A Laodicean

Chapter 12

Somerset did not forget what he had planned, and when lunch

was over he walked away through the trees. The tunnel was

more difficult of discovery than he had anticipated, and it

was only after considerable winding among green lanes, whose

deep ruts were like canyons of Colorado in miniature, that he

reached the slope in the distant upland where the tunnel

began. A road stretched over its crest, and thence along one

side of the railway-cutting.

He there unexpectedly saw standing Miss Power's carriage; and

on drawing nearer he found it to contain Paula herself, Miss

De Stancy, and Mrs. Goodman.

'How singular!' exclaimed Miss De Stancy gaily.

'It is most natural,' said Paula instantly. 'In the morning

two people discuss a feature in the landscape, and in the

afternoon each has a desire to see it from what the other has

said of it. Therefore they accidentally meet.'

Now Paula had distinctly heard Somerset declare that he was

going to walk there; how then could she say this so coolly?

It was with a pang at his heart that he returned to his old

thought of her being possibly a finished coquette and

dissembler. Whatever she might be, she was not a creature

starched very stiffly by Puritanism.

Somerset looked down on the mouth of the tunnel. The popular

commonplace that science, steam, and travel must always be

unromantic and hideous, was not proven at this spot. On

either slope of the deep cutting, green with long grass, grew

drooping young trees of ash, beech, and other flexible

varieties, their foliage almost concealing the actual railway

which ran along the bottom, its thin steel rails gleaming like

silver threads in the depths. The vertical front of the

tunnel, faced with brick that had once been red, was now

weather-stained, lichened, and mossed over in harmonious

rusty-browns, pearly greys, and neutral greens, at the very

base appearing a little blue-black spot like a mouse-hole--the

tunnel's mouth.

The carriage was drawn up quite close to the wood railing, and

Paula was looking down at the same time with him; but he made

no remark to her.

Mrs. Goodman broke the silence by saying, 'If it were not a

railway we should call it a lovely dell.'

Somerset agreed with her, adding that it was so charming that

he felt inclined to go down.

'If you do, perhaps Miss Power will order you up again, as a

trespasser,' said Charlotte De Stancy. 'You are one of the

largest shareholders in the railway, are you not, Paula?'

Miss Power did not reply.

'I suppose as the road is partly yours you might walk all the

way to London along the rails, if you wished, might you not,

dear?' Charlotte continued.

Paula smiled, and said, 'No, of course not.'

Somerset, feeling himself superfluous, raised his hat to his

companions as if he meant not to see them again for a while,

and began to descend by some steps cut in the earth; Miss De

Stancy asked Mrs. Goodman to accompany her to a barrow over

the top of the tunnel; and they left the carriage, Paula

remaining alone.

Down Somerset plunged through the long grass, bushes, late

summer flowers, moths, and caterpillars, vexed with himself

that he had come there, since Paula was so inscrutable, and

humming the notes of some song he did not know. The tunnel

that had seemed so small from the surface was a vast archway

when he reached its mouth, which emitted, as a contrast to the

sultry heat on the slopes of the cutting, a cool breeze, that

had travelled a mile underground from the other end. Far away

in the darkness of this silent subterranean corridor he could

see that other end as a mere speck of light.

When he had conscientiously admired the construction of the

massive archivault, and the majesty of its nude ungarnished

walls, he looked up the slope at the carriage; it was so small

to the eye that it might have been made for a performance by

canaries; Paula's face being still smaller, as she leaned back

in her seat, idly looking down at him. There seemed something

roguish in her attitude of criticism, and to be no longer the

subject of her contemplation he entered the tunnel out of her

sight.

In the middle of the speck of light before him appeared a

speck of black; and then a shrill whistle, dulled by millions

of tons of earth, reached his ears from thence. It was what

he had been on his guard against all the time,--a passing

train; and instead of taking the trouble to come out of the

tunnel he stepped into a recess, till the train had rattled

past and vanished onward round a curve.

Somerset still remained where he had placed himself, mentally

balancing science against art, the grandeur of this fine piece

of construction against that of the castle, and thinking

whether Paula's father had not, after all, the best of it,

when all at once he saw Paula's form confronting him at the

entrance of the tunnel. He instantly went forward into the

light; to his surprise she was as pale as a lily.

'O, Mr. Somerset!' she exclaimed. 'You ought not to frighten

me so--indeed you ought not! The train came out almost as

soon as you had gone in, and as you did not return--an

accident was possible!'

Somerset at once perceived that he had been to blame in not

thinking of this.

'Please do forgive my thoughtlessness in not reflecting how it

would strike you!' he pleaded. 'I--I see I have alarmed you.'

Her alarm was, indeed, much greater than he had at first

thought: she trembled so much that she was obliged to sit

down, at which he went up to her full of solicitousness.

'You ought not to have done it!' she said. 'I naturally

thought--any person would--'

Somerset, perhaps wisely, said nothing at this outburst; the

cause of her vexation was, plainly enough, his perception of

her discomposure. He stood looking in another direction, till

in a few moments she had risen to her feet again, quite calm.

'It would have been dreadful,' she said with faint gaiety, as

the colour returned to her face; 'if I had lost my architect,

and been obliged to engage Mr. Havill without an alternative.'

'I was really in no danger; but of course I ought to have

considered,' he said.

'I forgive you,' she returned good-naturedly. 'I knew there

was no GREAT danger to a person exercising ordinary

discretion; but artists and thinkers like you are indiscreet

for a moment sometimes. I am now going up again. What do you

think of the tunnel?'

They were crossing the railway to ascend by the opposite path,

Somerset keeping his eye on the interior of the tunnel for

safety, when suddenly there arose a noise and shriek from the

contrary direction behind the trees. Both knew in a moment

what it meant, and each seized the other as they rushed off

the permanent way. The ideas of both had been so centred on

the tunnel as the source of danger, that the probability of a

train from the opposite quarter had been forgotten. It rushed

past them, causing Paula's dress, hair, and ribbons to flutter

violently, and blowing up the fallen leaves in a shower over

their shoulders.

Neither spoke, and they went up several steps, holding each

other by the hand, till, becoming conscious of the fact, she

withdrew hers; whereupon Somerset stopped and looked earnestly

at her; but her eyes were averted towards the tunnel wall.

'What an escape!' he said.

'We were not so very near, I think, were we?' she asked

quickly. 'If we were, I think you were--very good to take my

hand.'

They reached the top at last, and the new level and open air

seemed to give her a new mind. 'I don't see the carriage

anywhere,' she said, in the common tones of civilization.

He thought it had gone over the crest of the hill; he would

accompany her till they reached it.

'No--please--I would rather not--I can find it very well.'

Before he could say more she had inclined her head and smiled

and was on her way alone.

The tunnel-cutting appeared a dreary gulf enough now to the

young man, as he stood leaning over the rails above it,

beating the herbage with his stick. For some minutes he could

not criticize or weigh her conduct; the warmth of her presence

still encircled him. He recalled her face as it had looked

out at him from under the white silk puffing of her black hat,

and the speaking power of her eyes at the moment of danger.

The breadth of that clear-complexioned forehead--almost

concealed by the masses of brown hair bundled up around it--

signified that if her disposition were oblique and insincere

enough for trifling, coquetting, or in any way making a fool

of him, she had the intellect to do it cruelly well.

But it was ungenerous to ruminate so suspiciously. A girl not

an actress by profession could hardly turn pale artificially

as she had done, though perhaps mere fright meant nothing, and

would have arisen in her just as readily had he been one of

the labourers on her estate.

The reflection that such feeling as she had exhibited could

have no tender meaning returned upon him with masterful force

when he thought of her wealth and the social position into

which she had drifted. Somerset, being of a solitary and

studious nature, was not quite competent to estimate precisely

the disqualifying effect, if any, of her nonconformity, her

newness of blood, and other things, among the old county

families established round her; but the toughest prejudices,

he thought, were not likely to be long invulnerable to such

cheerful beauty and brightness of intellect as Paula's. When

she emerged, as she was plainly about to do, from the

seclusion in which she had been living since her father's

death, she would inevitably win her way among her neighbours.

She would become the local topic. Fortune-hunters would learn

of her existence and draw near in shoals. What chance would

there then be for him?

The points in his favour were indeed few, but they were just

enough to keep a tantalizing hope alive. Modestly leaving out

of count his personal and intellectual qualifications, he

thought of his family. It was an old stock enough, though not

a rich one. His great-uncle had been the well-known Vice-

admiral Sir Armstrong Somerset, who served his country well in

the Baltic, the Indies, China, and the Caribbean Sea. His

grandfather had been a notable metaphysician. His father, the

Royal Academician, was popular. But perhaps this was not the

sort of reasoning likely to occupy the mind of a young woman;

the personal aspect of the situation was in such circumstances

of far more import. He had come as a wandering stranger--that

possibly lent some interest to him in her eyes. He was

installed in an office which would necessitate free communion

with her for some time to come; that was another advantage,

and would be a still greater one if she showed, as Paula

seemed disposed to do, such artistic sympathy with his work as

to follow up with interest the details of its progress.

The carriage did not reappear, and he went on towards Markton,

disinclined to return again that day to the studio which had

been prepared for him at the castle. He heard feet brushing

the grass behind him, and, looking round, saw the Baptist

minister.

'I have just come from the village,' said Mr. Woodwell, who

looked worn and weary, his boots being covered with dust; 'and

I have learnt that which confirms my fears for her.'

'For Miss Power?'

'Most assuredly.'

'What danger is there?' said Somerset.

'The temptations of her position have become too much for her!

She is going out of mourning next week, and will give a large

dinner-party on the occasion; for though the invitations are

partly in the name of her relative Mrs. Goodman, they must

come from her. The guests are to include people of old

cavalier families who would have treated her grandfather, sir,

and even her father, with scorn for their religion and

connections; also the parson and curate--yes, actually people

who believe in the Apostolic Succession; and what's more,

they're coming. My opinion is, that it has all arisen from

her friendship with Miss De Stancy.'

'Well,' cried Somerset warmly, 'this only shows liberality of

feeling on both sides! I suppose she has invited you as

well?'

'She has not invited me!. . . Mr. Somerset, not withstanding

your erroneous opinions on important matters, I speak to you

as a friend, and I tell you that she has never in her secret

heart forgiven that sermon of mine, in which I likened her to

the church at Laodicea. I admit the words were harsh, but I

was doing my duty, and if the case arose to-morrow I would do

it again. Her displeasure is a deep grief to me; but I serve

One greater than she. . . . You, of course, are invited to

this dinner?'

'I have heard nothing of it,' murmured the young man.

Their paths diverged; and when Somerset reached the hotel he

was informed that somebody was waiting to see him.

'Man or woman?' he asked.

The landlady, who always liked to reply in person to

Somerset's inquiries, apparently thinking him, by virtue of

his drawing implements and liberality of p*****t, a possible

lord of Burleigh, came forward and said it was certainly not a

woman, but whether man or boy she could not say. 'His name is

Mr. Dare,' she added.

'O--that youth,' he said.

Somerset went upstairs, along the passage, down two steps,

round the angle, and so on to the rooms reserved for him in

this rambling edifice of stage-coach memories, where he found

Dare waiting. Dare came forward, pulling out the cutting of

an advertisement.

'Mr. Somerset, this is yours, I believe, from the

Architectural World?'

Somerset said that he had inserted it.

'I think I should suit your purpose as assistant very well.'

'Are you an architect's draughtsman?'

'Not specially. I have some knowledge of the same, and want

to increase it.'

'I thought you were a photographer.'

'Also of photography,' said Dare with a bow. 'Though but an

amateur in that art I can challenge comparison with Regent

Street or Broadway.'

Somerset looked upon his table. Two letters only, addressed

in initials, were lying there as answers to his advertisement.

He asked Dare to wait, and looked them over. Neither was

satisfactory. On this account he overcame his slight feeling

against Mr. Dare, and put a question to test that gentleman's

capacities. 'How would you measure the front of a building,

including windows, doors, mouldings, and every other feature,

for a ground plan, so as to combine the greatest accuracy with

the greatest despatch?'

'In running dimensions,' said Dare.

As this was the particular kind of work he wanted done,

Somerset thought the answer promising. Coming to terms with

Dare, he requested the would-be student of architecture to

wait at the castle the next day, and dismissed him.

A quarter of an hour later, when Dare was taking a walk in the

country, he drew from his pocket eight other letters addressed

to Somerset in initials, which, to judge by their style and

stationery, were from men far superior to those two whose

communications alone Somerset had seen. Dare looked them over

for a few seconds as he strolled on, then tore them into

minute fragments, and, burying them under the leaves in the

ditch, went on his way again.