CHAPTER XIII.
THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE.
Even in small towns events follow each other so rapidly that one subject of gossip soon pushes another into the background, and in Scourby Mary Wythburn would have been forgotten, except by a few of her own personal friends, but for the fact that her name had been coupled with that of Dr. Stapleton in a suspicious report which did him great damage in the opinion of his fellow-townsmen. The doctor was a young medical man who was rapidly making his way in the town, and had many friends. He was especially good to the poor, and for several years attended them free of charge at their own homes, and he also held at his house a medical mission. Twice a week his consulting-room was almost like a small “Pool of Bethesda,” for the number of halt and maimed who came to it for advice and medicine. He always made them pay for these by their attendance at a ten minutes’ talk which preceded the regular business on which they came. But the doctor did not usually address these people on religious topics. His faith in the power of Christ to redeem them was strong and unquestioning, but he knew that in the streets, through the efforts of the Salvation Army and other evangelists, they were at their own doors continually hearing of the way of salvation. It was rather a gospel of self-help that Dr. Stapleton preached to them. He wanted them to love God, but since they could not do that because they did not as yet love their fellow-men, he sought to make them at least love themselves, which they were a long way from doing. So he discoursed to them, in rousing words, on cleanliness and health, on language and character, on habits and opinions, and especially on the delight and the dignity of work. There were some strange ideas among these people in regard to this last subject; they actually talked of themselves as the working-classes, while many of them were as idle as they could be. Public movement was in the direction of shortening the hours of labour for men; and it was hoped, therefore, that since many of them only worked eight hours, the professional classes might presently rest when they had been engaged for twelve, and that women would not be expected to work for more than sixteen. But these women who were helped by Dr. Stapleton, whose homes were dirty and wretched, and whose persons were untidy, did very little real work at all; and he knew that if they could be persuaded to love, instead of hate, it, a vast difference would at once be made to their lives. So he did what he could, and very sympathetically, since he knew under what terrible conditions many of them lived, and how hard it is to keep a very little home entirely clean and tidy.
Dr. Stapleton one morning noticed that the people appeared to be offended with him. This vexed and made him irritable, and it must be confessed that he had not a good temper at the best of times. Just now, indeed, he was overwhelmed with troubles of which few people guessed, though some were evident enough. For one thing, a Parliamentary election was impending, and a section of the Scourby men had decided to lead the way in a new departure. There was to be a grand fight for principle. Every one said that, though exactly what the principle was remained undefined, only one thing seemed clear, that the fight would be between the classes who had property and character and those who had neither. For a change had come into the political world, although both the Government and the Opposition were slow to see it. For several years Christianity had been aggressive to an extent not previously known. The churches had become iconoclastic; they had shut up public-houses by the score; they had put gamblers into prison; they had insisted that brutal husbands and fathers should be flogged; they had suspended races, and closed music-halls, and cleared the streets of evil houses, and altogether rendered themselves so obnoxious that through the land there were risings of the dangerous classes, who were everywhere choosing men after their own hearts to represent them in Parliament.
In Scourby this section of the people had chosen Mr. Richard Lavender. He was an open reviler of religion and morality, but he was bold as well as bad; he was clever at invective, and perfectly unscrupulous in his words and deeds, and therefore he was a favourite with too many of the people. They loved to hear him call names; they applauded his sneers at religion and respectability; he was no “bloated aristocrat,” he was an outcast, as many of them were, and they were going to stand by him, and send him to Westminster to be a thorn in the sides of the respectables.
He appealed to the worst passions of the people, and told them that both the aristocracy and the middle classes were tyrants and oppressors of the poor; and the curious thing was that some of them seemed to believe him. He roused their antagonism by reminding them of the Bills that had been passed—that now a man could not claim his wife’s wages, or enjoy them unless she chose to give him them; that he could not send his children out to work, and, indeed, a man could no longer do what he liked with his own; besides which he did not find a public-house in every street, and often had a ten minutes’ walk before he could get his drink. The liberty of the subject was in danger, and a stop must be put to this sort of thing.
Mr. Lavender was one of three men who aspired to the vacant seat. There was, of course, to be the usual fight between the Conservatives and the Radicals. But the candidates representing the two great parties were strangers, and had been selected and sent down by the wire-pullers in London, while Lavender was well known, and hail-fellow-well-met to many of the people in Scourby. This gave him a great advantage over Mr. Smith, the Conservative, and Mr. Jones, the Liberal. On the evening of the day in question there was to be a meeting of the supporters of the latter, and those who were interested looked forward to it with some misgiving. Lavender gloried in mob-law; and although there was no society in the town that would have anything to do with him, not the socialists, nor trades-unionists, nor any distinct organisation of the people, it was yet known that he could count upon a considerable following.
Many people feared that Lavender would be returned, and among them was Dr. Stapleton.
In the midst of his ill-humour Miss Whitwell called to consult him about one or two poor patients to whom he had been kind.
“I am looking after some of Miss Wythburn’s pet women,” she said. “I am so bad-tempered this morning, that I thought I would go to them as a sort of diversion; and I feel more wretched than ever now. I think there must be a happy hereafter for the very poor, they are so joyless here.”
“But they do not wish to leave the world. Every patient wants to get well.”