A Crooked Path Part 32

"May I present myself in a frock coat?" he asked, as he shook hands with Katherine. "I have had rather a busy day, and found myself in your neighborhood just now, so could not resist looking in."

"At your usual work, I suppose," said Miss Payne, severely. "Pray have you had anything to eat?"

"Yes, I a.s.sure you. I dined quite luxuriously at Bethnal Green about an hour and a half ago."

"Ha! at a coffee-stall, I suppose; a cup of coffee and a ha'p'orth of bread. I must insist on your having some proper food." Miss Payne put forth her hand toward the bell as she spoke.

"Do not give yourself the trouble; I really do not want anything, nor will I take anything beyond a cup of tea." Bertie drew a chair beside Katherine, asked what she was reading, and talked a little about the news of the day. Then he fell into silence, his eyes fixed on the fire, a very grave expression stilling his face.

"What are you thinking of?" asked his sister. "What misery have you been steeping yourself in to-day?"

"Misery indeed," he echoed. Then, meeting Katherine's eyes fixed upon him, he smiled. "Of course I see misery every day," he continued, "but I don't like to trouble you with too much of it. To-day I met with an unusually hard case, and I am going to ask you for some help toward righting it."

"Tell me what you want," said Katherine.

"Are you sure the story is genuine?" asked Miss Payne.

"I am quite sure. I went into Bow Street Police Court to-day, intending to speak to the sitting magistrate about some children respecting whom he had asked for information, when I was attracted by the face of a woman who was being examined; she was poorly clad, but evidently respectable--like a better cla.s.s of needle-woman. I never saw a face express such despair. It seemed she had been caught in the act of stealing two loaves from the shop of a baker. The poor creature did not deny it. Her story was that she had been for some years a widow; that she had supported herself and two children by needle-work and machine-work. Illness had impoverished her and diminished her connection, other workers having been taken on in her absence. In short she had been caught in that terrible maelstrom of misfortune from which _no_ one can escape without a helping hand. Her sewing machine was seized for rent; one article after another of furniture and clothes went for food; at last nothing was left. She roamed the city, reduced to beg at last, and striving to make up her mind to go to the workhouse, the cry of the hungry children she had left in her ears. At several bakers'

shops she had pet.i.tioned for food and had been refused. At last, entering one while the shop-girl's back was turned, she s.n.a.t.c.hed a couple of small loaves and rushed out into the arms of a policeman, who had seen the theft through the window."

"And would the magistrate punish her for this?" asked Katherine, eagerly.

"He must. Theft is theft, whatever the circ.u.mstances that seem to extenuate it. Nothing, no need, gives a right to take what does not belong to you. But, for all that, I am certain the poor creature has been honest hitherto, and deserves help. She is committed to prison for stealing, and I promised her I would look to her children; so I have been to see them, and took them to the Children's Refuge that you were kind enough to subscribe to, Miss Liddell. To-morrow we must do what we can for the mother. I imagine it is worse than death to her to be put in prison."

"I do not wonder at it," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Miss Payne. "And in spite of what you say, Bertie, I should not like to give any materials to be made up by a woman who deliberately stole in broad daylight."

"I do not see that the light made any difference," returned Bertie; and they plunged into a warm discussion. Katherine soon lost the sense of what they were saying. Her heart was throbbing as if a sudden stunning blow had been dealt her, and the words, "Theft is theft, whatever the circ.u.mstances that seem to extenuate it," beat as if with a sledge-hammer on her brain.

If for a theft, value perhaps sixpence, this poor woman, who had been driven to it by the direst necessity, was exposed to trial, to the gaze of careless lookers-on, to loss of character, to the exposure of her sore want, to the degradation of imprisonment, what should be awarded to her, Katherine Liddell, an educated gentlewoman, for stealing a large fortune from its rightful owner, and that, too, under no pressure of immediate distress? True, she firmly believed that had her uncle not been struck down by death he would have left her a large portion of it; that she had a better right to it than a stranger. Still that did not alter the fact that she was a thief. If every one thus dared to infringe the rights of others, what law, what security would remain?

These ideas had never quite left her since the day she had written "Ma.n.u.script to be destroyed" on the fatal little parcel, which had been ever with her during her various journeyings since. More than once she had made up her mind to destroy it, but some influence--some terror of destroying this expression of what her uncle once wished--had stayed her hand; her courage stopped there. Perhaps a faint foreshadowing of some future act of rest.i.tution caused this reluctance, unknown to herself, but certainly at present no such possibility dawned upon her. She felt that she held her property chiefly in trust for others, especially her nephews. Often she had forgotten her secret during her mother's lifetime, but the consciousness of it always returned with a sense of being out of moral harmony, which made her somewhat fitful in her conduct, particularly as regarded her expenditure, being sometimes tempted to costly purchases, and anon shrinking from outlay as though not ent.i.tled to spend the money which was nominally hers. Nathan's parable did not strike more humiliating conviction to Israel's erring king than Bertie Payne's "ower true tale." At length she mastered these painful thoughts, and sought relief from them in speech.

"What do you think of doing for this poor woman?" she asked, taking a screen to shelter her face from the fire and observation.

"I have not settled details in my own mind yet," he said; "but as soon as she is released I must get her into a new neighborhood and redeem her sewing-machine. Then, if we can get her work and help her till she begins to earn a little, she may get on."

"Pray let me help in this," said Katherine, earnestly. "I live quite a selfish life, and I should be thankful if you will let me furnish what money you require."

"That I shall with great thankfulness. But, Miss Liddell, if you are anxious to find interesting work, why not come and see our Children's Refuge and the schools connected with it? Then there is an a.s.sociation for advancing small sums to workmen in time of sickness, or to redeem their tools, which is affiliated to a ladies' visiting club, the members of which make themselves acquainted personally with the men and their families."

"I shall be most delighted to go with you to both, but I do not think I could do any good myself. I am so reluctant to preach to poor people, who have so much more experience, so much more real knowledge of life, than I have, merely because they _are_ poor."

"I do not want you to do so, but I think personal contact with the people you relieve is good both for those benefited and their benefactor."

"I suppose it is; and those poor old people who cannot read or are blind, I am quite willing to read to them if they like it."

"I can find plenty for you to do, Miss Liddell," Bertie was beginning when his sister broke in with:

"This is quite too bad, Bertie. You know I will not have you dragging my young friends to catch all sorts of disorders in the slums. You must be content with Miss Liddell's money."

"Miss Payne, I really do wish to see something of the work on which your brother is engaged, and--forgive me if I seem obstinate--I am resolved to help him if I can."

The result of the conversation was that the greater portion of the contents of Miss Liddell's purse was transferred to Bertie's, and he left them in high spirits, having arranged to call for Katherine the next day in order to escort her to the Children's Refuge and some other inst.i.tutions in which he took an interest.

From this time for several weeks Katherine was greatly occupied in the benevolent undertakings of her new friend. The endless need, the degradations of extreme poverty, the hopeless condition of such ma.s.ses of her fellow-creatures, depressed her beyond description. She would gladly have given to her uttermost farthing, but it would be a mere drop in the ocean of misery around.

"Even if we could supply their every want, and give each family a decent home," she said to Bertie one evening as she walked back with him, "they would not know how to keep it or to enjoy it. If the men, and the women too, have not the tremendous necessity to labor that they may live, they relax and become mere brutes. We must, above all things, educate them."

"Yes, education is certainly necessary; but the most ignorant being who has laid hold on the Rock of Ages, who has received the spirit of adoption whereby he can cry, 'Abba, Father!' has a means of elevation and refinement beyond all that books and art can teach," cried Bertie, with more warmth than he usually allowed himself to show.

"You believe that? I cannot say I do. We need other means of moral and intellectual life besides spiritualism. At least I have tried to be religious, but I always get weary."

"That is only because you have not found the straight and true road,"

said Bertie, earnestly. "Pray, my dear Miss Liddell--pray, and light will be given you."

"Thank you--you are very good," murmured Katherine "At all events, though we can do but little, it is a comfort to help some of these poor creatures, especially the children and old people."

"It is," he returned. "And if it be consolatory to minister to their physical wants, how much more to feed their immortal souls!"

Katherine was silent for a few minutes, and then said: "It is impossible they can think much about their souls when they suffer so keenly in their bodies. Poverty and privation which destroy self-respect cannot allow of spiritual aspiration. Is it to be always like this--one cla.s.s steeped in luxury, the other grovelling in cruel want?"

"Our Lord says, 'Ye have the poor always with you,'" returned Bertie.

"Nor can we hope to see the curse of original sin lifted from life here below until the great manifestation; in short, till s.h.i.+loh come."

"Do you think so? I do not like to think that Satan is too strong for G.o.d," said Katherine, thoughtfully.

Bertie replied by exhorting her earnestly not to trust to mere human reason, to accept the infallible word of G.o.d, "and so find safety and rest." Katherine did not reply.

"I think you could help me in a difficult case," said Bertie, a few days after this conversation.

"Indeed!" said Katherine, looking up from the book she was reading by the fire after dinner. "What help can I possibly give?"

"Hear my story, and you will see."

"I shall be most happy if I can help you. Pray go on."

"You know Dodd, the porter and factotum at the Children's Refuge? Well, Dodd has a mother, a very respectable old dame, who keeps a very mild sweety shop, and also sells newspapers, etc. Mrs. Dodd, besides these sources of wealth, lets lodgings, and seems to get on pretty well. Now Dodd came to me in some distress, and said, 'Would you be so good, sir, as to see mother? she wants a word with you bad, very bad.' I of course said I was very ready to hear what she had to say. So I called at the little shop, which I often pa.s.s. I found the old lady in great trouble about a young woman who had been lodging with her for some time. She, Mrs. Dodd, did not know that her lodger was absolutely ill, but she scarcely eats anything, she never went out, she sometimes sat up half the night. Hitherto she had paid her rent regularly, but on last rent-day she had said she could only pay two weeks more, after which she supposed she had better go to the workhouse. When first she came she used to go out looking for work, but that ceased, and she seemed in a half-conscious state. As I was a charitable gentleman, would I go and speak to her? Well, rather reluctantly, I did. I went upstairs to a dreary back room, and found a decidedly lady-like young woman, neatly dressed enough, but ghastly white with dull eyes. She seemed to be dusting some books, but looked too weary to do much. She was not surprised or moved in any way at seeing me. When I apologized for intruding upon her, she murmured that I was very good. Then I asked if I could help her in any way. She thanked me, but suggested nothing. When I pressed her to express her needs, she said that life was not worth working for, but that she supposed they would give her something to do in the workhouse, and she would do it. As for seeking work, she could not, that she was a failure, and only cared not to trouble others. I was quite baffled. She was so quiet and gentle, and spoke with such refinement, that I was deeply interested. I called again this morning, and she would hardly answer me. As she is young (not a great deal older than yourself), perhaps a lady--a woman--might win her confidence. She seems to have been a dressmaker. Could you not offer her some employment, and draw her from the extraordinary lethargy which seems to dull her faculties? No mind can hold out against it; she will die or become insane."

"It is very strange. I should be very glad to help her, but I feel afraid to attempt anything. I shall be so awkward. What can I say to begin with?"

"Your offering her work would make an opening. Do try. I am sure her case needs a woman's delicate touch."

"I will do my best," said Katherine. "It all sounds terribly interesting. Shall I go to-morrow?"

"Yes, by all means. I am so very much obliged to you. I feel you will succeed."

"Don't be too sure."