The Day of Judgment. Hocking Joseph
just as well she is not here with me. She would have broken her heart during the trial; but I'll not forget—no, I'll not forget."
A fortnight after his return from Manchester he was walking with Preston to a village some distance from; Brunford, where they had arranged to inspect some machinery. By this time he had practically forgotten the meeting with the girl to whom he had spoken so rudely in John Sutcliffe's shop. But this afternoon, even while his mind ought to have been filled with the work he had in hand, his mind turned to her. He remembered the look of anger in her eyes, and the scorn which shone from them as she gazed on him. He wondered who she was, and why she should seem so deeply moved by what he had said.
In order to reach the village of Northcroft, the place towards which they wended, they had to cross some fields, and George Preston and he had scarcely climbed the stile when, coming towards them, they saw two girls. Evidently they were coming from a large house in the near distance, and were walking towards Brunford. Paul saw in a moment that they were not of the operative class. They were well-dressed, and it was plainly to be seen that they were strongly differentiated from those women whom it was his lot to meet. He had barely gone half-way across the field, when he stood still and gazed at one of them like a man spell-bound. He recognised her as the girl whom he had met in Sutcliffe's shop. Scarcely knowing what he did, he stood still in the path, thus making it impossible for them to pass him. Preston, evidently deep in his calculations about the looms he proposed to buy, had for the moment forgotten Paul's presence and had left him behind.
"Will you kindly stand aside?"
Paul recognised the speaker. It was the daughter of Edward Wilson, but he paid no heed to her, he was gazing intently at the other, and he saw the colour mount to her cheeks as their eyes met. He had taken but little notice of her when he had first seen her. He recognised that she belonged to a class entirely different from his own, but he remembered little else beyond the anger which she evidently felt towards him. That she had resented his words was evident, but to that he had attached but little importance; now, however, all was different. He could not understand how or why—she had not only crossed the pathway of his life, but she had entered his life. She seemed to arouse within him all sorts of unthought-of possibilities. His ideas of the world became different. She made him think of the poetry and of the romance of life, even although she still looked upon him with scorn, if not with anger. The morning had been rainy, and the long grass on either side of the pathway was as wet as a pond, but he did not move aside that she might pass by, in spite of what her companion had said. Neither did he speak, but stood looking at her. She was utterly different from Emily Wilson, whom he had often seen; indeed, the poles seemed to lie between them. Miss Wilson was tall and largely made, and, in spite of the fact that her dressmaker was an artist, seemed to look poor and shabby beside the stranger. This girl was almost diminutive, and yet she carried herself like a queen. He could not have described a single feature, and yet he knew he would never forget her face. It made him think of the fields around St. Mabyn. It caused him to remember the love song of the birds, the music of a streamlet, as it murmured its way down a valley near his old home. It suggested the countryside, far removed from the smoke and grime of that northern town, a countryside that was peaceful, sweet and beautiful.
"Will you kindly move aside?"
This time he realised what he was doing, and he stepped into the wet grass.
"I beg your pardon," he said, and then unconsciously he lifted his hat. He knew that the girl was thinking of their former meeting, thinking of his own rudeness, thinking, too perhaps, of the circumstances under which he had come back to Brunford. He walked on like a man in a dream. "I had just come out of prison," he said, "and I spoke to her like a clown. What must she think of me?" And then a feeling of bitterness came over his heart. "She's with that Wilson girl," he said, "and I know what they'll say."
But why should he care? What had he in common with this young girl, whose thoughts and feelings must be far removed from his own?
The Lancashire operatives pay little attention to caste or class distinction. With them one man is as good as another, even although they are greatly influenced by the fact of success and the amassing of money. But the inwardness of the word Aristocracy has little or no meaning to them; it is too elusive, too intangible. But at that moment Paul realised something of what it meant. This girl belonged to a class of which he knew nothing. She created an atmosphere utterly different from that breathed in a Lancashire manufacturing town. He could not put it into words, but he knew it was there, a refinement, a suggestion of thoughts to which he was a stranger. What was she doing there? She had nothing in common with that Wilson girl, even although the Wilsons were the wealthiest people in Brunford. And then there was something more, he knew not what, only somehow it made life different. It made him feel how small his world had been, what a little thing money-making was. It suggested a larger world, a higher life of which hitherto he had been ignorant.
When he reached the next stile he found George Preston waiting for him. "Been talking with Wilson's lass?" asked he with a laugh.
Paul shook his head. "Who's the other one?" he asked. "Is she not a stranger in these parts?"
"Don't you know?" asked Preston.
"No, I don't know."
"Why, she's Miss Bolitho. She's the daughter of the man who had so much to do in sending you to quod."
It seemed as though someone had struck him a blow. Unconsciously he had been weaving fancies around her, unconsciously, too, something had come into his life to which hitherto he had been a stranger. And now to hear that she was the daughter of the man whom he could not think of save as his enemy, almost made him reel! For a few minutes he walked on by Preston's side without speaking, while his companion, almost unconsciously realising that he was in no humour for speech, was likewise silent.
"I suppose," said Preston presently, "that Bolitho and Wilson got friendly through thy trial. Of course, Bolitho's a big man, and knows a lot of the big people in London, still, he's allowed his daughter to come visiting here, and I hear, too, that young Ned Wilson is sweet on her."
Paul did not speak. His mind was dazed, but he felt sure that, for weal or for woe, he and this girl would be associated in the future.
"Are you sure she's Bolitho's daughter?" he said to Preston a little later.
"Oh, yes, I'm quite sure. Bolitho was staying at Wilson's house while you were in prison. And it is said that the two families went away to Switzerland together just after Christmas. Besides, Ned Wilson won't be a bad catch. It is said that the firm is making fifty thousand a year, and Ned is the only son. But there, Paul, that's not for us to talk about. They're not in our world at all. We're just beginning, and we shall have hard work to get on. And we must be careful of Ned Wilson, too. But for him, as you know, we should have had Fletcher's weaving shed, and that would have saved us twenty pounds a year in rent."
"Yes," said Paul, and his lips were compressed as he spoke. "I fancy the time will come when Ned Wilson and I will have a lot of old scores to pay off, and I tell you what, Preston, when the time comes I'll not have the worst of it."
A year from that date two events took place which need recording. Preston and Paul had been going carefully through their books, and had been engaged in what might be termed a kind of stocktaking.
"We have had a great year, Paul," said Preston.
"Yes, I suppose so," replied Paul.
"And I doubt if any two chaps, beginning as we did, have had such success as we have had."
"Perhaps not," said Paul, "but we've not had enough yet. I've got a scheme in my mind which I want to talk with you about, Preston."
"You're always full of schemes," replied the other.
"Yes but have they not turned out well?" was the answer.
"Ay, I know," was the reply. "But sometimes I've felt as though we have been walking on eggs. I never thought, twelve months ago, that I should have dared to launch out so! Why, man, think of our liabilities!"
"Yes," replied Paul, "but think of our success, too; think of our