CHAPTER VII.
The lights are low and softly subdued in Evie Ravensdale’s private study or sanctum in Montragee House, the blinds and curtains are drawn, the fire casts its flickering shadows on the ceiling and walls as ever and anon the little gas-jets from the coals shoot forth their vivid blaze, relapsing immediately after into smoke and gloom. The sounds of mimic warfare which they produce are the only ones which break the stillness prevailing, unless it be the low breathing of the dog Nero, which is stretched upon the hearthrug.
He would hardly, however, lie there so quietly and contentedly, if he were the only occupant of the room, for a dog’s chief characteristic is love of company, loneliness being his pet aversion.
Nor is he alone, as we shall see if we glance at the big armchair drawn up in front of the fire, and looking again, perceive that it is occupied.
The figure which sits there, is in truth very still and silent. It is laying back with its knees crossed and its arms resting on each side of the chair. Its head is slightly bent forward, and its dreamy eyes glitter in the firelight, which they are roving as if in search of an object prized but lost.
What does Evie Ravensdale see in that flickering firelight which appears suddenly to arrest his gaze? It must be some cherished object indeed, judging by the happy smile which for a few brief moments lights up the otherwise sad face, on which melancholy has stamped its mournful features. That which he sees is but a passing vision however, for the smile quickly dies away, and leaves the dark eyes searching again amidst the glowing coals, for the picture that has come and vanished. Above the fireplace, shrouded on either side by heavy curtains of old-gold plush, hangs the oil painting which represents his first meeting with Hector D’Estrange. It is only when alone that Evie Ravensdale draws those curtains aside, and then none can see the emotion which the picture arouses in him. For the memories which it awakens, albeit noble and tender, are painful, recalling, as they do, the image of her whom in life he has most cherished and now lost.
He is sitting there alone, but his mind is busy and his brain hard at work. The sudden revulsion of feeling throughout the country, aroused by the discovery of the drowned body of Lord Westray and the tragic fate of Gloria de Lara, coupled with the published declarations of Léonie Stanley, and later on the startling dying depositions of Eric Fortescue, have all combined to create this reaction in favour of the D’Estrangeite party. The Devonsmere Government, weak in composition and intellect, at once succumbed, and Lord Pandulph Chertsey, the free lance of the National party, stepped into the Duke of Devonsmere’s shoes. But Lord Pandulph was too clever and practical to attempt to govern the fiery steed of public opinion with mimic reins of power. He appealed to that tribunal which alone has the right to nominate its rulers, the people, and demanded of the country its mandate. And now the country, without demur or hesitation, has spoken out in no uncertain tone. The light of a pure and noble life has penetrated the darkness of opposition and prejudice, and has fulfilled the prophecy which in childhood Gloria de Lara predicted. The cause of right and justice has triumphed, and the reign of selfishness, greed, and monopoly has passed away.
By a glorious majority D’Estrangeism has won. The Progressists are nowhere, and the Nationals have been returned mutilated in numbers. The D’Estrangeites, recruited by sixty additional seats, declare the country’s will, and Evie Ravensdale, at the command of his sovereign, has formed a Ministry, known under the name of the Second D’Estrangeite Cabinet.
These changes have been rapid. Little more than a month has passed away since the death of Gloria de Lara resounded through the world, and already the vision which her childhood’s genius conjured up as she spoke to the waves of the blue Adriatic, and predicted victory, is on the eve of realisation. For even as it had been her first act of power to bring in a bill for the complete emancipation of women, so is it Evie Ravensdale’s intention to do likewise.
But the position is different. When Hector D’Estrange submitted his bill to the Commons, he knew that for many reasons it was doomed, the first, and foremost being that the country had not spoken, or pronounced unmistakably for or against the change. On this occasion there can be no misunderstanding however, for the Parliament returned gives the D’Estrangeites a majority over the other parties in the House combined, and in plain words declares the will of the people. But there is just this difference again. Whereas the first bill was introduced to the Commons, the second, in virtue of Evie Ravensdale’s rank, must make its début in the Lords. Will this latter assembly accept it? It remains to be seen. Yet surely in the face of the country’s mandate, the peers will submit to the people’s wishes!
No wonder then that the brain of the young Premier is busy and hard at work. In three hours from now, he will be submitting the bill to his peers, and appealing to them in the name of justice and right, in the name of fairness and honesty, in the name of the great dead, to breathe upon it the breath of life. Surely the victory which the child Gloria foretold, which the young genius foresaw, is now at length to be won. Ah! surely yes.
“My darling,” he whispers softly, as the vision, which for a few brief moments has shone in the gleaming coals, passes away in the changing light thereof, “my darling, would to God that you were here, would to God that I had the counsel of your clear brain, the courage of your strong heart to support me! Yet hear me, Gloria, and help me to keep my vow. Have I not sworn to dedicate my life to the great work which your noble genius conceived and sought to accomplish? And with God’s help I will be the faithful servant of your great cause. So help me God!”
He rises as he speaks, and fixes his gaze on the painting above him. It almost seems to him as though the figure of Hector D’Estrange portrayed therein, stands there in living life. He can hardly realise, as he looks at the beautiful face, that the spirit which made Gloria so noble in life, does not animate it now. In the subdued light and the flickering gleam of the fire, the features look living and real; to Evie Ravensdale they bring high resolves and noble inspirations, which only the influence of that which is great and lofty, can awaken.
Estcourt is late in the House, too late to hear the whole of the Premier’s speech; he has been delayed by business of pressing moment. About five o’clock in the afternoon, a telegram had been put into his hands, the contents of which had dazed and struck him well-nigh speechless. He could not summon courage to credit its contents. Recovering however, from his surprise, his first impulse had been to seek his chief and lay the telegram before him. Second thoughts had decided him, however, on not doing so, and he had elected instead to send off a long telegram himself. This telegram bore reference entirely to the one which he had received, and was addressed to a friend in South America. During the remainder of the day Estcourt has been anxiously and feverishly awaiting the reply. So important does he regard this reply, that he continues to await it, and in the House of Lords, crowded by every active member belonging to it, he alone is absent. It is natural, therefore, that his absence should have caused both surprise and comment, especially as he is a prominent member of the Second D’Estrangeite Ministry.
He has come in now, however, and his colleagues eye him curiously. They cannot help noticing the suppressed look of excitement in his face, and the eager, restless expression in his eyes. Estcourt’s ordinary manner is so quiet and calm that these unusual symptoms are all the more noticeable and surprising. But the duke is still speaking; attention is soon again riveted on what he is saying, and Estcourt is enabled, at any rate, to hear the latter part of a speech whose persuasive eloquence and oratorical power, amaze the House, Evie Ravensdale never before having been regarded but as a common-place speaker, and orator of mediocre talent.
“On this solemn occasion,” he is saying as Estcourt comes in, “I beseech of your lordships to cast aside the cloak of old prejudices and selfish monopoly, and obey the unmistakable will of the country, which has appointed a House of Commons pledged to carry this great act of human justice and reparation. I appeal to you to show on this occasion a true courage worthy of men, and abolish for ever from the Statute Book those disabilities under which women are deprived of rights to which they are entitled by reason of their common humanity with man. The stale arguments of past days can no longer be advanced in opposition to this bill. The false and brutal pretexts which formerly were adopted to reason away the human rights of women, can no longer be resorted to. Woman has triumphantly established the fact that her mental capacities are equal to man’s—ay, and her physical powers of strength and endurance as well, where she has been given fair chances and fair play. There remains but one argument against the removal of her disabilities and the triumphant assertion of the principles of this bill; that one argument is selfishness. Men are unwilling, in many instances, to allow women whom they have held in subjection so long, to assume a position of equality with themselves. These men object to remove the halo with which they have self-crowned themselves; they object, in fact, to share with women the good things of this earth. There is but one definition of this attitude of opposition, and that is selfishness, my lords, pure and unadulterated selfishness. But the time has come when this selfishness is too glaring and apparent to pass from sight, when it must be faced, fought with, and conquered. On its defeat depends—not the welfare of man only, but the welfare and advance of the world. We have sought to rule against the laws of Nature too long, we have sought, by artificial means, to keep the world going, and we have failed. What has the rule of man accomplished? The vain gratification of a few, the misery of millions and hundreds of millions. War has been invented to glorify men, to uphold dynasties loathed, in many instances, by the people; vice and immorality rage for the gratification of the ruler man; philanthropy exists to patch up the sores and abscesses brought about in Society by his excesses; the starving, the criminal, and the miserable, are supported by taxes wrung from the people. Religion spreads abroad its thousands of arms, each one asserting its sole right to be, but the fact remains: war is spreading, crime increasing, immorality assuming giant proportions, misery, disease, and wrongdoing growing mightier day by day, while the forces that could and would stay these horrors, still wear the badge of slavery.
“I appeal to your lordships to face these facts, and act upon them generously and courageously. From our midst a great and commanding figure has but lately passed away,—one who began in childhood an heroic and courageous resistance to wrong, and who maintained that resistance through her all too short career. Gloria de Lara, in the person of Hector D’Estrange, triumphantly established the fact of woman’s equality with man, and undeniably asserted the right of her sex to share with him in the government of the world.
“And I ask your lordships to consider in a generous manner the motives which first prompted the great heart of Gloria de Lara to do battle for her sex, and which ultimately strengthened its resolve to maintain the contest to the last. Was it not a dawning comprehension of the terrible wrong under which her mother had become an outcast in this world, shunned and despised by Society at large? Did not Gloria de Lara recognise that in woman’s unnatural position lay the root of the evil? Then, as she grew up, and personally made herself acquainted with the woes afflicting Society, did she not struggle to remedy this position, recognising therein the key to human suffering? I bear testimony to her life of patient, unwearying research amidst the suffering and slaving classes. This it was that gave her such a grasp of her subject, when in the House of Commons she sought to unveil to the members thereof the horrors that existed. The dream of her life was, to be spared in order to carry great social measures of reform, but she recognised the fact that to do this effectually, woman must first be placed on the level of equality with man. For this she struggled, for this she fought on against overwhelming odds. I need not dwell on the false and brutal charge which was brought against her, which forced her to disclose her sex, which condemned her to die, and which—when rescued by her own Women Guards—made her an outcast and a wanderer, and a felon in the eyes of the law. The falsity of this detestable lie has been abundantly proved in the discovery of the dead body of the man who ruined and blasted her mother’s life, who brought about her own pathetic and irredeemable death. In her name I appeal for justice, and I confidently believe that I shall not appeal in vain. I desire that the division shortly to be taken shall seal the fate of the measure on behalf of victory or defeat. You have the voice of the country ringing in your ears, but high above that voice should sound the loud appeal, which a great and noble example sends forth, the appeal of the glorious dead.”
He sits down amidst a storm of applause, unusual in this august and dignified assembly. He hardly hears it; he takes no note of the varied scene around him. Evie Ravensdale sees before him the face of but one being, that being Gloria de Lara. Is not her spirit near encouraging, upholding, and leading him on to victory?
But he is awakened from his dream at the call of duty. The division is being taken at last, and all wait in breathless expectation for the result.
“The Content’s have it!” By a majority of 107 the peers obey the country’s mandate, and acknowledge the people’s will as law. Gloria has triumphed. That which she predicted is realised, the vow which she made is accomplished. Ah! in this moment of victory, who would not wish her here, instead of in the cold arms of death?
Of death? Silence is being called for, and Lord Estcourt is endeavouring to make himself heard. He is successful at last.
“I wish to explain to the House,” he begins, “why I was not in my place when my noble friend began his speech. My excuse will be acceptable to this House, I feel sure. The fact is, I received a telegram containing startling intelligence, so startling that I conceived it to be a hoax. I took steps to ascertain the truth, and am satisfied of the authenticity of the first intelligence. I have to announce to your lordships the glorious news that Gloria de Lara is not dead. By God’s almighty goodness she is alive—alive to witness the triumph of her cause. Truly indeed you may exclaim with me in accepting this wonderful intelligence, it is God’s will—it is the hand of God.”
