The Man Who Rose Again. Hocking Joseph
listen."
"Why?" she asked, almost angrily.
"Your sense of what is fair and honourable forbids you," he said. "Yes, I may be what is commonly reported, but there is another side even to that. Let me tell you, then, that I, who never professed to believe in what is called truth and honour, never willingly deceived any man, either by word or by deed. Yes, let me do myself justice. I, who have laughed at Mrs. Grundy and all her ways, never broke a promise made. And more, no man can accuse me of sullying either the honour of man or woman. I may be all that is said of me, but I am not that kind of man."
Something, not only in his words, but in his manner, appealed to her. In spite of herself, she gave him a quick, searching glance. There was something noble in his face, there was a healthy anger in his words. Whatever his creed might be, he was not a bad man.
"I had the right to tell you so much," he went on; "that at least was my privilege, and now, having told you, I must tell you something else. You may refuse me once, you may refuse me twice; but in the end you will have to accept me."
Again there was a gleam of anger in her eyes, and he saw the look of scorn which rested on her face.
"I will tell you why. You cannot run the risk of sending a man to hell. With you as my wife I can do anything. Oh yes, I know my words seem like the words of a mountebank, but even my worst enemies have never accused me of being a boaster, and I repeat it; no guardian angel which your story-books tell about could do for a man what you could do for me. I could work, I could think, I could even become great and good. But without you – even the thought of it is like looking into hell."
"And I," said Olive, "could have but little faith in a man who dared not stand alone. If a man's future, his character, his career, are dependent on a woman, then he rests upon a weak reed. A man to be strong must rest on God."
"That may be your theory; if it is, I know that human nature is always laughing at you. If God is, He's giving you the opportunity of making a man of me."
"I would try and help you," said Olive, "but what you ask is my love, and love cannot be given for the asking. It can only be given as it comes. In such a matter we are not free agents."
"And could you not love me? Answer me honestly, could you not love me?"
This was the first sign of Leicester's advantage. Her eyes dropped, and the colour came to her cheeks.
Leicester's heart beat aloud for joy; he could not repress a cry of exultation.
But Olive Castlemaine mastered herself by a strong effort of will.
"You ask me to speak to you honestly," she said. "Well, I will. I could never love a man – that is as you would be loved – if I did not respect him and I could not respect a man who was the slave to an evil habit."
"You mean – " he hesitated, and looked on the floor.
"Yes, I mean that."
"Look here," he said eagerly, "promise that you will be my wife, and I will never taste a drop of alcohol of any sort again. I give you my word for that. Neither wine, nor whisky, nor spirits of any sort shall ever again pass my lips."
Again she looked at him eagerly, and he thought he saw her eyes soften.
"I mean it," he went on. "What I want is motive power; given that, I can conquer anything. Well, I will do this; say yes, and from this time forward I will never touch it again – never, never!"
"If a thing is an evil, if it is a wrong," she said, "a man should fight it because it is wrong. If a habit has mastered you, you should fight it, and conquer it – because of your respect of – your own manhood."
"You ask too much," he said. "No man can do and be without a sufficient motive. Take you out of my life, and what motive have I?"
"The belief in your own manhood."
"Why should I believe in that? If you refuse me, what have I to live for? Yes, I fight for a position which at heart I despise. I become a member of the British Parliament; many who have not the brains of a rabbit, nor the ideals of a low tavern-keeper, occupy that position. Faith in God and man! I can only think of them through you."
She felt the unworthiness of his position. She knew that her ideal man must always be strong and brave, whatever the circumstances of his life might be, and, so far, Leicester had disappointed her. Nevertheless, there was in his words a subtle flattery which appeals to every woman. She was, humanly speaking, the saving power of his life. The destiny of this strong man was in her hands. What might he not do and be if he were inspired by great hopes and lofty ambitions? His name could be a household word in the land. Millions of struggling, starving people would have cause to bless his name. And she, she could be the means used by God whereby all that was best and noblest in this man could be realised. For she, like all who knew him, felt the wondrous possibilities of his life. It might seem like boasting when he said that with her by his side he could do anything, but she felt sure it was true.
Besides, Leicester appealed to her woman's pride. Every woman longs for strength, masterfulness in the man she loves; she would rather be mastered by a strong man, than be master of a weak man. At that moment she forgot Leicester's cynicism, his professed scorn for all she held most dear; she thought of him as the man he could be.
Behind all that was unworthy, the real man lay strong and brave. He might become a Cabinet Minister, Prime Minister! He had power which could fit him even for this. The sphere of such a man's influence was simply boundless. He could uplift the whole tone of the nation. And then, more than all, he loved her! This was not the sneering, unbelieving man who first came to her father's house a few weeks before, who took a pleasure in laughing at all that was best and truest. No one could accuse him of lack of earnestness to-day. He had almost frightened her by the intensity of his appeal, the passion of his words. And did she love him? If perfect love casteth out fear, she did not love him. Nevertheless, no man had ever appealed to her like this man. Others had asked her for her love, and she had refused them without hesitation; but Leicester was different. If she refused him, it would be after many questions, it would be with an aching heart.
And yet she was afraid. She wanted to think, she wanted to examine her own heart in loneliness and in silence. Yes, and she wanted to speak to her father. Was this a sign that she did not really love him? It was difficult to say. Leicester had been spoken of in her hearing as one who sneered at all things which to her were sacred, and it was out of harmony with her whole life-thought to link her life with such a man. But there was another side of the question. He loved her, and the thought of his love made her heart beat quickly, and filled her with a strange joy.
These thoughts passed through her mind in a flash. Nay, perhaps she did not think them at all. They became a kind of consciousness to her, a series of impressions which possessed her being without mental activity on her own part. Moreover, Leicester, by a kind of intuition, divined what was in her mind. For these two natures were closely akin, although their training, outlook, and conceptions of life were entirely different. If he were a keen-brained, strong, masterful man, she was in her degree his equal. She loved strength even as he rejoiced in it. Although in many respects presenting a strong contrast, Mother Nature had cast them in a similar mould.
Meanwhile, Leicester was watching her closely. He tried to read her face as he would read an open book, with what eagerness we need scarcely say. What had begun in grim and almost repelling jest had resulted in terrible earnestness. This man loved with all the strength of his nature.
"I want your answer," he said at length. "And I must only have one answer. Oh, forgive me if I seem rude, but I cannot help it. I know that I have not spoken as I ought: that is because I have spoken as I was compelled. I know how unworthy I am – yes, I am in deadly earnest. I know I am not worthy to brush your boots; but I love you with all the strength of my life. Tell me, Olive Castlemaine, that I may hope."
"No," she said quietly, "I cannot tell you that – that is – yet."
She knew she yielded the whole position in that qualification, although she would not have admitted it – so strange a thing is a woman's heart. Leicester felt sure of it too, and, unbeliever as he was, he could have said "Thank God."
"I must have time to think,"