robert falconer-第106节

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'No；　sir；　I　won't　no　more；　leastways　to　nobody　but　she。　　It's　she

makes　me　do　all　the　wicked　things；　it　is。'



She　snapped　her　fingers　in　her　face　again；　and　then　burst　out

crying。



'She　will　leave　you　alone　now；　I　think；'　said　Falconer。　'She　knows

it　will　be　quite　as　well　for　her　not　to　cross　me。'



This　he　said　very　significantly；　as　he　turned　to　the　door；　where　he

bade　them　a　general　good…night。　　When　we　reached　the　street；　I　was

too　bewildered　to　offer　any　remark。　　Falconer　was　the　first　to

speak。



'It　always　comes　back　upon　me；　as　if　I　had　never　known　it　before；

that　women　like　some　of　those　were　of　the　first　to　understand　our

Lord。'



'Some　of　them　wouldn't　have　understood　him　any　more　than　the

Pharisee；　though。'



'I'm　not　so　sure　of　that。　　Of　course　there　are　great　differences。

There　are　good　and　bad　amongst　them　as　in　every　class。　　But　one

thing　is　clear　to　me；　that　no　indulgence　of　passion　destroys　the

spiritual　nature　so　much　as　respectable　selfishness。'



'I　am　afraid　you　will　not　get　society　to　agree　with　you；'　I　said；

foolishly。



'I　have　no　wish　that　society　should　agree　with　me；　for　if　it　did；　it

would　be　sure　to　do　so　upon　the　worst　of　principles。　　It　is　better

that　society　should　be　cruel；　than　that　it　should　call　the　horrible

thing　a　trifle：　it　would　know　nothing　between。'



Through　the　citythough　it　was　only　when　we　crossed　one　of　the　main

thoroughfares　that　I　knew　where　we　werewe　came　into　the　region　of

Bethnal　Green。　　From　house　to　house　till　it　grew　very　late；　Falconer

went；　and　I　went　with　him。　　I　will　not　linger　on　this　part　of　our

wanderings。　　Where　I　saw　only　dreadful　darkness；　Falconer　always

would　see　some　glimmer　of　light。　　All　the　people　into　whose　houses

we　went　knew　him。　　They　were　all　in　the　depths　of　poverty。　　Many　of

them　were　respectable。　　With　some　of　them　he　had　long　talks　in

private；　while　I　waited　near。　　At　length　he　said；



'I　think　we　had　better　be　going　home；　Mr。　Gordon。　　You　must　be

tired。'



'I　am；　rather；'　I　answered。　'But　it　doesn't　matter；　for　I　have

nothing　to　do　to…morrow。'



'We　shall　get　a　cab；　I　dare　say；　before　we　go　far。'



'Not　for　me。　　I　am　not　so　tired；　but　that　I　would　rather　walk；'　I

said。



'Very　well；'　he　returned。　'Where　do　you　live？'



I　told　him。



'I　will　take　you　the　nearest　way。'



'You　know　London　marvellously。'



'Pretty　well　now；'　he　answered。



We　were　somewhere　near　Leather　Lane　about　one　o'clock。　　Suddenly　we

came　upon　two　tiny　children　standing　on　the　pavement；　one　on　each

side　of　the　door　of　a　public…house。　　They　could　not　have　been　more

than　two　and　three。　　They　were　sobbing　a　littlenot　much。　　The　tiny

creatures　stood　there　awfully　awake　in　sleeping　London；　while　even

their　own　playmates　were　far　off　in　the　fairyland　of　dreams。



'This　is　the　kind　of　thing；'　I　said；　'that　makes　me　doubt　whether

there　be　a　God　in　heaven。'



'That　is　only　because　he　is　down　here；'　answered　Falconer；　'taking

such　good　care　of　us　all　that　you　can't　see　him。　　There　is　not　a

gin…palace；　or　yet　lower　hell　in　London；　in　which　a　man　or　woman　can

be　out　of　God。　The　whole　being　love；　there　is　nothing　for　you　to　set

it　against　and　judge　it　by。　　So　you　are　driven　to　fancies。'



The　house　was　closed；　but　there　was　light　above　the　door。　　We　went

up　to　the　children；　and　spoke　to　them；　but　all　we　could　make　out　was

that　mammie　was　in　there。　　One　of　them　could　not　speak　at　all。

Falconer　knocked　at　the　door。　　A　good…natured…looking　Irishwoman

opened　it　a　little　way　and　peeped　out。



'Here　are　two　children　crying　at　your　door；　ma'am；'　said　Falconer。



'Och；　the　darlin's！　they　want　their　mother。'



'Do　you　know　her；　then？'



'True　for　you；　and　I　do。　　She's　a　mighty　dacent　woman　in　her　way

when　the　drink's　out　uv　her；　and　very　kind　to　the　childher；　but

oncet　she　smells　the　dhrop　o'　gin；　her　head's　gone　intirely。　　The

purty　craytures　have　waked　up；　an'　she　not　come　home；　and　they've

run　out　to　look　after　her。'



Falconer　stood　a　moment　as　if　thinking　what　would　be　best。　　The

shriek　of　a　woman　rang　through　the　night。



'There　she　is！'　said　the　Irishwoman。　'For　God's　sake　don't　let　her

get　a　hould　o'　the　darlints。　　She's　ravin'　mad。　　I　seen　her　try　to

kill　them　oncet。'



The　shrieks　came　nearer　and　nearer；　and　after　a　few　moments　the

woman　appeared　in　the　moonlight；　tossing　her　arms　over　her　head；　and

screaming　with　a　despair　for　which　she　yet　sought　a　defiant

expression。　　Her　head　was　uncovered；　and　her　hair　flying　in　tangles；

her　sleeves　were　torn；　and　her　gaunt　arms　looked　awful　in　the

moonlight。　　She　stood　in　the　middle　of　the　street；　crying　again　and

again；　with　shrill　laughter　between；　'Nobody　cares　for　me；　and　I

care　for　nobody！　　Ha！　ha！　ha！'



'Mammie！　mammie！'　cried　the　elder　of　the　children；　and　ran　towards

her。



The　woman　heard；　and　rushed　like　a　fury　towards　the　child。　　Falconer

too　ran；　and　caught　up　the　child。　　The　woman　gave　a　howl　and　rushed

towards　the　other。　　I　caught　up　that　one。　　With　a　last　shriek；　she

dashed　her　head　against　the　wall　of　the　public…house；　dropped　on　the

pavement；　and　lay　still。



Falconer　set　the　child　down；　lifted　the　wasted　form　in　his　arms；　and

carried　it　into　the　house。　　The　face　was　blue　as　that　of　a　strangled

corpse。　　She　was　dead。



'Was　she　a　married　woman？'　　Falconer　asked。



'It's　myself　can't　tell　you　sir；'　the　Irishwoman　answered。　'I　never

saw　any　boy　with　her。'



'Do　you　know　where　she　lived？'



'No；　sir。　　Somewhere　not　far　off；　though。　　The　children　will　know。'



But　they　stood　staring　at　their　mother；　and　we　could　get　nothing　out

of　them。　　They　would　not　move　from　the　corpse。



'I　think　we　may　appropriate　this　treasure…trove；'　said　Falconer；

turning　at　last　to　me；　and　as　he　spoke；　he　took　the　eldest　in　his

arms。　　Then；　turning　to　the　woman；　he　gave　her　a　card；　saying；　'If

any　inquiry　is　made　about　them；　there　is　my　address。Will　you　take

the　other；　Mr。　Gordon？'



I　obeyed。　　The　children　cried　no　more。　　After　traversing　a　few

streets；　we　found　a　cab；　and　drove　to　a　house　in　Queen　Square；

Bloomsbury。



Falconer　got　out　at　the　door　of　a　large　house；　and　rung　the　bell；

then　got　the　children　out；　and　dismissed　the　cab。　　There　we　stood　in

the　middle　of　the　night；　in　a　silent；　empty　square；　each　with　a

child　in　his　arms。　　In　a　few　minutes　we　heard　the　bolts　being

withdrawn。　　The　door　opened；　and　a　tall　graceful　form　wrapped　in　a

dressing…gown；　appeared。



'I　have　brought　you　two　babies；　Miss　St。　John；'　said　Falconer。　'Can

you　take　them？'



'To　be　sure　I　can；'　she　answered；　and　turned　to　lead　the　way。　'Bring

them　in。'



We　followed　her　into　a　little　back　room。　　She　put　down　her　candle；

and　went　straight　to　the　cupboard；　whence　she　brought　a　sponge…cake；

from　which　she　cut　a　large　piece　for　each　of　the　children。



'What　a　mercy　they　are；　Robert；those　little　gates　in　the　face！

Red　Lane　leads　direct　to　the　heart；'　she　said；　smiling；　as　if　she

rejoiced　in　the　idea　of　taming　the　little　wild　angelets。　'Don't　you

stop。　　You　are　tired　enough；　I　am　sure。　　I　will　wake　my　maid；　and

we'll　get　them　washed　and　put　to　bed　at　once。'



She　was　closing　the　door；　when　Falconer　turned。



'Oh！　　Miss　St。　John；'　he　said；　'I　was　forgetting。　　Could　you　go　down

to　No。　13　in　Soap　Laneyou　know　it；　don't　you？'



'Yes。　Quite　well。'



'Ask　for　a　girl　called　Nella　plain；　pock…marked　young　girland

take　her　away　with　you。'



'When　shall　I　go？'



'To…morrow　morning。　　But　I　shall　be　in。　　Don't　go　till　you　see　me。

Good…night。'



We　took　our　leave　without　more　ado。



'What　a　lady…like　woman　to　be　the　matron　of　an　asylum！'　　I　said。



Falconer　gave　a　little　laugh。



'That　is　no　asylum。　　It　is　a　private　house。'



'And　the　lady？'



'Is　a　lady　of　private　means；'　he　answered；　'who　prefers　Bloomsbury

to　Belgravia；　because　it　is　easier　to　do　noble　work　in　it。　　Her

heaven　is　on　the　confines　of　hell。'



'What　will　she　do　with　those　children？'



'Kiss　them　and　wash　them　and　put　them　to　bed。'



'And　after　that？'



'Give　them　bread　and　milk　in　the　morning。'



'And　after　that？'



'Oh！　there's　time　enough。　　We'll　see。　　There's　only　one　thing　she

won't　do。'



'What　is　that？'



'Turn　them　out　again。'



A　pause　followed；　I　cogitating。



'Are　you　a　society；　then？'　　I　asked　at　length。



'No。　At　least　we　don't　use　the　word。　　And　certainly　no　other　society

would　acknowledge　us。'



'What　are　you；　then？'



'Why　should　we　be　anything；　so　long　as　we　do　our　work？'



'Don't　you　think　there　is　some　affectation　in　refusing　a　name？'



'Yes；　if　the　name　belongs　to　you？　　Not　otherwise。'



'Do　you　lay　claim　to　no　epithet　of　any　sort？'



'We　are　a　church；　if　you　like。　　There！'



'Who　is　your　clergyman？'



'Nobody。'



'Where　do　you　meet？'



'Nowhere。'



'What　are　your　rules；　t