The Man Who Rose Again

by Joseph Hocking

At last one day the light of resolution came into his eyes. He lunched at his club, and then, having dressed with great care, he made his way to Olive Castlemaine's home. He had received no invitation, neither did he know whether he would find her in the house. Nevertheless he went. During his journey there, he seemed in deep thought. At the railway station he bought a paper, but he never looked at it. Sometimes he looked out of the window, but evidently he saw nothing. He was as unconscious of his surroundings as a sleep-walker.

Presently he drew near the station which he knew to be the nearest to The Beeches, and then he rose in the carriage and walked between the seats, as though he were considering some course of action.

"Shall I tell her the truth, the whole truth?" he said presently. "Shall I relate to her the miserable——? No, no—not that!" He set his teeth firmly together as he spoke. "No, no—not that!" he repeated, and again he looked out of the carriage window with the same stony stare.

"If she refuses me——" he said presently. "But no, I'll not be refused. If she says no a hundred times, I'll ask her again. I won't, no I can't be refused. It would be——"

The man's body grew rigid as he spoke. Evidently Radford Leicester was in a stern mood, and bent upon a mission which affected him deeply.

The train stopped, and the porters shouted the name of the station. He stepped on to the platform and looked around him. Only a very few people had come by the train; the time was yet too early for the City men. Outside the station he engaged a hansom, and told the man to drive him to The Beeches.

"I wonder if she's at home," he said to himself, "and if she is, I wonder if she'll see me?"

There could be no doubt that Radford Leicester was untrue to the creed which he had so often professed. "Nothing is worth while," he had answered many times, when he was asked why he did not take life seriously. But he was serious now. His eyes shone with the light of expectancy and of determination. He did not notice the country through which the cab was passing. He did not realise that, instead of busy streets and tall buildings, there were lanes and quiet meadows. He did not notice that the speculating builder had not been allowed to ruin a pleasant neighbourhood, and that although he was not many miles distant from the heart of London, the district was suggestive of a country village. Yet so it was. John Castlemaine owned all the land around, and he had kept the speculating builder at bay. It is true he had built many workmen's cottages—cottages which reflected credit alike upon his heart and upon his artistic tastes, but long rows of jerry-built ugliness were nowhere visible, and the countryside retained the sweet rusticity of a purely rural district.

The Beeches was a fine old mansion standing far back in its own grounds, and surrounded by a number of large old trees, which gave the house its name. Once inside the lodge gates, it was difficult to believe that London, with its surging life, lay in the near distance. An atmosphere of restfulness and repose reigned, only disturbed by the passing of the trains, which ran a little more than a mile away from John Castlemaine's house.

While Radford Leicester was passing along the quiet road he took no notice of his surroundings, but once inside the lodge gates he seemed to realise where he was. He had been to the house twice before, but he had not noticed the grounds. Indeed, he had had no opportunity. Night had fallen before he came, and as he had left at midnight, it was impossible to see anything. Now, however, all was different. It was true the time was late autumn, and many of the trees were denuded of leaves; but the sun shone brilliantly, and the autumn flowers gleamed in the sunlight. He noticed, too, the air of stately repose which characterised the house; he was impressed by the extensive lawns, and the gnarled old trees which dotted the park. Here was no tawdry, ornamented dwelling of the nouveau riche; it was the solid, substantial dwelling of a City merchant of the old school. Even the servants had an air of proprietorship. They were not of the "month on trial" order. Evidently they had served the family for many years, and had become accustomed to their surroundings.