The Nether World. George Gissing

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СКАЧАТЬ for their brutality filled her with a sense of injustice; yet the fact that she was utterly dependent upon them for her livelihood, that but for their grace—as they were perpetually reminding her—she would have been a workhouse child, had a mitigating effect upon the bitterness she could not wholly subdue.

      There was, however, another reason why she sped eagerly on her present mission. The man to whom she was conveying Mrs. Hewett's message was one of the very few persons who had ever treated her with human kindness. She had known him by name and by sight for some years, and since her mother's death (she was eleven when that happened) he had by degrees grown to represent all that she understood by the word 'friend.' It was seldom that words were exchanged between them; the opportunity came scarcely oftener than once a month; but whenever it did come, it made a bright moment in her existence. Once before she had fetched him of an evening to see Mrs. Hewett, and as they walked together he had spoken with what seemed to her wonderful gentleness, with consideration inconceivable from a tall, bearded man, well-dressed, and well to do in the world. Perhaps he would speak in the same way to-night; the thought of it made her regardless of the cold rain that was drenching her miserable garment, of the wind that now and then, as she turned a corner, took away her breath, and made her cease from running.

      She reached St. John's Square, and paused at length by a door on which was the inscription: 'H. Lewis, Working Jeweller.' It was just possible that the men had already left; she waited for several minutes with anxious mind. No; the door opened, and two workmen came forth. Jane's eagerness impelled her to address one of them.

      'Please, sir, Mr. Kirkwood hasn't gone yet, has he?'

      'No, he ain't,' the man answered pleasantly; and turning back, he called to some one within the doorway; 'Hello, Sidney! here's your sweetheart waiting for you.'

      Jane shrank aside; but in a moment she saw a familiar figure; she advanced again, and eagerly delivered her message.

      'All right, Jane! I'll walk on with you,' was the reply. And whilst the other two men were laughing good-naturedly, Kirkwood strode away by the girl's side. He seemed to be absent-minded, and for some hundred yards' distance was silent; then he stopped of a sudden and looked down at his companion.

      'Why, Jane,' he said, 'you'll get your death, running about in weather like this.' He touched her dress. 'I thought so; you're wet through.'

      There followed an inarticulate growl, and immediately he stripped off his short overcoat.

      'Here, put this on, right over your head. Do as I tell you, child!'

      He seemed impatient to-night. Wasn't he going to talk with her as before? Jane felt her heart sinking. With her hunger for kind and gentle words, she thought nothing of the character of the night, and that Sidney Kirkwood might reasonably be anxious to get over the ground as quickly as possible.

      'How is Mrs. Hewett?' Sidney asked, when they were walking on again. 'Still poorly, eh? And the baby?'

      Then he was again mute. Jane had something she wished to say to him—wished very much indeed, yet she felt it would have been difficult even if he had encouraged her. As he kept silence and walked so quickly, speech on her part was utterly forbidden. Kirkwood, however, suddenly remembered that his strides were disproportionate to the child's steps. She was an odd figure thus disguised in his over-jacket; he caught a glimpse of her face by a street lamp, and smiled, but with a mixture of pain.

      'Feel a bit warmer so?' he asked.

      'Oh yes, sir.'

      'Haven't you got a jacket, Jane?'

      'It's all to pieces, sir. They're goin' to have it mended, I think.'

      'They' was the word by which alone Jane ventured to indicate her aunt.

      'Going to, eh? I think they'd better be quick about it.'

      Ha! that was the old tone of kindness! How it entered into her blood and warmed it! She allowed herself one quick glance at him.

      'Do I walk too quick for you?'

      'Oh no, sir. Mr. Kirkwood, please, there's something I—'

      The sentence had, as it were, begun itself, but timidity cut it short. Sidney stopped and looked at her.

      'What? Something you wanted to tell me, Jane?'

      He encouraged her, and at length she made her disclosure. It was of what had happened in the public-house. The young man listened with much attention, walking very slowly. He got her to repeat her second-hand description of the old man who had been inquiring for people named Snowdon.

      'To think that you should have been just too late!' he exclaimed with annoyance. 'Have you any idea who he was?'

      'I can't think, sir,' Jane replied sadly.

      Sidney took a hopeful tone—thought it very likely that the inquirer would pursue his search with success, being so near the house where Jane's parents had lived.

      'I'll keep my eyes open,' he said. 'Perhaps I might see him. He'd be easy to recognise, I should think.'

      'And would you tell him, sir,' Jane asked eagerly.

      'Why, of course I would. You'd like me to, wouldn't you?'

      Jane's reply left small doubt on that score. Her companion looked down at her again, and said with compassionate gentleness:

      'Keep a good heart, Jane. Things'll be better some day, no doubt.'

      'Do you think so, sir?'

      The significance of the simple words was beyond all that eloquence could have conveyed. Sidney muttered to himself, as he had done before, like one who is angry. He laid his hand on the child's shoulder for a moment.

      A few minutes more, and they were passing along by the prison wall, under the ghastly head, now happily concealed by darkness. Jane stopped a little short of the house and removed the coat that had so effectually sheltered her.

      'Thank you, sir,' she said, returning it to Sidney.

      He took it without speaking, and threw it over his arm. At the door, now closed, Jane gave a single knock; they were admitted by Clem, who, in regarding Kirkwood, wore her haughtiest demeanour. This young man had never paid homage of any kind to Miss Peckover, and such neglect was by no means what she was used to. Other men who came to the house took every opportunity of paying her broad compliments, and some went so far as to offer practical testimony of their admiration. Sidney merely had a 'How do you do, miss?' at her service. Coquetry had failed to soften him; Clem accordingly behaved as if he had given her mortal offence on some recent occasion. She took care, moreover, to fling a few fierce words at Jane before the latter disappeared into the house. Thereupon Sidney looked at her sternly; he said nothing, knowing that interference would only result in harsher treatment for the poor little slave.

      'You know your way upstairs, I b'lieve,' said Clem, as if he were all but a stranger.

      'Thank you, I do,' was Sidney's reply.

      Indeed he had climbed these stairs innumerable times during the last three years; the musty smells were associated with ever so many bygone thoughts and states of feeling; the stains on the wall (had it been daylight), the irregularities of the bare wooden steps, were remembrancers of projects and hopes and disappointments. For many months now every visit had been with heavier heart; his tap at the Hewetts' door had a melancholy sound to him.

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