Part 39 (1/2)

”I don't care a fig about the balance,” said Julian impetuously. ”I've said what I had to say and that's enough for me.”

And he did not, in fact, care a fig about the balance. And if the balance had been five thousand odd instead of five hundred odd, he still probably would not have cared. Further, he privately considered that n.o.body else ought to care about the balance, either, having regard to the supreme moral importance to himself of the four hundred and fifty.

”Have you said anything to Mr. Batchgrew?” Louis asked, trying to adopt a casual tone, and to keep out of his voice the relief and joy which were gradually taking possession of his soul. The upshot of Julian's visit was so amazingly different from the apprehension of it that he could have danced in his glee.

”Not I!” Julian answered ferociously. ”The old robber has been writing me, wanting me to put money into some cinema swindle or other. I gave him a bit of my mind.”

”He was trying the same here,” said Rachel. The words popped by themselves out of her mouth, and she instantly regretted them.

However, Louis seemed to be unconscious of the implied reproach on a subject presumably still highly delicate.

”But you can tell him, if you've a mind,” Julian went on challengingly.

”We shan't do any such thing,” said Rachel, words again popping by themselves out of her mouth. But this time she put herself right by adding, ”Shall we, Louis?”

”Of course not,” Louis agreed very amiably.

Rachel began to feel sympathetic towards the thief. She thought: ”How strange to have some one close to me, and talking quite naturally, who has stolen such a lot of money and might be in prison for it--a convict!” Nevertheless, the thief seemed to be remarkably like ordinary people.

”Oh!” Julian e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. ”Well, here's the notes.” He drew a lot of notes from a pocket-book and banged them down on the table. ”Four hundred and fifty. The identical notes. Count 'em.” He glared afresh, and with even increased virulence.

”That's all right,” said Louis. ”That's all right. Besides, we only want half of them.”

Sundry sheets of the confession, which had not previously caught fire, suddenly blazed up with a roar in the grate, and all looked momentarily at the flare.

”You've _got_ to have it all!” said Julian, flus.h.i.+ng.

”My dear fellow,” Louis repeated, ”we shall only take half. The other half's yours.”

”As G.o.d sees me,” Julian urged, ”I'll never take a penny of that money! Here--”

He s.n.a.t.c.hed up all the notes and dashed wrathfully out of the parlour.

Rachel followed quickly. He went to the back room, where the gas had been left burning high, sprang on to a chair in front of the cupboard, and deposited the notes on the top of the cupboard, in the very place from which he had originally taken them.

”There!” he exclaimed, jumping down from the chair. The symbolism of the action appeared to tranquillize him.

IV

For a moment Rachel, as a newly const.i.tuted housewife to whom every square foot of furniture surface had its own peculiar importance, was enraged to see Julian's heavy and dirty boots again on the seat of her unprotected chair. But the sense of hurt pa.s.sed like a spasm as her eyes caught Julian's. They were alone together in the back room and not far from each other. And in the man's eyes she no longer saw the savage Julian, but an intensely suffering creature, a creature martyrized by destiny. She saw the real Julian glancing out in torment at the world through those eyes. The effect of the vibration in Julian's voice a few minutes earlier was redoubled. Her emotion nearly overcame her. She desired very much to succour Julian, and was aware of a more distinct feeling of impatience against Louis.

She thought Julian had been magnificently heroic, and all his faults of demeanour were counted to him for excellences. He had been a thief; but the significance of the word ”thief” was indeed completely altered for her. She had hitherto envisaged thieves as rascals in handcuffs bandied along the streets by policemen at the head of a procession of urchins--dreadful rascals! But now a thief was just a young man like other young men--only he had happened to see some bank-notes lying about and had put them in his pocket and then had felt very sorry for what he had done. There was no crime in what he had done ... was there? She pictured Julian's pilgrimage through South Africa, all alone. She pictured his existence at Knype, all alone; and his very ferocity rendered him the more wistful and pathetic in her sight. She was sure that his mother and sisters had never understood him; and she did not think it quite proper on their part to have gone permanently to America, leaving him solitary in England, as they had done. She perceived that she herself was the one person in the world capable of understanding Julian, the one person who could look after him, influence him, keep him straight, civilize him, and impart some charm to his life. And she was glad that she had the status of a married woman, because without that she would have been helpless.

Julian sat down, or sank, on to the chair.

”I'm very sorry I spoke like that to you in the other room--I mean about what you'd written,” she said. ”I suppose I ought not to have burnt it.”

She spoke in this manner because to apologize to him gave her a curious pleasure.