wessex tales-第32章

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two　hundred　years。



CHAPTER　IX



Twenty…one　years　and　six　months　do　not　pass　without　setting　a　mark
even　upon　durable　stone　and　triple　brass；　upon　humanity　such　a
period　works　nothing　less　than　transformation。　　In　Barnet's　old
birthplace　vivacious　young　children　with　bones　like　india…rubber　had
grown　up　to　be　stable　men　and　women；　men　and　women　had　dried　in　the
skin；　stiffened；　withered；　and　sunk　into　decrepitude；　while
selections　from　every　class　had　been　consigned　to　the　outlying
cemetery。　　Of　inorganic　differences　the　greatest　was　that　a　railway
had　invaded　the　town；　tying　it　on　to　a　main　line　at　a　junction　a
dozen　miles　off。　　Barnet's　house　on　the　harbour…road；　once　so
insistently　new；　had　acquired　a　respectable　mellowness；　with　ivy；
Virginia　creepers；　lichens；　damp　patches；　and　even　constitutional
infirmities　of　its　own　like　its　elder　fellows。　　Its　architecture；
once　so　very　improved　and　modern；　had　already　become　stale　in　style；
without　having　reached　the　dignity　of　being　old…fashioned。　　Trees
about　the　harbour…road　had　increased　in　circumference　or　disappeared
under　the　saw；　while　the　church　had　had　such　a　tremendous　practical
joke　played　upon　it　by　some　facetious　restorer　or　other　as　to　be
scarce　recognizable　by　its　dearest　old　friends。

During　this　long　interval　George　Barnet　had　never　once　been　seen　or
heard　of　in　the　town　of　his　fathers。

It　was　the　evening　of　a　market…day；　and　some　half…dozen　middle…aged
farmers　and　dairymen　were　lounging　round　the　bar　of　the　Black…Bull
Hotel；　occasionally　dropping　a　remark　to　each　other；　and　less
frequently　to　the　two　barmaids　who　stood　within　the　pewter…topped
counter　in　a　perfunctory　attitude　of　attention；　these　latter　sighing
and　making　a　private　observation　to　one　another　at　odd　intervals；　on
more　interesting　experiences　than　the　present。

'Days　get　shorter；'　said　one　of　the　dairymen；　as　he　looked　towards
the　street；　and　noticed　that　the　lamp…lighter　was　passing　by。

The　farmers　merely　acknowledged　by　their　countenances　the　propriety
of　this　remark；　and　finding　that　nobody　else　spoke；　one　of　the
barmaids　said　'yes；'　in　a　tone　of　painful　duty。

'Come　fair…day　we　shall　have　to　light　up　before　we　start　for　home…
along。'

'That's　true；'　his　neighbour　conceded；　with　a　gaze　of　blankness。

'And　after　that　we　shan't　see　much　further　difference　all's　winter。'

The　rest　were　not　unwilling　to　go　even　so　far　as　this。

The　barmaid　sighed　again；　and　raised　one　of　her　hands　from　the
counter　on　which　they　rested　to　scratch　the　smallest　surface　of　her
face　with　the　smallest　of　her　fingers。　　She　looked　towards　the　door；
and　presently　remarked；　'I　think　I　hear　the　'bus　coming　in　from
station。'

The　eyes　of　the　dairymen　and　farmers　turned　to　the　glass　door
dividing　the　hall　from　the　porch；　and　in　a　minute　or　two　the　omnibus
drew　up　outside。　　Then　there　was　a　lumbering　down　of　luggage；　and
then　a　man　came　into　the　hall；　followed　by　a　porter　with　a
portmanteau　on　his　poll；　which　he　deposited　on　a　bench。

The　stranger　was　an　elderly　person；　with　curly　ashen　white　hair；　a
deeply…creviced　outer　corner　to　each　eyelid；　and　a　countenance　baked
by　innumerable　suns　to　the　colour　of　terra…cotta；　its　hue　and　that
of　his　hair　contrasting　like　heat　and　cold　respectively。　　He　walked
meditatively　and　gently；　like　one　who　was　fearful　of　disturbing　his
own　mental　equilibrium。　　But　whatever　lay　at　the　bottom　of　his
breast　had　evidently　made　him　so　accustomed　to　its　situation　there
that　it　caused　him　little　practical　inconvenience。

He　paused　in　silence　while；　with　his　dubious　eyes　fixed　on　the
barmaids；　he　seemed　to　consider　himself。　　In　a　moment　or　two　he
addressed　them；　and　asked　to　be　accommodated　for　the　night。　　As　he
waited　he　looked　curiously　round　the　hall；　but　said　nothing。　　As
soon　as　invited　he　disappeared　up　the　staircase；　preceded　by　a
chambermaid　and　candle；　and　followed　by　a　lad　with　his　trunk。　　Not　a
soul　had　recognized　him。

A　quarter　of　an　hour　later；　when　the　farmers　and　dairymen　had　driven
off　to　their　homesteads　in　the　country；　he　came　downstairs；　took　a
biscuit　and　one　glass　of　wine；　and　walked　out　into　the　town；　where
the　radiance　from　the　shop…windows　had　grown　so　in　volume　of　late
years　as　to　flood　with　cheerfulness　every　standing　cart；　barrow；
stall；　and　idler　that　occupied　the　wayside；　whether　shabby　or
genteel。　　His　chief　interest　at　present　seemed　to　lie　in　the　names
painted　over　the　shop…fronts　and　on　door…ways；　as　far　as　they　were
visible；　these　now　differed　to　an　ominous　extent　from　what　they　had
been　one…and…twenty　years　before。

The　traveller　passed　on　till　he　came　to　the　bookseller's；　where　he
looked　in　through　the　glass　door。　　A　fresh…faced　young　man　was
standing　behind　the　counter；　otherwise　the　shop　was　empty。　　The
gray…haired　observer　entered；　asked　for　some　periodical　by　way　of
paying　for　admission；　and　with　his　elbow　on　the　counter　began　to
turn　over　the　pages　he　had　bought；　though　that　he　read　nothing　was
obvious。

At　length　he　said；　'Is　old　Mr。　Watkins　still　alive？'　in　a　voice
which　had　a　curious　youthful　cadence　in　it　even　now。

'My　father　is　dead；　sir；'　said　the　young　man。

'Ah；　I　am　sorry　to　hear　it；'　said　the　stranger。　　'But　it　is　so　many
years　since　I　last　visited　this　town　that　I　could　hardly　expect　it
should　be　otherwise。'　　After　a　short　silence　he　continued'And　is
the　firm　of　Barnet；　Browse；　and　Company　still　in　existence？they
used　to　be　large　flax…merchants　and　twine…spinners　here？'

'The　firm　is　still　going　on；　sir；　but　they　have　dropped　the　name　of
Barnet。　　I　believe　that　was　a　sort　of　fancy　nameat　least；　I　never
knew　of　any　living　Barnet。　　'Tis　now　Browse　and　Co。'

'And　does　Andrew　Jones　still　keep　on　as　architect？'

'He's　dead；　sir。'

'And　the　Vicar　of　St。　Mary'sMr。　Melrose？'

'He's　been　dead　a　great　many　years。'

'Dear　me！'　　He　paused　yet　longer；　and　cleared　his　voice。　　'Is　Mr。
Downe；　the　solicitor；　still　in　practice？'

'No；　sir；　he's　dead。　　He　died　about　seven　years　ago。'

Here　it　was　a　longer　silence　still；　and　an　attentive　observer　would
have　noticed　that　the　paper　in　the　stranger's　hand　increased　its
imperceptible　tremor　to　a　visible　shake。　　That　gray…haired　gentleman
noticed　it　himself；　and　rested　the　paper　on　the　counter。　　'Is　MRS。
Downe　still　alive？'　he　asked；　closing　his　lips　firmly　as　soon　as　the
words　were　out　of　his　mouth；　and　dropping　his　eyes。

'Yes；　sir；　she's　alive　and　well。　　She's　living　at　the　old　place。'

'In　East　Street？'

'O　no；　at　Chateau　Ringdale。　　I　believe　it　has　been　in　the　family　for
some　generations。'

'She　lives　with　her　children；　perhaps？'

'No；　she　has　no　children　of　her　own。　　There　were　some　Miss　Downes；　I
think　they　were　Mr。　Downe's　daughters　by　a　former　wife；　but　they　are
married　and　living　in　other　parts　of　the　town。　　Mrs。　Downe　lives
alone。'

'Quite　alone？'

'Yes；　sir；　quite　alone。'

The　newly…arrived　gentleman　went　back　to　the　hotel　and　dined；　after
which　he　made　some　change　in　his　dress；　shaved　back　his　beard　to　the
fashion　that　had　prevailed　twenty　years　earlier；　when　he　was　young
and　interesting；　and　once　more　emerging；　bent　his　steps　in　the
direction　of　the　harbour…road。　　Just　before　getting　to　the　point
where　the　pavement　ceased　and　the　houses　isolated　themselves；　he
overtook　a　shambling；　stooping；　unshaven　man；　who　at　first　sight
appeared　like　a　professional　tramp；　his　shoulders　having　a
perceptible　greasiness　as　they　passed　under　the　gaslight。　　Each
pedestrian　momentarily　turned　and　regarded　the　other；　and　the　tramp…
like　gentleman　started　back。

'Goodwhyis　that　Mr。　Barnet？　　'Tis　Mr。　Barnet；　surely！'

'Yes；　and　you　are　Charlson？'

'Yesahyou　notice　my　appearance。　　The　Fates　have　rather　ill…used
me。　　By…the…bye；　that　fifty　pounds。　　I　never　paid　it；　did　I？　。　。　。
But　I　was　not　ungrateful！'　　Here　the　stooping　man　laid　one　hand
emphatically　on　the　palm　of　the　other。　　'I　gave　you　a　chance；　Mr。
George　Barnet；　which　many　men　would　have　thought　full　value
receivedthe　chance　to　marry　your　Lucy。　　As　far　as　the　world　was
concerned；　your　wife　was　a　DROWNED　WOMAN；　hey？'

'Heaven　forbid　all　that；　Charlson！'

'Well；　well；　'twas　a　wrong　way　of　showing　gratitude；