Chapter XII--On the Road Home

by Bram Stoker

　　When Leonard Everard parted from Stephen he did so with a feeling ofdissatisfaction: firstly, with Stephen; secondly, with things ingeneral; thirdly, with himself. The first was definite, concrete,and immediate; he could give himself chapter and verse for all thegirl's misdoing. Everything she had said or done had touched somenerve painfully, or had offended his feelings; and to a man of histemperament his feelings are very sacred things, to himself.'Why had she put him in such a ridiculous position? That was theworst of women. They were always wanting him to do something hedidn't want to do, or crying . . . there was that girl at Oxford.'Here he turned his head slowly, and looked round in a furtive way,which was getting almost a habit with him. 'A fellow should go awayso that he wouldn't have to swear lies. Women were always wantingmoney; or worse: to be married! Confound women; they all seemed towant him to marry them! There was the Oxford girl, and then theSpaniard, and now Stephen!' This put his thoughts in a new channel.He wanted money himself. Why, Stephen had spoken of it herself; hadoffered to pay his debts. Gad! it was a good idea that every oneround the countryside seemed to know his affairs. What a flat he hadbeen not to accept her offer then and there before matters had gonefurther. Stephen had lots of money, more than any girl could want.But she didn't give him time to get the thing fixed . . . If he hadonly known beforehand what she wanted he could have come prepared . .. that was the way with women! Always thinking of themselves! Andnow? Of course she wouldn't stump up after his refusing her. Whatwould his father say if he came to hear of it? And he must speak tohim soon, for these chaps were threatening to County Court him if hedidn't pay. Those harpies in Vere Street were quite nasty . . . 'He wondered if he could work Stephen for a loan.He walked on through the woodland path, his pace slower than before.'How pretty she had looked!' Here he touched his little moustache.'Gad! Stephen was a fine girl anyhow! If it wasn't for all that redhair . . . I like 'em dark better! . . . And her being such aninfernal boss!'. . . Then he said unconsciously aloud:'If I was her husband I'd keep her to rights!'Poor Stephen!'So that's what the governor meant by telling me that fortune was tobe had, and had easily, if a man wasn't a blind fool. The governoris a starchy old party. He wouldn't speak out straight and say,"Here's Stephen Norman, the richest girl you are ever likely to meet;why don't you make up to her and marry her?" But that would beencouraging his son to be a fortune-hunter! Rot! . . . And now, justbecause she didn't tell me what she wanted to speak about, or thegovernor didn't give me a hint so that I might be prepared, I havegone and thrown away the chance. After all it mightn't be so bad.Stephen is a fine girl! . . . But she mustn't ever look at me as shedid when I spoke about her not obeying. I mean to be master in myown house anyhow!'A man mustn't be tied down too tight, even if he is married. And ifthere's plenty of loose cash about it isn't hard to cover up yourtracks . . . I think I'd better think this thing over calmly and beready when Stephen comes at me again. That's the way with women.When a woman like Stephen fixes her cold grey on a man she does notmean to go asleep over it. I daresay my best plan will be to sittight, and let her work herself up a bit. There's nothing like alittle wholesome neglect for bringing a girl to her bearings!' . . .For a while he walked on in satisfied self-complacency.'Confound her! why couldn't she have let me know that she was fond ofme in some decent way, without all that formal theatrical proposing?It's a deuced annoying thing in the long run the way the women getfond of me. Though it's nice enough in some ways while it lasts!' headded, as if in unwilling recognition of fact. As the path debouchedon the highroad he said to himself half aloud:'Well, she's a mighty fine girl, anyhow! And if she is red I've hadabout enough of the black! . . . That Spanish girl is beginning tokick too! I wish I had never come across . . . ''Shut up, you fool!' he said to himself as he walked on.When he got home he found a letter from his father. He took it tohis room before breaking the seal. It was at least concise and tothe point:'The enclosed has been sent to me. You will have to deal with ityourself. You know my opinion and also my intention. The itemswhich I have marked have been incurred since I spoke to you lastabout your debts. I shall not pay another farthing for you. So takeyour own course!'JASPER EVERARD.'The enclosed was a jeweller's bill, the length and the total of whichlengthened his face and drew from him a low whistle. He held it inhis hand for a long time, standing quite still and silent. Thendrawing a deep breath he said aloud:'That settles it! The halter is on me! It's no use squealing. Ifit's to be a red head on my pillow! . . . All right! I must onlymake the best of it. Anyhow I'll have a good time to-day, even if itmust be the last!'That day Harold was in Norcester on business. It was late when hewent to the club to dine. Whilst waiting for dinner he met LeonardEverard, flushed and somewhat at uncertain in his speech. It wassomething of a shock to Harold to see him in such a state.Leonard was, however, an old friend, and man is as a rule faithful tofriends in this form of distress. So in his kindly feeling Haroldoffered to drive him home, for he knew that he could thus keep himout of further harm. Leonard thanked him in uncertain speech, andsaid he would be ready. In the meantime he would go and playbilliards with the marker whilst Harold was having his dinner.At ten o'clock Harold's dogcart was ready and he went to look forLeonard, who had not since come near him. He found him half asleepin the smoking-room, much drunker than he had been earlier in theevening.The drive was fairly long, so Harold made up his mind for a prolongedterm of uneasiness and anxiety. The cool night-air, whose effect wasincreased by the rapid motion, soon increased Leonard's somnolenceand for a while he slept soundly, his companion watching carefullylest he should sway over and fall out of the trap. He even held himup as they swung round sharp corners.After a time he woke up, and woke in a nasty temper. He began tofind fault in an incoherent way with everything. Harold said little,just enough to prevent any cause for further grievance. Then Leonardchanged and became affectionate. This mood was a greater bore thanthe other, but Harold managed to bear it with stolid indifference.Leonard was this by time making promises to do things for him, thatas he was what he called a 'goo' fell',' he might count on his helpand support in the future. As Harold knew him to be a wastrel, overhead and ears in debt and with only the succession to a small estate,he did not take much heed to his maunderings. At last the drunkenman said something which startled him so much that he instinctivelydrew himself together with such suddenness as to frighten the horseand almost make him rear up straight.'Woa! Woa! Steady, boy. Gently!' he said, quieting him. Thenturning to his companion said in a voice hollow with emotion andvibrant with suppressed passion:'What was it you said?'Leonard, half awake, and not half of that half master of himself,answered:'I said I will make you agent of Normanstand when I marry Stephen.'Harold grew cold. To hear of any one marrying Stephen was to himlike plunging him in a glacier stream; but to hear her name solightly spoken, and by such a man, was a bewildering shock whichwithin a second set his blood on fire.'What do you mean?' he thundered. 'You marry Ste . . . Miss Norman!You're not worthy to untie her shoe! You indeed! She wouldn't lookon the same side of the street with a drunken brute like you! Howdare you speak of her in such a way!''Brute!' said Leonard angrily, his vanity reaching inward to heartand brain through all the numbing obstacle of his drunken flesh.'Who's brute? Brute yourself! Tell you goin' to marry Stephen, 'cosStephen wants it. Stephen loves me. Loves me with all her red head!Wha're you doin'! Wha!!'His words merged in a lessening gurgle, for Harold had now got him bythe throat.'Take care what you say about that lady! damn you!' he said, puttinghis face close the other's with eyes that blazed. 'Don't you dare tomention her name in such a way, or you will regret it longer than youcan think. Loves you, you swine!'The struggle and the fierce grip on his throat sobered Leonardsomewhat. Momentarily sobbed him to that point when he could becoherent and vindictive, though not to the point where he could thinkahead. Caution, wisdom, discretion, taste, were not for him at sucha moment. Guarding his throat with both hands in an instinctive andspasmodic manner he answered the challenge:'Who are you calling swine? I tell you she loves me. She ought toknow. Didn't she tell me so this very day!' Harold drew back hisarm to strike him in the face, his anger too great for words. Butthe other, seeing the motion and in the sobering recognition ofdanger, spoke hastily:'Keep your hair on! You know so jolly much more than I do. I tellyou that she told me this and a lot more this morning when she askedme to marry her.'Harold's heart grew cold as ice. There is something in the sound ofa voice speaking truthfully which a true man can recognise. Throughall Leonard's half-drunken utterings came such a ring of truth; andHarold recognised it. He felt that his voice was weak and hollow ashe spoke, thinking it necessary to give at first a sort of officialdenial to such a monstrous statement:'Liar!''I'm no liar!' answered Leonard. He would like to have struck him inanswer to such a word had he felt equal to it. 'She asked me tomarry her to-day on the hill above the house, where I went to meether by appointment. Here! I'll prove it to you. Read this!'Whilst he was speaking he had opened the greatcoat and was fumblingin the breast-pocket of his coat. He produced a letter which hehanded to Harold, who took it with trembling hand. By this time thereins had fallen slack and the horse was walking quietly. There wasmoonlight, but not enough to read by. Harold bent over and liftedthe driving-lamp next to him and turned it so that he could read theenvelope. He could hardly keep either lamp or paper still, his handtrembled so when he saw that the direction was in Stephen'shandwriting. He was handing it back when Leonard said again:'Open it! Read it! You must do so; I tell you, you must! Youcalled me a liar, and now must read the proof that I am not. If youdon't I shall have to ask Stephen to make you!' Before Harold's mindflashed a rapid thought of what the girl might suffer in being askedto take part in such a quarrel. He could not himself even act to thebest advantage unless he knew the truth . . . he took the letter fromthe envelope and held it before the lamp, the paper fluttering asthough in a breeze from the trembling of his hand. Leonard lookedon, the dull glare of his eyes brightening with malignant pleasure ashe beheld the other's concern. He owed him a grudge, and by God hewould pay it. Had he not been struck--throttled--called a liar! . ..As he read the words Harold's face cleared. 'Why, you infernal youngscoundrel!' he said angrily, 'that letter is nothing but a simplenote from a young girl to an old friend--playmate asking him to cometo see her about some trivial thing. And you construe it into aproposal of marriage. You hound!' He held the letter whilst hespoke, heedless of the outstretched hand of the other waiting to takeit back. There was a dangerous glitter in Leonard's eyes. He knewhis man and he knew the truth of what he had himself said, and hefelt, with all the strength of his base soul, how best he couldtorture him. In the very strength of Harold's anger, in thepoignancy of his concern, in the relief to his soul expressed in hiseyes and his voice, his antagonist realised the jealousy of one whohonours--and loves. Second by second Leonard grew more sober, andmore and better able to carry his own idea into act.'Give me my letter!' he began.'Wait!' said Harold as he put the lamp back into its socket. 'Thatwill do presently. Take back what you said just now!''What? Take back what?''That base lie; that Miss Norman asked you to marry her.'Leonard felt that in a physical struggle for the possession of theletter he would be outmatched; but his passion grew colder and moremalignant, and in a voice that cut like the hiss of a snake he spokeslowly and deliberately. He was all sober now; the drunkenness ofbrain and blood was lost, for the time, in the strength of his coldpassion.'It is true. By God it is true; every word of it! That letter,which you want to steal, is only a proof that I went to meet her onCaester Hill by her own appointment. When I got there, she waswaiting for me. She began to talk about a chalet there, and at firstI didn't know what she meant--'There was such conviction, such a triumphant truth in his voice, thatHarold was convinced.'Stop!' he thundered; 'stop, don't tell me anything. I don't want tohear. I don't want to know.' He covered his face with his hands andgroaned. It was not as though the speaker were a stranger, in whichcase he would have been by now well on in his death by strangulation;he had known Leonard all his life, and he was a friend of Stephen's.And he was speaking truth.The baleful glitter of Leonard's eyes grew brighter still. He was asa serpent when he goes to strike. In this wise he struck.'I shall not stop. I shall go on and tell you all I choose. Youhave called me liar--twice. You have also called me other names.Now you shall hear the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but thetruth. And if you won't listen to me some one else will.' Haroldgroaned again; Leonard's eyes brightened still more, and the evilsmile on his face grew broader as he began more and more to feel hispower. He went on to speak with a cold deliberate malignancy, butinstinctively so sticking to absolute truth that he could trusthimself to hurt most. The other listened, cold at heart andphysically; his veins and arteries seemed stagnant.'I won't tell you anything of her pretty embarrassments; how hervoice fell as she pleaded; how she blushed and stammered. Why, evenI, who am used to women and their pretty ways and their passions andtheir flushings and their stormy upbraidings, didn't quite know for awhile what she was driving at. So at last she spoke out prettyplainly, and told me what a fond wife she'd make me if I would onlytake her!' Harold said nothing; he only rocked a little as one inpain, and his hands fell. The other went on:'That is what happened this morning on Caester Hill under the treeswhere I met Stephen Norman by her own appointment; honestly whathappened. If you don't believe me now you can ask Stephen. MyStephen!' he added in a final burst of venom as in a gleam ofmoonlight through a rift in the shadowy wood he saw the ghastlypallor of Harold's face. Then he added abruptly as he held out hishand:'Now give me my letter!'In the last few seconds Harold had been thinking. And as he had beenthinking for the good, the safety, of Stephen, his thoughts flewswift and true. This man's very tone, the openness of his malignity,the underlying scorn when he spoke of her whom others worshipped,showed him the danger--the terrible immediate danger in which shestood from such a man. With the instinct of a mind working as trulyfor the woman he loved as the needle does to the Pole he spokequietly, throwing a sneer into the tone so as to exasperate hiscompanion--it was brain against brain now, and for Stephen's sake:'And of course you accepted. You naturally would!' The other fellinto the trap. He could not help giving an extra dig to his opponentby proving him once more in the wrong.'Oh no, I didn't! Stephen is a fine girl; but she wants taking downa bit. She's too high and mighty just at present, and wants to bossa chap too much. I mean to be master in my own house; and she's gotto begin as she will have to go on. I'll let her wait a bit: andthen I'll yield by degrees to her lovemaking. She's a fine girl, forall her red head; and she won't be so bad after all!'Harold listened, chilled into still and silent amazement. To hearStephen spoken of in such a way appalled him. She of all women! . .. Leonard never knew how near sudden death he was, as he lay back inhis seat, his eyes getting dull again and his chin sinking. Thedrunkenness which had been arrested by his passion was reassertingitself. Harold saw his state in time and arrested his own movementto take him by the throat and dash him to the ground. Even as helooked at him in scornful hate, the cart gave a lurch and Leonardfell forward. Instinctively Harold swept an arm round him and heldhim up. As he did so the unconsciousness of arrested sleep came;Leonard's chin sank on his breast and he breathed stertorously.As he drove on, Harold's thoughts circled in a tumult. Vague ideasof extreme measures which he ought to take flashed up and paled away.Intention revolved upon itself till its weak side was exposed, and,it was abandoned. He could not doubt the essential truth ofLeonard's statement regarding the proposal of marriage. He did notunderstand this nor did he try to. His own love for the girl and thebitter awaking to its futility made him so hopeless that in his owndesolation all the mystery of her doing and the cause of it wasmerged and lost.His only aim and purpose now was her safety. One thing at least hecould do: by fair means or foul stop Leonard's mouth, so that othersneed not know her shame! He groaned aloud as the thought came tohim. Beyond this first step he could do nothing, think of nothing asyet. And he could not take this first step till Leonard had so farsobered that he could understand.And so waiting for that time to come, he drove on through the silentnight.