‘I am rather out of sorts to-day,’ said the Curate. ‘I have had disagreeable news from home; but another time I shall be very glad. Scandinavia! Is the “Shadow” big enough and steady enough for the northern seas?’
And then, as he pronounced the name, it suddenly occurred to him why the yacht was called the ‘Shadow.’ The thought brought with it a poignant sense of contrast, which went through and through him like an arrow. They could call their yacht after her, paying her just such a subtle, inferred compliment as girls love. And they could go away now, lucky fellows, to new places, to savage seas, where they might fight against the elements, and delude their sick hearts (if they possessed such things) by a struggle with nature. Poor Curate!—he had to stay and superintend the mothers’ meetings—which also was a struggle with nature, though after a different kind.
‘Oh! she will do very well,’ said Bertie Eldridge, hastily. ‘Look sharp, Bertie, here is the dogcart. We are going to Ryde for a hundred things she wants. I shall send her round there to-morrow. Will you come!’
‘I can’t,’ said the Curate, almost rudely. And then even his unoffending hand seized upon a dart that lay in his way. ‘How does all this yachting suit your studies?’ he said.
Bertie Hardwick laughed. ‘It does not suit them at all,’ he said, jumping into the dogcart. ‘Good-bye, old fellow. I think you should change your mind, and come with us to-morrow!’
‘I won’t,’ said the Curate, under his breath. But they did not hear him; they dashed off in very good spirits, apparently nowise affected by his news. As for Mr. Sugden, he ground his teeth in secret. That which he would have given his life, almost his soul for, had been thrown away upon one of these two—and to them it was as nothing. It did not cloud their looks for more than a minute, if indeed it affected them at all; whereas to him it was everything. They were the butterflies of life; they had it in their power to pay pretty compliments, to confer little pleasures, but they were not true to death, as he was. And yet Ombra would never find that out; she would never know that his love—which she did not even take the trouble to be conscious of—was for life and death, and that the other’s was an affair of a moment. They had driven off laughing; they had not even pretended to be sorry for the loss which the place was about to suffer. It was no loss to them. What did they care? They were heartless, miserable, without sense or feeling; yet one of them was Ombra’s choice.
This incident, however, made Mr. Sugden take his way back to the village. He had walked a great deal further than he had any idea of, and had forgotten all about the poor women who were waiting with their subscriptions for the penny club. And it chafed him, poor fellow, to have to go into the little dull room, and to take the pennies. ‘Good heavens! is this all I am good for?’ he said to himself. ‘Is there no small boy or old woman who could manage it better than I? Was this why the good folks at home spent so much money on me, and so much patience?’ Poor young Curate, he was tired and out of heart, and he was six feet high and strong as a young lion; yet there seemed nothing in heaven or earth for him to do but to keep the accounts of the penny club and visit the almshouses. He had done that very placidly for a long time, having the Cottage always to fall back upon, and being a kindly, simple soul at bottom—but now! Were there no forests left to cut down? no East-end lanes within his reach to give him something to fight with and help him to recover his life?
CHAPTER XXIX.
The Berties drove away laughing, but when they had got quite out of the Curate’s sight, Bertie Eldridge turned to his cousin with indignation.