in a by-way which declines from the main thoroughfare of exeter, and bears the name of longbrook street, is a row of small houses placed above long strips of sloping garden. they are old and plain, with no architectural feature calling for mention, unless it be the latticed porch which gives the doors an awkward quaintness. just beyond, the road crosses a hollow, and begins the ascent of a hill here interposed between the city and the inland-winding valley of exe. the little terrace may be regarded as urban or rural, according to the tastes and occasions of those who dwell there. in one direction, a walk of five minutes will conduct to the middle of high street, and in the other it takes scarcely longer to reach the open country.
on the upper floor of one of these cottages, godwin peak had made his abode. sitting-room and bedchamber, furnished with homely comfort, answered to his bachelor needs, and would allow of his receiving without embarrassment any visitor whom fortune might send him. of quietness he was assured, for a widow and her son, alike remarkable for sobriety of demeanour, were the only persons who shared the house with him. mrs. roots could not compare in grace and skill with the little frenchwoman who had sweetened his existence at peckham rye, but her zeal made amends for natural deficiency, and the timorous respect with which she waited upon him was by no means disagreeable to godwin. her reply to a request or suggestion was always, ‘if you please, sir.’ throughout the day she went so tranquilly about her domestic duties, that godwin seldom heard anything except the voice of the cuckoo-clock, a pleasant sound to him. her son, employed at a nurseryman’s, was a great sinewy fellow with a face of such ruddiness that it seemed to diffuse warmth; on sunday afternoon, whatever the state of the sky, he sat behind the house in his shirt-sleeves, and smoked a pipe as he contemplated the hart’s-tongue which grew there upon a rockery.
‘the gentleman from london’—so mrs. roots was wont to style her lodger in speaking with neighbours—had brought his books with him; they found place on a few shelves. his microscope had its stand by the window, and one or two other scientific implements lay about the room. the cabinets bequeathed to him by mr. gunnery he had sent to twybridge, to remain in his mother’s care. in taking the lodgings, he described himself merely as a student, and gave his landlady to understand that he hoped to remain under her roof for at least a year. of his extreme respectability, the widow could entertain no doubt, for he dressed with aristocratic finish, attended services at the cathedral and elsewhere very frequently, and made the most punctual payments. moreover, a casual remark had informed her that he was on friendly terms with mr. martin warricombe, whom her son knew as a gentleman of distinction. he often sat up very late at night, but, doubtless, that was the practice of londoners. no lodger could have given less trouble, or have acknowledged with more courtesy all that was done for his convenience.
no one ever called upon mr. peak, but he was often from home for many hours together, probably on visits to great people in city or country. it seemed rather strange, however, that the postman so seldom brought anything for him. though he had now been more than two months in the house, he had received only three letters, and those at long intervals.
noticeable was the improvement in his health since his arrival here. the pallor of his cheeks was giving place to a wholesome tinge; his eye was brighter; he showed more disposition to converse, and was readier with pleasant smiles. mrs. roots even heard him singing in his bedroom—though, oddly enough, it was a secular song on sunday morning. the weekly bills for food, which at first had been very modest, grew richer in items. godwin had, in fact, never felt so well. he extended his walks in every direction, sometimes rambling up the valley to sleepy little towns where he could rest in the parlours of old inns, sometimes striking across country to this or that point of the sea-coast, or making his way to the nearer summits of dartmoor, noble in their wintry desolation. he marked with delight every promise of returning spring. when he could only grant himself a walk of an hour or two in the sunny afternoon, there was many a deep lane within easy reach, where the gorse gleamed in masses of gold, and the little oak-trees in the hedges were ruddy with last year’s clinging leafage, and catkins hung from the hazels, and the fresh green of sprouting ivy crept over bank and wall. had he now been in london, the morning would have awakened him to the glow of sunrise, he felt the sweet air breathing health into fog and slush and misery. as it was, when he looked out upon his frame and vigour into his mind. there were moments when he could all but say of himself that he was at peace with the world.
as on a morning towards the end of march, when a wind from the atlantic swept spaces of brightest blue amid the speeding clouds, and sang joyously as it rushed over hill and dale. it was the very day for an upland walk, for a putting forth of one’s strength in conflict with boisterous gusts and sudden showers, that give a taste of earth’s nourishment. but godwin had something else in view. after breakfast, he sat down to finish a piece of work which had occupied him for two or three days, a translation from a german periodical. his mind wrought easily, and he often hummed an air as his pen moved over the paper. when the task was completed, he rolled his papers and the pamphlet together, put them into the pocket of his overcoat, and presently went forth.
twenty minutes’ walk brought him to the warricombes’ house. it was his second call within the present week, but such assiduity had not hitherto been his wont. though already summoned twice or thrice by express invitation, he was sparing of voluntary visits. having asked for mr. warricombe, he was forthwith conducted to the study. in the welcome which greeted his appearance, he could detect no suspicion of simulated warmth, though his ear had unsurpassable discrimination.
‘have you looked through it?’ martin exclaimed, as he saw the foreign periodical in his visitor’s hand.
‘i have written a rough translation’——
‘oh, how could you think of taking such trouble! these things are sent to me by the dozen—i might say, by the cartload. my curiosity would have been amply satisfied if you had just told me the drift of the thing.’
‘it seemed to me,’ said peak, modestly, ‘that the paper was worth a little careful thought. i read it rapidly at first, but found myself drawn to it again. it states the point of view of the average scientific mind with such remarkable clearness, that i wished to think it over, and the best way was to do so pen in hand.’
‘well, if you really did it on your own account’——
mr. warricombe took the offered sheets and glanced at the first of them.
‘my only purpose,’ said godwin ‘in calling again so soon was to leave this with you.’
he made as though he would take his departure.
‘you want to get home again? wait at least till this shower is over. i enjoy that pelting of spring rain against the window. in a minute or two we shall have the laurels flashing in the sunshine, as if they were hung with diamonds.’
they stood together looking out on to the garden. presently their talk returned to the german disquisition, which was directed against the class of quasi-scientific authors attacked by peak himself in his critical article. in the end godwin sat down and began to read the translation he had made, mr. warricombe listening with a thoughtful smile. from time to time the reader paused and offered a comment, endeavouring to show that the arguments were merely plausible; his air was that of placid security, and he seemed to enjoy the irony which often fell from his lips. martin frequently scrutinised him, and always with a look of interest which betokened grave reflection.
‘here,’ said godwin at one point, ‘he has a note citing a passage from reusch’s book on the bible and nature. if i am not mistaken, he misrepresents his author, though perhaps not intentionally.’
‘you know the book?’
‘i have studied it carefully, but i don’t possess it. i thought i remembered this particular passage very well.’
‘is it a work of authority?’
‘yes; it is very important. unfortunately, it hasn’t yet been translated. rather bulky, but i shouldn’t mind doing it myself if i were sure of finding a publisher.’
‘the bible and nature,’ said martin, musingly. ‘what is his scheme? how does he go to work?’
godwin gave a brief but lucid description of the book, and mr warricombe listened gravely. when there had been silence for some moments, the latter spoke in a tone he had never yet used when conversing with peak. he allowed himself, for the first time, to betray a troubled doubt on the subject under discussion.
‘so he makes a stand at darwinism as it affects man?’
peak had yet no means of knowing at what point martin himself ‘made a stand’. modes of reconcilement between scientific discovery and religious tradition are so very numerous, and the geologist was only now beginning to touch upon these topics with his young acquaintance. that his mind was not perfectly at ease amid the conflicts of the day, godwin soon perceived, and by this time he had clear assurance that martin would willingly thrash out the whole debate with anyone who seemed capable of supporting orthodox tenets by reasoning not unacceptable to a man of broad views. the negativist of course assumed from the first that martin, however respectable his knowledge, was far from possessing the scientific mind, and each conversation had supplied him with proofs of this defect; it was not at all in the modern spirit that the man of threescore years pursued his geological and kindred researches, but with the calm curiosity of a liberal intellect which has somehow taken this direction instead of devoting itself to literary study. at bottom, godwin had no little sympathy with mr. warricombe; he too, in spite of his militant instincts, dwelt by preference amid purely human interests. he grasped with firm intelligence the modes of thought which distinguish scientific men, but his nature did not prompt him to a consistent application of them. personal liking enabled him to subdue the impulses of disrespect which, under other circumstances, would have made it difficult for him to act with perfection his present part. none the less, his task was one of infinite delicacy. martin warricombe was not the man to unbosom himself on trivial instigation. it must be a powerful influence which would persuade him to reveal whatever self-questionings lay beneath his genial good breeding and long-established acquiescence in a practical philosophy. godwin guarded himself against his eager emotions; one false note, one syllable of indiscretion, and his aims might be hopelessly defeated.
‘yes,’ was his reply to the hesitating question. ‘he argues strenuously against the descent of man. if i understand him, he regards the concession of this point as impossible.’
martin was deep in thought. he held a paper-knife bent upon his knee, and his smooth, delicate features wore an unquiet smile.
‘do you know hebrew, mr. peak?’
the question came unexpectedly, and godwin could not help a momentary confusion, but he covered it with the tone of self-reproach.
‘i am ashamed to say that i am only now taking it up seriously.’
‘i don’t think you need be ashamed,’ said martin, good-naturedly. ‘even a mind as active as yours must postpone some studies. reusch, i suppose, is sound on that head?’
the inquiry struck godwin as significant. so mr. warricombe attached importance to the verbal interpretation of the old testament.
‘distinctly an authority,’ he replied. ‘he devotes whole chapters to a minute examination of the text.’
‘if you had more leisure,’ martin began, deliberately, when he had again reflected, ‘i should be disposed to urge you to undertake that translation.’
peak appeared to meditate.
‘has the book been used by english writers?’ the other inquired.
‘a good deal.—it was published in the sixties, but i read it in a new edition dated a few years ago. reusch has kept pace with the men of science. it would be very interesting to compare the first form of the book with the latest.’
‘it would, very.’
raising his head from the contemplative posture, godwin exclaimed, with a laugh of zeal:
‘i think i must find time to translate him. at all events, i might address a proposal to some likely publisher. yet i don’t know how i should assure him of my competency.’
‘probably a specimen would be the surest testimony.’
‘yes. i might do a few chapters.’
mr. warricombe’s lapse into silence and brevities intimated to godwin that it was time to take leave. he always quitted this room with reluctance. its air of luxurious culture affected his senses deliciously, and he hoped that he might some day be permitted to linger among the cabinets and the library shelves. there were so many books he would have liked to take down, some with titles familiar to him, others which kindled his curiosity when he chanced to observe them. the library abounded in such works as only a wealthy man can purchase, and godwin, who had examined some of them at the british museum, was filled with the humaner kind of envy on seeing them in mr. warricombe’s possession. those publications of the palaeontological society, one volume of which (a part of davidson’s superb work on the brachiopoda) even now lay open within sight—his hand trembled with a desire to touch them! and those maps of the geological surveys, british and foreign, how he would have enjoyed a day’s poring over them!
he rose, but martin seemed in no haste to bring the conversation to an end.
‘have you read m’naughten’s much-discussed book?’
‘yes.’
‘did you see the savage attack in the critical not long ago?’
godwin smiled, and made quiet answer:
‘i should think it was the last word of scientific bitterness and intolerance.’
‘scientific?’ repeated martin, doubtfully. ‘i don’t think the writer was a man of science. i saw it somewhere attributed to huxley, but that was preposterous. to begin with, huxley would have signed his name; and, again, his english is better. the article seemed to me to be stamped with literary rancour; it was written by some man who envies m’naughten’s success.’
peak kept silence. martin’s censure of the anonymous author’s style stung him to the quick, and he had much ado to command his countenance.
‘still,’ pursued the other, ‘i felt that much of his satire was only too well pointed. m’naughten is suggestive; but one comes across books of the same purpose which can have no result but to injure their cause with all thinking people.’
‘i have seen many such,’ remarked godwin.
mr. warricombe stepped to a bookcase and took down a small volume.
‘i wonder whether you know this book of ampare’s, la grace, rome, et dante? delightful for odd moments!—there came into my mind a passage here at the beginning, apropos of what we were saying: “il faut souvent un vrai courage pour persister dans une opinion juste en depit de ses defenseurs.”—isn’t that capital?’
peak received it with genuine appreciation; for once he was able to laugh unfeignedly. the aphorism had so many applications from his own point of view.
‘excellent!—i don’t remember to have seen the book.’
‘take it, if you care to.’
this offer seemed a distinct advance in mr. warricombe’s friendliness. godwin felt a thrill of encouragement.
‘then you will let me keep this translation for a day or two?’ martin added, indicating the sheets of manuscript. ‘i am greatly obliged to you for enabling me to read the thing.’
they shook hands. godwin had entertained a slight hope that he might be asked to stay to luncheon; but it could not be much past twelve o’clock, and on the whole there was every reason for feeling satisfied with the results of his visit. before long he would probably receive another invitation to dine. so with light step he went out into the hall, where martin again shook hands with him.
the sky had darkened over, and a shrilling of the wind sounded through the garden foliage—fir, and cypress, and laurel. just as godwin reached the gate, he was met by miss warricombe and fanny, who were returning from a walk. they wore the costume appropriate to march weather in the country, close-fitting, defiant of gusts; and their cheeks glowed with health. as he exchanged greetings with them, peak received a new impression of the sisters. he admired the physical vigour which enabled them to take delight in such a day as this, when girls of poorer blood and ignoble nurture would shrink from the sky’s showery tumult, and protect their surface elegance by the fireside. impossible for sidwell and fanny to be anything but graceful, for at all times they were perfectly unaffected.
‘there’ll be another storm in a minute,’ said the younger of them, looking with interest to the quarter whence the wind came. ‘how suddenly they burst! what a rush! and then in five minutes the sky is clear again.’
her eyes shone as she turned laughingly to peak.
‘you’re not afraid of getting wet? hadn’t you better come under cover?’
‘here it is!’ exclaimed sidwell, with quieter enjoyment. ‘take shelter for a minute or two, mr. peak.’
they led the way to the portico, where godwin stood with them and watched the squall. a moment’s downpour of furious rain was followed by heavy hailstones, which drove horizontally before the shrieking wind. the prospect had wrapped itself in grey gloom. at a hundred yards’ distance, scarcely an object could be distinguished; the storm-cloud swooped so low that its skirts touched the branches of tall elms, a streaming, rushing raggedness.
‘don’t you enjoy that?’ fanny asked of godwin.
‘indeed i do.’
‘you should be on dartmoor in such weather,’ said sidwell. ‘father and i were once caught in storms far worse than this—far better, i ought to say, for i never knew anything so terrifically grand.’
already it was over. the gusts diminished in frequency and force, the hail ceased, the core of blackness was passing over to the eastern sky. fanny ran out into the garden, and pointed upward.
‘look where the sunlight is coming!’
an uncloaked patch of heaven shone with colour like that of the girl’s eyes—faint, limpid blue. reminding himself that to tarry longer in this company would be imprudent, godwin bade the sisters good-morning. the frank heartiness with which fanny pressed his hand sent him on his way exultant. not too strong a word; for, independently of his wider ambitions, he was moved and gratified by the thought that kindly feeling towards him had sprung up in such a heart as this. nor did conscience so much as whisper a reproach. with unreflecting ingenuousness he tasted the joy as if it were his right. thus long he had waited, through years of hungry manhood, for the look, the tone, which were in harmony with his native sensibilities. fanny warricombe was but an undeveloped girl, yet he valued her friendship above the passionate attachment of any woman bred on a lower social plane. had it been possible, he would have kissed her fingers with purest reverence.
when out of sight of the house, he paused to regard the sky again. its noontide splendour was dazzling; masses of rosy cloud sailed swiftly from horizon to horizon, the azure deepening about them. yet before long the west would again send forth its turbulent spirits, and so the girls might perhaps be led to think of him.
by night the weather grew more tranquil. there was a full moon, and its radiance illumined the ever-changing face of heaven with rare grandeur. godwin could not shut himself up over his books; he wandered far away into the country, and let his thoughts have freedom.
he was learning to review with calmness the course by which he had reached his now steadfast resolve. a revulsion such as he had experienced after his first day of simulated orthodoxy, half a year ago, could not be of lasting effect, for it was opposed to the whole tenor of his mature thought. it spoilt his holiday, but had no chance of persisting after his return to the atmosphere of rotherhithe. that he should have been capable of such emotion was, he said to himself, in the just order of things; callousness in the first stages of an undertaking which demanded gross hypocrisy would signify an ignoble nature—a nature, indeed, which could never have been submitted to trial of so strange a kind. but he had overcome himself; that phase of difficulty was outlived, and henceforth he saw only the material obstacles to be defied by his vindicated will.
what he proposed to himself was a life of deliberate baseness. godwin peak never tried to play the sophist with this fact. but he succeeded in justifying himself by a consideration of the circumstances which had compelled him to a vile expedient. had his project involved conscious wrong to other persons, he would scarcely even have speculated on its possibilities. he was convinced that no mortal could suffer harm, even if he accomplished the uttermost of his desires. whom was he in danger of wronging? the conventional moralist would cry: everyone with whom he came in slightest contact! but a mind such as peak’s has very little to do with conventional morality. injury to himself he foresaw and accepted; he could never be the man nature designed in him; and he must frequently submit to a self-contempt which would be very hard to bear. those whom he consistently deceived, how would they suffer? martin warricombe to begin with. martin was a man who had lived his life, and whose chief care would now be to keep his mind at rest in the faiths which had served him from youth onwards. in that very purpose, godwin believed he could assist him. to see a young man, of strong and trained intellect, championing the old beliefs, must doubtless be a source of reassurance to one in martin’s position. reassurance derived from a lie?—and what matter, if the outcome were genuine, if it lasted until the man himself was no more? did not every form of content result from illusion? what was truth without the mind of the believer?
society, then—at all events that part of it likely to be affected by his activity? suppose him an ordained priest, performing all the functions implied in that office. why, to think only of examples recognised by the public at large, how would he differ for the worse from this, that, and the other clergyman who taught christianity, all but with blunt avowal, as a scheme of human ethics? no wolf in sheep’s clothing he! he plotted against no man’s pocket, no woman’s honour; he had no sinister design of sapping the faith of congregations—a scheme, by-the-bye, which fanatic liberators might undertake with vast self-approval. if by a word he could have banished religious dogma from the minds of the multitude, he would not have cared to utter it. wherein lay, indeed, a scruple to be surmounted. the christian priest must be a man of humble temper; he must be willing, even eager, to sit down among the poor in spirit as well as in estate, and impart to them his unworldly solaces. yes, but it had always been recognised that some men who could do the church good service were personally unfitted for those meek ministrations. his place was in the hierarchy of intellect; if he were to be active at all, it must be with the brain. in his conversation with buckland warricombe, last october, he had spoken not altogether insincerely. let him once be a member of the church militant, and his heart would go with many a stroke against that democratic movement which desired, among other things, the church’s abolition. he had power of utterance. roused to combat by the proletarian challenge, he could make his voice ring in the ears of men, even though he used a symbolism which he would not by choice have adopted.
for it was natural that he should anticipate distinction. whatever his lot in life, he would not be able to rest among an inglorious brotherhood. if he allied himself with the church, the church must assign him leadership, whether titular or not was of small moment. in days to come, let people, if they would, debate his history, canvass his convictions. his scornful pride invited any degree of publicity, when once his position was secure.
but in the meantime he was leaving aside the most powerful of all his motives, and one which demanded closest scrutiny. not ambition, in any ordinary sense; not desire of material luxury; no incentive recognised by unprincipled schemers first suggested his dishonour. this edifice of subtle untruth had for its foundation a mere ideal of sexual love. for the winning of some chosen woman, men have wrought vehemently, have ruined themselves and others, have achieved triumphs noble or degrading. but godwin peak had for years contemplated the possibility of baseness at the impulse of a craving for love capable only of a social (one might say, of a political) definition. the woman throned in his imagination was no individual, but the type of an order. so strangely had circumstances moulded him, that he could not brood on a desire of spiritual affinities, could not, as is natural to most cultivated men, inflame himself with the ardour of soul reaching to soul; he was preoccupied with the contemplation of qualities which characterise a class. the sense of social distinctions was so burnt into him, that he could not be affected by any pictured charm of mind or person in a woman who had not the stamp of gentle birth and breeding. if once he were admitted to the intimacy of such women, then, indeed, the canons of selection would have weight with him; no man more capable of disinterested choice. till then, the ideal which possessed him was merely such an assemblage of qualities as would excite the democrat to disdain or fury.
in sidwell warricombe this ideal found an embodiment; but godwin did not thereupon come to the conclusion that sidwell was the wife he desired. her influence had the effect of deciding his career, but he neither imagined himself in love with her, nor tried to believe that he might win her love if he set himself to the endeavour. for the first time he was admitted to familiar intercourse with a woman whom he could make the object of his worship. he thought much of her; day and night her figure stood before him; and this had continued now for half a year. still he neither was, nor dreamt himself, in love with her. before long his acquaintance would include many of her like, and at any moment sidwell might pale in the splendour of another’s loveliness.
but what reasoning could defend the winning of a wife by false pretences? this, his final aim, could hardly be achieved without grave wrong to the person whose welfare must in the nature of things be a prime motive with him. the deception he had practised must sooner or later be discovered; lifelong hypocrisy was incompatible with perfect marriage; some day he must either involve his wife in a system of dishonour, or with her consent relinquish the false career, and find his happiness in the obscurity to which he would then be relegated. admit the wrong. grant that some woman whom he loved supremely must, on his account, pass through a harsh trial—would it not be in his power to compensate her amply? the wife whom he imagined (his idealism in this matter was of a crudity which made the strangest contrast with his habits of thought on every other subject) would be ruled by her emotions, and that part of her nature would be wholly under his governance. religious fanaticism could not exist in her, for in that case she would never have attracted him. little by little she would learn to think as he did, and her devotedness must lead her to pardon his deliberate insincerities. godwin had absolute faith in his power of dominating the woman whom he should inspire with tenderness. this was a feature of his egoism, the explanation of those manifold inconsistencies inseparable from his tortuous design. he regarded his love as something so rare, so vehement, so exalting, that its bestowal must seem an abundant recompense for any pain of which he was the cause.
thus, with perfect sincerity of argument, did godwin peak face the undertaking to which he was committed. incidents might perturb him, but his position was no longer a cause of uneasiness—save, indeed, at those moments when he feared lest any of his old acquaintances might hear of him before time was ripe. this was a source of anxiety, but inevitable; one of the risks he dared.
had it seemed possible, he would have kept even from his mother the secret of his residence at exeter; but this would have necessitated the establishment of some indirect means of communication with her, a troublesome and uncertain expedient. he shrank from leaving her in ignorance of his whereabouts, and from passing a year or two without knowledge of her condition. and, on the whole, there could not be much danger in this correspondence. the moxeys, who alone of his friends had ever been connected with twybridge, were now absolutely without interests in that quarter. from them he had stolen away, only acquainting christian at the last moment, in a short letter, with his departure from london. ‘it will be a long time before we again see each other—at least, i think so. don’t trouble your head about me. i can’t promise to write, and shall be sorry not to hear how things go with you; but may all happen as you wish!’ in the same way he had dealt with earwaker, except that his letter to staple inn was much longer, and contained hints which the philosophic journalist might perchance truly interpret. ‘“he either fears his fate too much”—you know the old song. i have set out on my life’s adventure. i have gone to seek that without which life is no longer worth having. forgive my shabby treatment of you, old friend. you cannot help me, and your displeasure would be a hindrance in my path. a last piece of counsel: throw overboard the weekly rag, and write for people capable of understanding you.’ earwaker was not at all likely to institute a search; he would accept the situation, and wait with quiet curiosity for its upshot. no doubt he and moxey would discuss the affair together, and any desire christian might have to hunt for his vanished comrade would yield before the journalist’s surmises. no one else had any serious reason for making inquiries. probably he might dwell in devonshire, as long as he chose, without fear of encountering anyone from his old world.
occasionally—as to-night, under the full moon—he was able to cast off every form of trouble, and rejoice in his seeming liberty. though every step in the life before him was an uncertainty, an appeal to fortune, his faith in himself grasped strongly at assurance of success. once more he felt himself a young man, with unwearied energies; he had shaken off the burden of those ten frustrate years, and kept only their harvest of experience. old in one sense, in another youthful, he had vast advantages over such men as would henceforth be his competitors—the complex brain, the fiery heart, passion to desire, and skill in attempting. if with such endowment he could not win the prize which most men claim as a mere matter of course, a wife of social instincts correspondent with his own, he must indeed be luckless. but he was not doomed to defeat! foretaste of triumph urged the current of his blood and inflamed him with exquisite ardour. he sang aloud in the still lanes the hymns of youth and of love; and, when weariness brought him back to his lonely dwelling, he laid his head on the pillow, and slept in dreamless calm.
as for the details of his advance towards the clerical state, he had decided to resume his career at the point where it was interrupted by andrew peak. twice had his education received a check from hostile circumstances: when domestic poverty compelled him to leave school for mr. moxey’s service, and when shame drove him from whitelaw college. in reflecting upon his own character and his lot he gave much weight to these irregularities, no doubt with justice. in both cases he was turned aside from the way of natural development and opportunity. he would now complete his academic course by taking the london degree at which he had long ago aimed; the preliminary examination might without difficulty be passed this summer, and next year he might write himself bachelor of arts. a return to the studies of boyhood probably accounted in some measure for the frequent gaiety which he attributed to improving health and revived hopes. everything he undertook was easy to him, and by a pleasant self-deception he made the passing of a school task his augury of success in greater things.
during the spring he was indebted to the warricombes’ friendship for several new acquaintances. a clergyman named lilywhite, often at the warricombes’ house, made friendly overtures to him; the connection might be a useful one, and godwin made the most of it. mr. lilywhite was a man of forty well—read, of scientific tastes, an active pedestrian. peak had no difficulty in associating with him on amicable terms. with mrs. lilywhite, the mother of six children and possessed of many virtues, he presently became a favourite,—she saw in him ‘a great deal of quiet moral force’. one or two families of good standing made him welcome at their houses; society is very kind to those who seek its benefits with recognised credentials. the more he saw of these wealthy and tranquil middle-class people, the more fervently did he admire the gracefulness of their existence. he had not set before himself an imaginary ideal; the girls and women were sweet, gentle, perfect in manner, and, within limits, of bright intelligence. he was conscious of benefiting greatly, and not alone in things extrinsic, by the atmosphere of such homes.
nature’s progress towards summer kept him in a mood of healthful enjoyment. from the window of his sitting-room he looked over the opposite houses to northernhay, the hill where once stood rougemont castle, its wooded declivities now fashioned into a public garden. he watched the rooks at their building in the great elms, and was gladdened when the naked branches began to deck themselves, day by day the fresh verdure swelling into soft, graceful outline. in his walks he pried eagerly for the first violet, welcomed the earliest blackthorn blossom; every common flower of field and hedgerow gave him a new, keen pleasure. as was to be expected he found the same impulses strong in sidwell warricombe and her sister. sidwell could tell him of secret spots where the wood-sorrel made haste to flower, or where the white violet breathed its fragrance in security from common pilferers. here was the safest and pleasantest matter for conversation. he knew that on such topics he could talk agreeably enough, revealing without stress or importunity his tastes, his powers, his attainments. and it seemed to him that sidwell listened with growing interest. most certainly her father encouraged his visits to the house, and mrs. warricombe behaved to him with increase of suavity.
in the meantime he had purchased a copy of reusch’s bibel und natur, and had made a translation of some fifty pages. this experiment he submitted to a london publishing house, with proposals for the completion of the work; without much delay there came a civil letter of excuse, and with it the sample returned. another attempt again met with rejection. this failure did not trouble him. what he really desired was to read through his version of reusch with martin warricombe, and before long he had brought it to pass that martin requested a perusal of the manuscript as it advanced, which it did but slowly. godwin durst not endanger his success in the examination by encroaching upon hours of necessary study; his leisure was largely sacrificed to bibel und natur, and many an evening of calm golden loveliness, when he longed to be amid the fields, passed in vexatious imprisonment. the name of reusch grew odious to him, and he revenged himself for the hypocrisy of other hours by fierce scorn, cast audibly at this laborious exegetist.
