the captives-第18节
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ttle flock on to the wide spaces of Salisbury Plain。 James Warlock； unlike his father and grandfather； was a little sickly man with a narrow chest； no limbs to speak of and a sharp pale face。 Martin had a faded daguerreotype of him set against the background of the old Wiltshire kitchen； his black clothes hung upon him like a disguise； his eyes burning even upon that faded picture with the fire of his spirit。 For James Warlock was a mystic； a visionary； a prophet。 He walked and talked with God； in no jesting spirit it was said that he knew God's plans and could turn the world into a blazing coal so soon as he pleased。 It was because he knew with certainty that God would； in person； soon； descend upon the earth that he separated from the main body and led his little band down into Wiltshire。 Here on the broad gleaming Plain they prepared for God's coming。 Named now the Kingscote Brethren after their new abode； they built a Chapel； sat down and waited。 Then in 1840 the prophet declared that the Coming was not yet； that it would be in the next generation； but that their preparations must not be relaxed。 He himself prepared by taking to himself a wife； a calm untroubled countrywoman of the place； that she might give him a son whom he might prepare； in due course； for his great destiny。 John； father of Martin； was born； a large…limbed； smiling infant； with the tranquillity of his mother as well as something of the mysticism of his father。
Upon him； as upon his ancestors； this consciousness of God had most absolutely descended。 Never for a moment did he question the facts that his father told to him。 He grew into a giant of health and strength； and those who； in those old days； saw them tell that it was a strange picture to watch the little wizened man； walking with odd emotional gestures； with little hops and leaps and swinging of the arms beside the firm long stride of the young man towering above him。
When young John was twenty…three years of age his father was found dead under a tree upon a summer's evening。 His expression was of a man challenging some new and startling discovery； he had found perhaps new visions to confront his gaze。 They buried him in Kingscote and his son reigned in his stead。
But they were approaching new and modern times。 These old days； of simple faith and superstition were passing never to return。 There were new elements in the Kingscote company of souls and these elements demanded freer play both of thought and action。 They argued that； as to them alone out of all the world the time and manner of God's coming was known； they should influence with their activities some wider sphere than this Wiltshire village。
John Warlock clung with all his strength to the old world that he knew； the world that gave him leisure and quiet for contemplation。 He had no wish to bring in converts； to stir England into a frenzy of terror and anticipation。 God gave him no command to spread his beliefs； even his father； fanatic though he had been； had cherished his own small company of saints as souls to whom these things； hidden deliberately from the outside world； had especially been entrusted。
So long as he could he resisted； then when he was about forty； somewhere around 1880； the Kingscote Brethren moved to London。 In this year； 1907； John Warlock was sixty…seven and the Kingscote Brethren had had their Chapel in Solomon's Place； behind Garrick Street； for twenty…seven years。 In 1880 John Warlock had married Amelia； daughter of Francis Stephens； merchant。 In 1881 a daughter； Amy； was born to them； in 1883； Martin； they had no other children。 Martin was at the time of Maggie's arrival in London twenty…four years of age。
Upon a certain fine evening； a fortnight after Martin Warlock's first meeting with Maggie； he arrived at the door of his house in Garrick Street； and having forgotten his latch…key； was compelled to ring the old screaming bell that had long survived its respectable reputable days。 The Warlocks had lived during the last ten years in an upper part above a curiosity shop four doors from the Garrick Club in Garrick Street。 There was a house…door that abutted on to the shop…door and； passing through it； you stumbled along a little dark passage like a rabbit warren； up some crooked stairs； and found yourself in the Warlock country without ever troubling Mr。 Spencer； the stout； hearty； but inartistic owner of the curiosity shop。
On the present occasion； after pulling the bell； Martin stared down the street as though somewhere in the dim golden light of its farthest recesses he would find an answer to a question that he was asking。 The broad sturdy strength of his body； the easy good…temper of his expression spoke of a life lived physically rather than mentally。 And yet this was only half true。 Martin Warlock should at this time have been a quite normal young man with normal desires； normal passions； normal instincts。 Such he would undoubtedly have been had he not had his early environment of egotism； mystery and clap…traphad he； also； not developed through his childhood and youth his passionate devotion to his father。 The religious ceremonies of his young days had made him self…conscious and introspective and； although during his years abroad he had felt on many occasions that he was completely freed from his early bondage； scenes； thoughts and longings would recur and remind him that he was celebrating his liberty too soon。 The licences that to most men in their first youth are incidental and easily forgotten engraved themselves upon Martin's reluctant soul because of that religious sense that had been driven in upon him at the very hour of his birth。 He could not sin and forget。 He sinned and was remorseful； was impatient at his remorse； sinned again to rid himself of it and was more remorseful still。 The main impulse of his life at this time was his self…distrust。 He fancied that by returning home he might regain confidence。 He longed to rid himself of the conviction that he was 〃set aside〃 by some fate or other； call it God or not as you please。 He thought that he hurt all those whom he loved when his only longing was to do them good。 He used suddenly to leave his friends because he thought that he was doing them harm。 It was as though he heard some Power saying to him： 〃I marked you out for my own in the beginning and you can't escape me。 You may struggle as you like。 Until you surrender everything shall turn to dust in your hands。〃 He came back to England determined to assert his independence。
He gazed now at the placidity of Garrick Street with the intensity of some challenging 〃Stand and Deliver！〃 All that the street had to give for the moment was a bishop and an actor mounting the steps of the Garrick Club； an old lady with a black bonnet and a milk…jug； a young man in a hurry and a failure selling bootlaces。 None of them could be expected to offer reassurance to Martinnone of these noticed himbut an intelligent observer； had such a stranger to Garrick Street been present； might have found that gaze of interest。 Martin's physical solidity could not entirely veil the worried uncertain glance that flashed for a moment and then； with a little reassuring sigh； was gone。
The door opened； a girl looked for a moment into the street； he passed inside。 Having stumbled up the dark stairs； pushed back their private entrance； hung up his coat in the little hall； with a deliberate effort he shook off the suspicions that had； during the last moments； troubled him and prepared to meet his mother and sister。
Because he had a happy； easy and affectionate temperament absence always gilded his friends with gifts and qualities that their presence only too often denied。 His years abroad had given him a picture of his mother and sister that the few weeks of his return had already dimmed and obscured。 His mother's weekly letters had； during ten long years； built up an image of her as the dearest old lady in the world。 He had always； since a child； seen her in a detached wayhis deep and permanent relations had been with his fatherbut those letters； of which he had now a deep and carefully cherished pile； gave him a most charming picture of her。 They had not been clever nor deep nor indeed very interesting； but they had been affectionate and tender with all the gentleness of the figure that he remembered sitting in its lace cap beside the fire。
After three weeks of home life he was compelled to confess that he did not in the least understand his mother。 His intuitions about people were not in fact of a very penetrating character。
His mother appeared to all her world as a 〃sweet old lady；〃 but even Martin could already perceive that was not in the least what she really was。 He had seen her old hands tremble with suppressed temper on the very day after his arrival； he had seen her old lips white with anger because the maid had brought her the wrong shawl。 Old ladies must of course have their fancies； but his mother had some fixed and fierce purpose in her life that was quite beyond his powers of penetration。 It might of course have something to do with her attachment to his father。 Attached Martin could see that she was； but at the same time completely and eternally outside her husband's spiritual life。 That m
