　ago；　his　American…cloth　parcel　in　a　bedroom；　and　his　own　proper　bicycle；　by　way　of　guarantee；　carefully　locked　up　in　the　hayloft。　To…morrow　he　will　be　a　Mystery；　and　they　will　be　looking　for　his　body　along　the　sea　front。　And　so　far　we　have　never　given　a　glance　at　the　desolate　home　in　Surbiton；　familiar　to　you　no　doubt　through　the　medium　of　illustrated　interviews；　where　the　unhappy　stepmother

That　stepmother；　it　must　be　explained；　is　quite　well　known　to　you。　That　is　a　little　surprise　I　have　prepared　for　you。　She　is　'Thomas　Plantagenet；'　the　gifted　authoress　of　that　witty　and　daring　book；　〃A　Soul　Untrammelled；〃　and　quite　an　excellent　woman　in　her　way；only　it　is　such　a　crooked　way。　Her　real　name　is　Milton。　She　is　a　widow　and　a　charming　one；　only　ten　years　older　than　Jessie；　and　she　is　always　careful　to　dedicate　her　more　daring　works　to　the　'sacred　memory　of　my　husband'　to　show　that　there's　nothing　personal；　you　know；　in　the　matter。　Considering　her　literary　reputation　（she　was　always　speaking　of　herself　as　one　I　martyred　for　truth；'　because　the　critics　advertised　her　written　indecorums　in　column　long　'slates'）；considering　her　literary　reputation；　I　say；　she　was　one　of　the　most　respectable　women　it　is　possible　to　imagine。　She　furnished　correctly；　dressed　correctly；　had　severe　notions　of　whom　she　might　meet；　went　to　church；　and　even　at　times　took　the　sacrament　in　some　esoteric　spirit。　And　Jessie　she　brought　up　so　carefully　that　she　never　even　let　her　read　〃A　Soul　Untrammelled。〃　Which；　therefore；　naturally　enough；　Jessie　did；　and　went　on　from　that　to　a　feast　of　advanced　literature。　Mrs。　Milton　not　only　brought　up　Jessie　carefully；　but　very　slowly；　so　that　at　seventeen　she　was　still　a　clever　schoolgirl　（as　you　have　seen　her）　and　quite　in　the　background　of　the　little　literary　circle　of　unimportant　celebrities　which　'Thomas　Plantagenet'　adorned。　Mrs。　Milton　knew　Bechamel's　reputation　of　being　a　dangerous　man；　but　then　bad　men　are　not　bad　women；　and　she　let　him　come　to　her　house　to　show　she　was　not　afraidshe　took　no　account　of　Jessie。　When　the　elopement　came；　therefore；　it　was　a　double　disappointment　to　her；　for　she　perceived　his　hand　by　a　kind　of　instinct。　She　did　the　correct　thing。　The　correct　thing；　as　you　know；　is　to　take　hansom　cabs；　regardless　of　expense；　and　weep　and　say　you　do　not　know　WHAT　to　do；　round　the　circle　of　your　confidential　friends。　She　could　not　have　ridden　nor　wept　more　had　Jessie　been　her　own　daughtershe　showed　the　properest　spirit。　And　she　not　only　showed　it；　but　felt　it。

Mrs。　Milton；　as　a　successful　little　authoress　and　still　more　successful　widow　of　thirty…two；〃Thomas　Plantagenet　is　a　charming　woman；〃　her　reviewers　used　to　write　invariably；　even　if　they　spoke　ill　of　her；found　the　steady　growth　of　Jessie　into　womanhood　an　unmitigated　nuisance　and　had　been　willing　enough　to　keep　her　in　the　background。　And　Jessiewho　had　started　this　intercourse　at　fourteen　with　abstract　objections　to　stepmothershad　been　active　enough　in　resenting　this。　Increasing　rivalry　and　antagonism　had　sprung　up　between　them；　until　they　could　engender　quite　a　vivid　hatred　from　a　dropped　hairpin　or　the　cutting　of　a　book　with　a　sharpened　knife。　There　is　very　little　deliberate　wickedness　in　the　world。　The　stupidity　of　our　selfishness　gives　muc