The friends and rivals breakfasted together the next morning. Not a word was said on either side upon the matter discussed the previous evening so glibly and so hollowly. Stephen was absorbed the greater part of the time in wishing he were not forced to stay in town yet another day.
вАЬI donвАЩt intend to leave for St.¬†LaunceвАЩs till tomorrow, as you know,вАЭ he said to Knight at the end of the meal. вАЬWhat are you going to do with yourself today?вАЭ
вАЬI have an engagement just before ten,вАЭ said Knight deliberately; вАЬand after that time I must call upon two or three people.вАЭ
вАЬIвАЩll look for you this evening,вАЭ said Stephen.
вАЬYes, do. You may as well come and dine with me; that is, if we can meet. I may not sleep in London tonight; in fact, I am absolutely unsettled as to my movements yet. However, the first thing I am going to do is to get my baggage shifted from this place to BedeвАЩs Inn. Goodbye for the present. IвАЩll write, you know, if I canвАЩt meet you.вАЭ
It now wanted a quarter to nine oвАЩclock. When Knight was gone, Stephen felt yet more impatient of the circumstance that another day would have to drag itself away wearily before he could set out for that spot of earth whereon a soft thought of him might perhaps be nourished still. On a sudden he admitted to his mind the possibility that the engagement he was waiting in town to keep might be postponed without much harm.
It was no sooner perceived than attempted. Looking at his watch, he found it wanted forty minutes to the departure of the ten oвАЩclock train from Paddington, which left him a surplus quarter of an hour before it would be necessary to start for the station.
Scribbling a hasty note or twoвБ†вАФone putting off the business meeting, another to Knight apologizing for not being able to see him in the eveningвБ†вАФpaying his bill, and leaving his heavier luggage to follow him by goods-train, he jumped into a cab and rattled off to the Great Western Station.
Shortly afterwards he took his seat in the railway carriage.
The guard paused on his whistle, to let into the next compartment to SmithвАЩs a man of whom Stephen had caught but a hasty glimpse as he ran across the platform at the last moment.
Smith sank back into the carriage, stilled by perplexity. The man was like KnightвБ†вАФastonishingly like him. Was it possible it could be he? To have got there he must have driven like the wind to BedeвАЩs Inn, and hardly have alighted before starting again. No, it could not be he; that was not his way of doing things.
During the early part of the journey Stephen SmithвАЩs thoughts busied themselves till his brain seemed swollen. One subject was concerning his own approaching actions. He was a day earlier than his letter to his parents had stated, and his arrangement with them had been that they should meet him at Plymouth; a plan which pleased the worthy couple beyond expression. Once before the same engagement had been made, which he had then quashed by antedating his arrival. This time he would go right on to Castle Boterel; ramble in that well-known neighbourhood during the evening and next morning, making inquiries; and return to Plymouth to meet them as arrangedвБ†вАФa contrivance which would leave their cherished project undisturbed, relieving his own impatience also.
At Chippenham there was a little waiting, and some loosening and attaching of carriages.
Stephen looked out. At the same moment another manвАЩs head emerged from the adjoining window. Each looked in the otherвАЩs face.
Knight and Stephen confronted one another.
вАЬYou here!вАЭ said the younger man.
вАЬYes. It seems that you are too,вАЭ said Knight, strangely.
вАЬYes.вАЭ
The selfishness of love and the cruelty of jealousy were fairly exemplified at this moment. Each of the two men looked at his friend as he had never looked at him before. Each was troubled at the otherвАЩs presence.
вАЬI thought you said you were not coming till tomorrow,вАЭ remarked Knight.
вАЬI did. It was an afterthought to come today. This journey was your engagement, then?вАЭ
вАЬNo, it was not. This is an afterthought of mine too. I left a note to explain it, and account for my not being able to meet you this evening as we arranged.вАЭ
вАЬSo did I for you.вАЭ
вАЬYou donвАЩt look well: you did not this morning.вАЭ
вАЬI have a headache. You are paler today than you were.вАЭ
вАЬI, too, have been suffering from headache. We have to wait here a few minutes, I think.вАЭ
They walked up and down the platform, each one more and more embarrassingly concerned with the awkwardness of his friendвАЩs presence. They reached the end of the footway, and paused in sheer absentmindedness. StephenвАЩs vacant eyes rested upon the operations of some porters, who were shifting a dark and curious-looking van from the rear of the train, to shunt another which was between it and the fore part of the train. This operation having been concluded, the two friends returned to the side of their carriage.
вАЬWill you come in here?вАЭ said Knight, not very warmly.
вАЬI have my rug and portmanteau and umbrella with me: it is rather bothering to move now,вАЭ said Stephen reluctantly. вАЬWhy not you come here?вАЭ
вАЬI have my traps too. It is hardly worth while to shift them, for I shall see you again, you know.вАЭ
вАЬOh, yes.вАЭ
And each got into his own place. Just at starting, a man on the platform held up his hands and stopped the train.
Stephen looked out to see what was the matter.
One of the officials was exclaiming to another, вАЬThat carriage should have been attached again. CanвАЩt you see it is for the main line? Quick! What fools there are in the world!вАЭ
вАЬWhat a confounded nuisance these stoppages are!вАЭ exclaimed Knight impatiently, looking out from his compartment. вАЬWhat is it?вАЭ
вАЬThat singular carriage we saw has been unfastened from our train by mistake, it seems,вАЭ said Stephen.
He was watching the process of attaching it. The van or carriage, which he now recognized as having seen at Paddington before they started, was rich and solemn rather than gloomy in aspect. It seemed to be quite new, and of modern design, and its impressive personality attracted the notice of others beside himself. He beheld it gradually wheeled forward by two men on each side: slower and more sadly it seemed to approach: then a slight concussion, and they were connected with it, and off again.
Stephen sat all the afternoon pondering upon the reason of KnightвАЩs unexpected reappearance. Was he going as far as Castle Boterel? If so, he could only have one object in viewвБ†вАФa visit to Elfride. And what an idea it seemed!
At Plymouth Smith partook of a little refreshment, and then went round to the side from which the train started for Camelton, the new station near Castle Boterel and Endelstow.
Knight was already there.
Stephen walked up and stood beside him without speaking. Two men at this moment crept out from among the wheels of the waiting train.
вАЬThe carriage is light enough,вАЭ said one in a grim tone. вАЬLight as vanity; full of nothing.вАЭ
вАЬNothing in size, but a good deal in signification,вАЭ said the other, a man of brighter mind and manners.
Smith then perceived that to their train was attached that same carriage of grand and dark aspect which had haunted them all the way from London.
вАЬYou are going on, I suppose?вАЭ said Knight, turning to Stephen, after idly looking at the same object.
вАЬYes.вАЭ
вАЬWe may as well travel together for the remaining distance, may we not?вАЭ
вАЬCertainly we will;вАЭ and they both entered the same door.
Evening drew on apace. It chanced to be the eve of St.¬†ValentineвАЩsвБ†вАФthat bishop of blessed memory to youthful loversвБ†вАФand the sun shone low under the rim of a thick hard cloud, decorating the eminences of the landscape with crowns of orange fire. As the train changed its direction on a curve, the same rays stretched in through the window, and coaxed open KnightвАЩs half-closed eyes.
вАЬYou will get out at St.¬†LaunceвАЩs, I suppose?вАЭ he murmured.
вАЬNo,вАЭ said Stephen, вАЬI am not expected till tomorrow.вАЭ Knight was silent.
вАЬAnd youвБ†вАФare you going to Endelstow?вАЭ said the younger man pointedly.
вАЬSince you ask, I can do no less than say I am, Stephen,вАЭ continued Knight slowly, and with more resolution of manner than he had shown all the day. вАЬI am going to Endelstow to see if Elfride Swancourt is still free; and if so, to ask her to be my wife.вАЭ
вАЬSo am I,вАЭ said Stephen Smith.
вАЬI think youвАЩll lose your labour,вАЭ Knight returned with decision.
вАЬNaturally you do.вАЭ There was a strong accent of bitterness in StephenвАЩs voice. вАЬYou might have said hope instead of think,вАЭ he added.
вАЬI might have done no such thing. I gave you my opinion. Elfride Swancourt may have loved you once, no doubt, but it was when she was so young that she hardly knew her own mind.вАЭ
вАЬThank you,вАЭ said Stephen laconically. вАЬShe knew her mind as well as I did. We are the same age. If you hadnвАЩt interferedвБ†вАФвАЭ
вАЬDonвАЩt say thatвБ†вАФdonвАЩt say it, Stephen! How can you make out that I interfered? Be just, please!вАЭ
вАЬWell,вАЭ said his friend, вАЬshe was mine before she was yoursвБ†вАФyou know that! And it seemed a hard thing to find you had got her, and that if it had not been for you, all might have turned out well for me.вАЭ Stephen spoke with a swelling heart, and looked out of the window to hide the emotion that would make itself visible upon his face.
вАЬIt is absurd,вАЭ said Knight in a kinder tone, вАЬfor you to look at the matter in that light. What I tell you is for your good. You naturally do not like to realize the truthвБ†вАФthat her liking for you was only a girlвАЩs first fancy, which has no root ever.вАЭ
вАЬIt is not true!вАЭ said Stephen passionately. вАЬIt was you put me out. And now youвАЩll be pushing in again between us, and depriving me of my chance again! My right, thatвАЩs what it is! How ungenerous of you to come anew and try to take her away from me! When you had won her, I did not interfere; and you might, I think, Mr.¬†Knight, do by me as I did by you!вАЭ
вАЬDonвАЩt вАШMr.вАЩ me; you are as well in the world as I am now.вАЭ
вАЬFirst love is deepest; and that was mine.вАЭ
вАЬWho told you that?вАЭ said Knight superciliously.
вАЬI had her first love. And it was through me that you and she parted. I can guess that well enough.вАЭ
вАЬIt was. And if I were to explain to you in what way that operated in parting us, I should convince you that you do quite wrong in intruding upon herвБ†вАФthat, as I said at first, your labour will be lost. I donвАЩt choose to explain, because the particulars are painful. But if you wonвАЩt listen to me, go on, for HeavenвАЩs sake. I donвАЩt care what you do, my boy.вАЭ
вАЬYou have no right to domineer over me as you do. Just because, when I was a lad, I was accustomed to look up to you as a master, and you helped me a little, for which I was grateful to you and have loved you, you assume too much now, and step in before me. It is cruelвБ†вАФit is unjustвБ†вАФof you to injure me so!вАЭ
Knight showed himself keenly hurt at this. вАЬStephen, those words are untrue and unworthy of any man, and they are unworthy of you. You know you wrong me. If you have ever profited by any instruction of mine, I am only too glad to know it. You know it was given ungrudgingly, and that I have never once looked upon it as making you in any way a debtor to me.вАЭ
StephenвАЩs naturally gentle nature was touched, and it was in a troubled voice that he said, вАЬYes, yes. I am unjust in thatвБ†вАФI own it.вАЭ
вАЬThis is St.¬†LaunceвАЩs Station, I think. Are you going to get out?вАЭ
KnightвАЩs manner of returning to the matter in hand drew Stephen again into himself. вАЬNo; I told you I was going to Endelstow,вАЭ he resolutely replied.
KnightвАЩs features became impassive, and he said no more. The train continued rattling on, and Stephen leant back in his corner and closed his eyes. The yellows of evening had turned to browns, the dusky shades thickened, and a flying cloud of dust occasionally stroked the windowвБ†вАФborne upon a chilling breeze which blew from the northeast. The previously gilded but now dreary hills began to lose their daylight aspects of rotundity, and to become black discs vandyked against the sky, all nature wearing the cloak that six oвАЩclock casts over the landscape at this time of the year.
Stephen started up in bewilderment after a long stillness, and it was some time before he recollected himself.
вАЬWell, how real, how real!вАЭ he exclaimed, brushing his hand across his eyes.
вАЬWhat is?вАЭ said Knight.
вАЬThat dream. I fell asleep for a few minutes, and have had a dreamвБ†вАФthe most vivid I ever remember.вАЭ
He wearily looked out into the gloom. They were now drawing near to Camelton. The lighting of the lamps was perceptible through the veil of eveningвБ†вАФeach flame starting into existence at intervals, and blinking weakly against the gusts of wind.
вАЬWhat did you dream?вАЭ said Knight moodily.
вАЬOh, nothing to be told. вАЩTwas a sort of incubus. There is never anything in dreams.вАЭ
вАЬI hardly supposed there was.вАЭ
вАЬI know that. However, what I so vividly dreamt was this, since you would like to hear. It was the brightest of bright mornings at East Endelstow Church, and you and I stood by the font. Far away in the chancel Lord Luxellian was standing alone, cold and impassive, and utterly unlike his usual self: but I knew it was he. Inside the altar rail stood a strange clergyman with his book open. He looked up and said to Lord Luxellian, вАШWhereвАЩs the bride?вАЩ Lord Luxellian said, вАШThereвАЩs no bride.вАЩ At that moment somebody came in at the door, and I knew her to be Lady Luxellian who died. He turned and said to her, вАШI thought you were in the vault below us; but that could have only been a dream of mine. Come on.вАЩ Then she came on. And in brushing between us she chilled me so with cold that I exclaimed, вАШThe life is gone out of me!вАЩ and, in the way of dreams, I awoke. But here we are at Camelton.вАЭ
They were slowly entering the station.
вАЬWhat are you going to do?вАЭ said Knight. вАЬDo you really intend to call on the Swancourts?вАЭ
вАЬBy no means. I am going to make inquiries first. I shall stay at the Luxellian Arms tonight. You will go right on to Endelstow, I suppose, at once?вАЭ
вАЬI can hardly do that at this time of the day. Perhaps you are not aware that the familyвБ†вАФher father, at any rateвБ†вАФis at variance with me as much as with you.
вАЬI didnвАЩt know it.вАЭ
вАЬAnd that I cannot rush into the house as an old friend any more than you can. Certainly I have the privileges of a distant relationship, whatever they may be.вАЭ
Knight let down the window, and looked ahead. вАЬThere are a great many people at the station,вАЭ he said. вАЬThey seem all to be on the lookout for us.вАЭ
When the train stopped, the half-estranged friends could perceive by the lamplight that the assemblage of idlers enclosed as a kernel a group of men in black cloaks. A side gate in the platform railing was open, and outside this stood a dark vehicle, which they could not at first characterize. Then Knight saw on its upper part forms against the sky like cedars by night, and knew the vehicle to be a hearse. Few people were at the carriage doors to meet the passengersвБ†вАФthe majority had congregated at this upper end. Knight and Stephen alighted, and turned for a moment in the same direction.
The sombre van, which had accompanied them all day from London, now began to reveal that their destination was also its own. It had been drawn up exactly opposite the open gate. The bystanders all fell back, forming a clear lane from the gateway to the van, and the men in cloaks entered the latter conveyance.
вАЬThey are labourers, I fancy,вАЭ said Stephen. вАЬAh, it is strange; but I recognize three of them as Endelstow men. Rather remarkable this.вАЭ
Presently they began to come out, two and two; and under the rays of the lamp they were seen to bear between them a light-coloured coffin of satinwood, brightly polished, and without a nail. The eight men took the burden upon their shoulders, and slowly crossed with it over to the gate.
Knight and Stephen went outside, and came close to the procession as it moved off. A carriage belonging to the cortege turned round close to a lamp. The rays shone in upon the face of the vicar of Endelstow, Mr.¬†SwancourtвБ†вАФlooking many years older than when they had last seen him. Knight and Stephen involuntarily drew back.
Knight spoke to a bystander. вАЬWhat has Mr.¬†Swancourt to do with that funeral?вАЭ
вАЬHe is the ladyвАЩs father,вАЭ said the bystander.
вАЬWhat ladyвАЩs father?вАЭ said Knight, in a voice so hollow that the man stared at him.
вАЬThe father of the lady in the coffin. She died in London, you know, and has been brought here by this train. She is to be taken home tonight, and buried tomorrow.вАЭ
Knight stood staring blindly at where the hearse had been; as if he saw it, or someone, there. Then he turned, and beheld the lithe form of Stephen bowed down like that of an old man. He took his young friendвАЩs arm, and led him away from the light.