Chapter 8

otelegraphforrooms.Theyhadsupperalone.MissAbbottdidnotcomedown.ThelandladytoldthemthatSignorCarellahadcalledonMissAbbotttosaygood-bye,butshe,thoughin,hadnotbeenabletoseehim.Shealsotoldthemthatithadbeguntorain.Harrietsighed,butindicatedtoherbrotherthathewasnotresponsible. Thecarriagescameroundataquarterpasteight.Itwasnotrainingmuch,butthenightwasextraordinarilydark,andoneofthedriverswantedtogoslowlytothestation.MissAbbottcamedownandsaidthatshewasready,andwouldstartatonce. “Yes,do,”saidPhilip,whowasstandinginthehall.“Nowthatwehavequarrelledwescarcelywanttotravelinprocessionallthewaydownthehill.Well,good-byeit’salloveratlastanothersceneinmypageanthasshifted.” “Good-byeit’sbeenagreatpleasuretoseeyou.Ihopethatwon’tshift,atallevents.”Shegrippedhishand. “Yousounddespondent,”hesaid,laughing.“Don’tforgetthatyoureturnvictorious.” “IsupposeIdo,”shereplied,moredespondentlythanever,andgotintothecarriage.HeconcludedthatshewasthinkingofherreceptionatSawston,whitherherfamewoulddoubtlessprecedeher.WhateverwouldMrs.Herritondo?Shecouldmakethingsquiteunpleasantwhenshethoughtitright.Shemightthinkitrighttobesilent,butthentherewasHarriet.WhowouldbridleHarriet’stongue?BetweenthetwoofthemMissAbbottwasboundtohaveabadtime.Herreputation,bothforconsistencyandformoralenthusiasm,wouldbelostforever. “It’shardluckonher,”hethought.“Sheisagoodperson.ImustdoforheranythingIcan.”Theirintimacyhadbeenveryrapid,buthetoohopedthatitwouldnotshift.Hebelievedthatheunderstoodher,andthatshe,bynow,hadseentheworstofhim.Whatifafteralongtime—ifafterall—heflushedlikeaboyashelookedafterhercarriage. Hewentintothedining-roomtolookforHarriet.Harrietwasnottobefound.Herbedroom,too,wasempty.Allthatwasleftofherwasthepurpleprayer-bookwhichlayopenonthebed.Philiptookitupaimlessly,andsaw—“BlessedbetheLordmyGodwhoteachethmyhandstowarandmyfingerstofight.”Heputthebookinhispocket,andbegantobroodovermoreprofitablethemes. SantaDeodatagaveouthalfpasteight.Alltheluggagewason,andstillHarriethadnotappeared.“Dependuponit,”saidthelandlady,“shehasgonetoSignorCarella’stosaygood-byetoherlittlenephew.”Philipdidnotthinkitlikely.TheyshoutedalloverthehouseandstilltherewasnoHarriet.Hebegantobeuneasy.HewashelplesswithoutMissAbbotthergrave,kindfacehadcheeredhimwonderfully,evenwhenitlookeddispleased.MonterianowassadwithouthertherainwasthickeningthescrapsofDonizettifloatedtunelesslyoutofthewineshops,andofthegreattoweroppositehecouldonlyseethebase,freshpaperedwiththeadvertisementsofquacks. Amancameupthestreetwithanote.Philipread,“Startatonce.Pickmeupoutsidethegate.Paythebearer.H.H.” “Didtheladygiveyouthisnote?”hecried. Themanwasunintelligible. “Speakup!”exclaimedPhilip.“Whogaveityou—andwhere?” Nothingbuthorriblesighingsandbubblingscameoutoftheman. “Bepatientwithhim,”saidthedriver,turningroundonthebox.“Itisthepooridiot.”Andthelandladycameoutofthehotelandechoed“Thepooridiot.Hecannotspeak.Hetakesmessagesforusall.” Philipthensawthatthemessengerwasaghastlycreature,quitebald,withtricklingeyesandgreytwitchingnose.Inanothercountryhewouldhavebeenshutupherehewasacceptedasapublicinstitution,andpartofNature’sscheme. “Ugh!”shudderedtheEnglishman.“Signorapadrona,findoutfromhimthisnoteisfrommysister.Whatdoesitmean?Wheredidheseeher?” “Itisnogood,”saidthelandlady.“Heunderstandseverythingbuthecanexplainnothing.” “Hehasvisionsofthesaints,”saidthemanwhodrovethecab. “Butmysister—wherehasshegone?Howhasshemethim?” “Shehasgoneforawalk,”assertedthelandlady.Itwasanastyevening,butshewasbeginningtounderstandtheEnglish.“Shehasgoneforawalk—perhapstowishgood-byetoherlittlenephew.Preferringtocomebackanotherway,shehassentyouthisnotebythepooridiotandiswaitingforyououtsidetheSienagate.Manyofmyguestsdothis.” Therewasnothingtodobuttoobeythemessage.Heshookhandswiththelandlady,gavethemessengeranickelpiece,anddroveaway.Afteradozenyardsthecarriagestopped.Thepooridiotwasrunningandwhimperingbehind. “Goon,”criedPhilip.“Ihavepaidhimplenty.” Ahorriblehandpushedthreesoldiintohislap.Itwaspartoftheidiot’smaladyonlytoreceivewhatwasjustforhisservices.Thiswasthechangeoutofthenickelpiece. “Goon!”shoutedPhilip,andflungthemoneyintotheroad.Hewasfrightenedattheepisodethewholeoflifehadbecomeunreal.ItwasarelieftobeoutoftheSienagate.Theydrewupforamomentontheterrace.ButtherewasnosignofHarriet.ThedrivercalledtotheDoganamen.ButtheyhadseennoEnglishladypass. “WhatamItodo?”hecried“itisnotliketheladytobelate.Weshallmissthetrain.” “Letusdriveslowly,”saidthedriver,“andyoushallcallherbynameaswego.” Sotheystarteddownintothenight,Philipcalling“Harriet!Harriet!Harriet!”Andthereshewas,waitingfortheminthewet,atthefirstturnofthezigzag. “Harriet,whydon’tyouanswer?” “Iheardyoucoming,”saidshe,andgotquicklyin.Nottillthendidheseethatshecarriedabundle. “What’sthat?” “Hush—” “Whateveristhat?” “Hush—sleeping.” HarriethadsucceededwhereMissAbbottandPhiliphadfailed.Itwasthebaby. Shewouldnotlethimtalk.Thebaby,sherepeated,wasasleep,andsheputupanumbrellatoshielditandherfromtherain.Heshouldhearalllater,sohehadtoconjecturethecourseofthewonderfulinterview—aninterviewbetweentheSouthpoleandtheNorth.Itwasquiteeasytoconjecture:GinocrumplingupsuddenlybeforetheintenseconvictionofHarrietbeingtold,perhaps,tohisfacethathewasavillainyieldinghisonlysonperhapsformoney,perhapsfornothing.“PoorGino,”hethought.“He’snogreaterthanIam,afterall.” ThenhethoughtofMissAbbott,whosecarriagemustbedescendingthedarknesssomemileortwobelowthem,andhiseasyself-accusationfailed.She,too,hadconvictionhehadfeltitsforcehewouldfeelitagainwhensheknewthisday’ssombreandunexpectedclose. “Youhavebeenprettysecret,”hesaid“youmighttellmealittlenow.Whatdowepayforhim?Allwe’vegot?” “Hush!”answeredHarriet,anddandledthebundlelaboriously,likesomebonyprophe