The Club of which Arthur Golding had become a member was only one of a great number of similar combinations which at this time the glorious spirit of Radicalism was calling into existence throughout the Metropolis. It is true that this association stood perhaps alone in the lofty and unselfish nature of its immediate aims. This was the result of the individual character of its founder, who, by gathering around him only single and moderately well-to-do working men, rendered practicable the noble scheme which he had long meditated before endeavouring to carry it into execution. The aims of other Radical clubs, which began to manifest activity towards the end of the year 1870, were almost exclusively political, though some comprehended in their scheme the advantages of a benefit-society for their own members when in need of assistance. It was a season of strong political ferment among the oppressed classes throughout the kingdom. As early as April of that year a great public meeting had been held in Trafalgar Square, at which resolutions were passed demanding the attention of the Government to the scandalous sufferings of the working-classes.
The notes of the “Marseillaise” were occasionally heard in the open streets. Republicanism of an advanced type was loudly advocated on numerous platforms and in open-air assemblies; active associations, such as the Land and Labour League, spread a knowledge of the wrongs of the poor and the tyranny of the ruling classes, far and wide over the country; men who were so crushed beneath the burden of ceaseless, brutal toil, that they had forgotten to raise their eyes from the dull earth, now began to look eagerly around them, to read the signs of the times, and to rejoice that at length their voices would be heard as they clamoured for justice.
The war between France and Germany came to aid, with the impulse of a new excitement, the movement for justice and liberty. With hopes of the downfall of tyranny in France and of the establishment once more of a Republic, the thoughts of the poor in England were naturally turned in the same direction more strongly than ever. One of the ripest outcomes of the time was the London Patriotic Society, whose meetings at the tavern called the Hole-inthe-Wall, excited the attention of rich as well as poor, and for the suppression of which indirect efforts were before long made by the Government. Great was the excitement awakened among all these humble, but not ignoble, advocates of freedom when the news of the glorious 4th of September was read in London, when it was known that Paris, the suffering high-priestess of Liberty, had once again shaken off the degrading yoke of princes and proclaimed the rule of the people. That evening an extraordinary meeting was held by the club in Crown Street. Everyday business was for once thrown aside, and the members joined hands in mutual congratulation, in exalted enthusiasm. The speech of the evening was made by Arthur Golding, for William Noble saw that his friend was bursting with eagerness to pour forth his emotion in a flood of words, and purposely withheld his own eloquence. After speaking of the event of the day, as it concerned France in particular, Arthur concluded with a glowing rhapsody, wherein was set forth the hopes he entertained for the future of their own country.
“Between England and France,” he said, “roll but some twenty miles of sea. But a few hours’ journey separates us from a country where the gates of the temple of Liberty have once more been thrown wide open, never, let us hope, to be closed again. Is it alone disinterested love for our fellow-creatures in France that makes us rejoice at their freedom? Let us hope that we duly feel the claims for a common humanity which links us to the oppressed in all quarters of the globe; but it would be vain to pretend that we had not some yet stronger reason for the delight this news has awakened in us. It means that we shall henceforth have before our eyes, and near at hand, an example of a great people ruled by its own voice alone, of a people that has known but too well all the terrific evils of monopolised authority, and is determined to banish them from its land for ever. This example will be of inestimable value, of incalculable aid to us in our struggle here in England. For now nearly a hundred years England has possessed such an example in the United States of America, but this has been of little effect. In the first place the vast sweep of the Atlantic lies between us and America, and though thousands of our fellow-workmen go forth thither yearly, as if to a land of promise, but few ever come to return and bring to us the good tidings. They settle for good and all in the States, exercising in a foreign land and under brighter skies the strength of mind and body which, had they stayed with us, would only have proved their curse. Secondly, it was only by means of a war with England that America procured its freedom, and, though I trust that we here are far above such foolish prejudices, this may perhaps count as one reason why Englishmen have seldom sought for an incitement to progress in the example of the enfranchised country. But with France it is different. France is a name dear to the present generation of Englishmen. In the last war which called to arms the greatest nations of Europe, France fought by the side of England, and by her side helped to conquer. France is close to our shores, her cliffs can be seen across the strip of sea which divides us. Despite her misfortunes, brought upon her head by the cursed descendant of a cursed house, France always has been, and always will be, a leading state in Europe. Her example will be unspeakably precious in the sight of us strugglers for right.
“She will teach us that the ability to govern is not alone entrusted to those whom centuries of wanton luxury have rendered the slaves of selfishness and ignoble pride, to those whose brains have been warped and narrowed by the hereditary burden of a crown! She will teach us that the meanest beggar in the streets has as indefeasible a claim to justice and right as the pampered lord who flung him a curse instead of a coin! She will teach us that men are not beasts, that light, and air, and cleanliness, and raiment, and food are what every man has a claim to, and what is the duty of those whom the people choose to represent their voices to see that every man obtains! And she will teach us that the poor have brains and mental faculties as well as the rich, that from the ranks of the poor oft-times rise the geniuses of a nation, that consequently the development of the higher nature of the poor man’s child by a course of enlightened education is as much the duty of the State as the establishment and endowment of schools and colleges for the heirs to wealth.
“France has seized upon her liberty in the midst of cruel anguish and misery. Whether we shall live to see England at the feet of a foreign enemy it is impossible to foresee, we can only stoutly hope not. But is such a position the only one in which a change of government is possible? Is it only by the oppression of foreign conquest that a nation is driven to despair, and so wins the courage to cast aside its tyrants? The end of the last century saw a revolution in France which turned her rivers of water into rivers of blood, and darkened the face of Europe with the smoke of conflagration. But surely we need not expect a revolution under any such circumstances as these. Is not our position one which will excite the laughter, if not the scorn of future eyes? Here are we working classes, numbering who can say how many times more than the rich who oppress us, stronger in arm, firmer in endurance, more earnest in aim. Is it not indeed worthy of scorn that, despite all this, we suffer from day to day and see no way out of our suffering? Suppose every working-man in England got up tomorrow morning, and, instead of going to his work, walked to the great square in the town where he lives and declared that he was sick to death of the life he led and would have things otherwise. You say that the army would be marched against us, and violence would naturally result. Yes, but are not the soldiers themselves working-men, men hired to the despicable toil of making themselves machines in order to be able to slaughter their fellow-men with skill? Why should these men be more afraid of striking, of throwing up their wages with the chance of bettering themselves than other labourers are! You can scarcely say that their wages are so excellent they cannot hope to earn more under other masters and at other and better work. Then what is to prevent these soldiers from joining us?
“Friends, the work for the future lies with such clubs as this of ours. Not content with helping to keep our fellows alive, we must teach them their power! We know that the lesson has already begun to be learnt, but we must not cease in our effort for all that. We will teach these wretched poverty-stricken crowds their strength, if only they choose to exert it. And henceforth we shall have the example of France to point to, in proof of our assertion that we are not ‘dependent for our existence upon kings and queens. All good wishes, then, to the new Republic. May she grow, may she thrive, may her future be all the more bright and glorious that her birth has been amid scenes of sadness and ignominy!”
This speech ended the meeting, and the members crowded round Arthur to shake hands with him.
“What do you think, Arthur?” asked Mark Challenger, as the two walked home together. “Isn’t this better than being a painter, and living at somebody else’s expense? Don’t you feel that you are more of a man?”
“You are right!” replied Arthur, “I feel utterly ashamed of myself when I think of those days. What can have possessed me to think of being an artist? Then I should have spent my days and nights in useless labour, and after all been miserably dependent upon the rich and proud. If they had not bought my pictures, I should have starved — and serve me right, too, I think. Now I have the consolation of knowing that I work for a useful end. The newspapers I help to print spread knowledge among thousands every day; it makes me work with energy when I think of it. Hurrah! We shall do something yet!”
Arthur possessed from nature the temperament which always accompanies genius. Undoubtedly at this period he sincerely believed the sentiments which we have just heard him express to his friend Mark. Except on Sunday he allowed himself scarcely any time for calm reflection; he lived in a perpetual ferment of activity. If he was not at his work, he was engaged heart and soul in exertions connected with the club. He became acquainted with the editor of a paper — one of many which were springing up about this time — which had for its object the spread at once of Radicalism and Free-thought, and not unfrequently he wrote a letter or a short article which was printed in its columns. All such circumstances as these were incitements to fresh enthusiasm. At the club he seemed already to take precedence of Will Noble himself, for he certainly excelled the latter in a certain fervid eloquence which he himself was surprised to find that he possessed. But in solid force of argument he never equalled the founder of the club. Had either of these two been of an envious disposition, they could not certainly have long continued friends under the circumstances. But envy or jealousy were remote from the thoughts of both, their minds were engrossed with far other and higher feelings. Every day cemented their friendship more firmly; every act or word of the one only incited the other to a generous rivalry.
Both Arthur and Mark kept completely apart from the other residents in Mrs. Pettindund’s house as far as any social intercourse is concerned. In the first place they were not much at home, and then the appearance of their fellow-lodgers was not such as to excite much interest. To this, however, there was one exception, at least in Arthur’s case. Very shortly after he had taken up his abode in Gower Place, his notice was attracted by one of the lodgers on the floor beneath him. This was a young girl, of perhaps seventeen or eighteen, whom he had occasionally passed on the stairs, and once or twice in the street. She was very pretty, if not positively handsome, tall, with dark hair which she arranged in a tasteful way, and dressed in black which seemed to indicate mourning. Though her beauty was of a somewhat sensual type, and her features betrayed no special intelligence or good-humour, Arthur felt strangely attracted to her for all that. To a beautiful female face he was always especially susceptible, and in this case the natural ardour of his years was additionally excited by the occasional and brief glimpses he obtained of her, and by the fact that she resided under the same roof as himself. There was, moreover, a fixed paleness upon the girl’s face, and now and then a look of suffering which excited his compassion. As week after week went by, he noticed that these signs increased. He thought she must be ill, and felt his interest in her grow yet stronger.
He knew that she took her meals with the landlady’s family in the kitchen, for on several occasions when he had gone down early in the morning to pay his rent he had seen her at breakfast there, and had heard her addressed as “Carrie.” He concluded that she was in some way related to the Pettindunds. He knew also from conversation heard on the same occasion that she went out to work every day with Mrs. Pettindund’s two daughters, as a “mantle-hand.” Before very long he learned her complete name, for, taking a letter out of the letterbox one night just as the postman delivered it, he found it was addressed to Miss Carrie Mitchell; and it was not probable that there was more than one young lady in the house. Arthur would have been glad to know more of her; but scarcely knew how the information could be gained. He was thinking of asking Mark Challenger if he knew anything of her, when another piece of chance threw a very unexpected light upon her history.
Arthur had risen one morning about six o’clock — it was drawing near to the end of October — and was engaged in dressing, when Mark Challenger’s door, which was next to his, opened, and Mark having called out to know if his friend was up, Arthur opened his door and replied in the affirmative, whereon Mark entered his room.
“Read that,” he said, holding out a sheet of paper which looked like a letter.
Arthur took it, and read this: —
“Dear Carrie, — “My landlady tells me a girl has been calling at my lodgings several times lately, asking to see me. I have no doubt this is you, and I wish you to understand at once that you will have to stop bothering me. I have done all I mean to do for you, and now you will have to look out for yourself. You needn’t expect I shall stump up anything even if you have a child, as you say you are going to. If you try to force it out of me, it’s the easiest thing in the world for me to prove that you’re nothing but a common girl of the town, and then you have no remedy. Do just take this hint, and leave me alone in future; if you don’t, I shall have to do something I shouldn’t much care to.
“A. W.”
Arthur looked at Mr. Challenger in pained astonishment.
“Why did you give me this to read?” he asked. “I thought it was something of your own. We have no business to have read this.”
“Why, I’ll tell you,” replied Mark, scratching his head. “You know I came up late to bed last night, and as I passed one of the doors on the floor below I saw a piece of paper lying near it. I picked it up and found it to be this. After all, I don’t think there’s so much harm in our reading it. You see, if I’d given it back to the girl, she would never have believed that I didn’t know all it contained. As it is she will perhaps never know she has lost it, and it’s much better it should come into our hands than into those of someone who would talk about it all over the house.”
“But what a rascal this fellow is!” cried Arthur, burning with righteous indignation. “What a cold-blooded villain! I declare, if there was only an address on it, I would seek the fellow out and tell him what I thought of him. Why, it’s that poor girl underneath, called Carrie Mitchell, isn’t it?”
“To be sure. I have rather noticed her lately, and I half suspected there was something wrong.”
“But do you think it likely the Pettindunds know of this?”
“Can’t tell; but I don’t think so.”
“Bye-the-by, how is the girl connected with them, do you know?”
“Oh, yes. I had the whole tale from Mrs. Pettindund one day. It seems that Carrie Mitchell is Mrs. Pettindund’s niece. Her father and mother died not long since, and the girl then came here to earn her living. She pays no end of money for her board and lodging, and she certainly can’t get more than fifteen shillings a week — poor creature.”
“But this letter. However can she have got into a scrape with a blackguard such as this? You see he writes a fairly good hand. Some clerk, I suppose. I should like to have my fingers on his throat!”
“What shall we do with the letter, Arthur?”
“Burn it, by all means. As you say, it is impossible to return it. I wish heartily we could do something for the poor girl!”
“And yet I don’t see how we can,” returned Mark. “We mustn’t appear to know anything about this affair, of course.”
“Such a beautiful face she has,” said Arthur; “but looks so terribly pale and ill. No wonder! I shouldn’t be .surprised if Mrs. Pettindund turned her out of the house as soon as she finds this out. I have very little faith in her charity.”
“Well, if she does that,” said Mark, “we might be able to help her; but I really don’t see what we can do now.”
“Nor I,” added Arthur, sadly.
Throughout the day his thoughts were busy with this discovery. It did not occur to him for a moment that the girl herself might possibly be to blame. He could feel nothing but tender pity for her, passionate indignation against the heartless brute who had cast her off when she most needed his help.
For several days he did his best to catch sight of her, after listening at his door for several hours in hope of hearing her come up stairs.
One morning, just as he was returning from work through the night, he had his wish. As he entered the house he saw Carrie ascending the stairs with a large can of water, which seemed beyond her strength to lift. He ran forward at once, and begged to be allowed to help her.
As he looked into her face he saw she was crying. Not knowing how to express anxiety or condolence, he pretended not to observe her distress, and contented himself with carrying her can to her door. She thanked him in a low voice, always keeping her face averted.
Troubled beyond expression by the girl’s sufferings, Arthur, instead of going at once to bed, paced his room for nearly an hour, vainly endeavouring to devise some method of giving her assistance.
Mark Challenger was already gone to business, so that there was no one at hand with whom he could take counsel. Emotions such as he had never felt surged within his heart. The sight of Helen Norman had but a short time ago been sufficient to exalt him to regions of enthusiastic rapture; but his love for Helen, if love it were, had been a pure devotion of the spirit, a sentiment which called into play the highest energies of his intellect, the noblest impulses of his heart to the exclusion of all ignobler feeling.
But now it was the senses that had sway over him. His blood coursed hot through his veins, his pulses throbbed. One moment he burned with vehement anger at the unknown author of the poor girl’s troubles, becoming conscious of a depth of resentful ferocity in his nature, the existence of which he could not have believed; the next, his being seemed to melt with excess of passion, as he thought of Carrie’s beautiful face and form, and dwelt with unutterable tenderness upon the vision of her tear-reddened eyes, her pale cheeks, her feeble step. He suffered physically; it was as though some force were straining at his heart-strings, making him pant for breath.
Once or twice he was on the point of casting aside all doubts and hesitations, and of going to speak to her at her own room door and to offer her what help he could — in the shape of money. But a sense of shame and of respect for her feelings retained him. Still he could do nothing but pace the room, now quite unconscious of the weariness which had possessed him when he entered the house, and dreaming of nothing less than of sleep. The contest forced groans from his heart; he pressed his hands fiercely together upon his forehead, as if to force himself into calmness.
Just then he fa............