D UKE UNIVERSIT Y 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 The Glenn Negley Collection 
 of Utopian Literature 
 
KM / 
 
 
 y^t^u 
 
 . f i; 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 Duke University Libraries 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/ivorygatenovelOObesa 
 
THE IVORY GATE 
 
 H IRovel 
 
 BY 
 
 WALTEE BESANT 
 
 AUTUOR OF " ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN ' 
 "children of GIDEON" ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 
 
 1892 
 
Copyright, 1892, by Harper & Brothers. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
"B 55 'JIG 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OIIAPTEB PAOn 
 
 PROLOGUE: Wno is Edmcnd Gray? 1 
 
 I. Up the River 28 
 
 II. In the Office 37 
 
 III. The Select Circle 46 
 
 IV. A REBELLiors Child 55 
 
 V. Something Happens G5 
 
 VI. Something more Happens 73 
 
 VII. Something else Happens 82 
 
 VIII. In Honor of the Event 92 
 
 IX. At the Gates of Paradise 101 
 
 X. A Mysterious Discovery 109 
 
 XI. A Mysteriocs Discovery — (Continued) 117 
 
 XII. A Mysterious Discovery — {Conclnded) 124 
 
 XIII. The First Find 133 
 
 XrV. Things more Remarkable 142 
 
 XV. Checkley's Case 151 
 
 XVI. Who is Edmcnd Gray? 101 
 
 XVII. The Voice of Dcty 171 
 
 XVIII. Was he in Rags? 180 
 
 XIX. The Prodigal at Home 188 
 
 XX. The Whisper of Calumny 195 
 
 XXI. He Comes from Edmund Gray 204 
 
 XXII. "I AM Edmund Gray" 212 
 
 XXIII. Master and Disciple 222 
 
 XXIV. The Hall ok the New Faith 230 
 
 4fi8089 
 
IV CONTENTS 
 
 cnAPTEE PAGE 
 
 XXV. Can he Remember? 239 
 
 XXVI. Will he Remember? 247 
 
 XXVII. The Lesson of the Street 255 
 
 XXVIII. The Lesson of the Street {Continued) 264 
 
 XXIX. "I Know the Man*' 272 
 
 XXX. Athelstan's Discovery 280 
 
 XXXI. Checkley sees a Ghost 288 
 
 XXXII. The Day after the Ghost 29G 
 
 XXXIIL The Three Accomplices 305 
 
 XXXIV. Elsie and her Mother 315 
 
 XXXV. Plenary Confession 320 
 
 XXXVI. Plenary Confession (^Continued) 330 
 
 XXXVIL Le Conseil de Famille 339 
 
 XXXVIII. Le Conseil de Famille {Continued) 348 
 
 XXXIX. The Last . . 356 
 
THE IVORY GATE 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 WHO IS EDMUND GRAY? 
 
 Mr. Edward Dering, in a rare interval of worlc, occupied him- 
 self with looking; into his bank-book. Those humble persons 
 whom the City, estimating the moral and spiritual worth of a 
 man by his income, calls " small " frequently and anxiously ex- 
 amine their bank-books, add up the tiolumns, and check the en- 
 tries. Mr. Dering, who was not a small man, but a big man, or 
 rather, from the City point of view, a biggish man, very seldom 
 looked at his bank-book — first, because, like other solicitors in 
 large practice, he had clerks and accountants to do that kind of 
 work for him ; next, because, like many solicitors, while he man- 
 aged the affairs of other people with unceasing watchfulness, he 
 was apt to neglect his own affairs. Happily, when one has an 
 income of some thousands, private affairs from time to time force 
 themselves upon their owner in the most agreeable manner pos- 
 sible. They obtrude themselves upon him. They insist upon 
 being noticed. They compel him to look after them respectfully: 
 to remove them from the dulness of^the bank, and to make them 
 comfortable in investments. 
 
 Mr. Dering opened the book, ther-efore, having for the moment 
 nothing else to do, looked at the balance, was satisfied with its 
 appearance, and began working backwards, that is to say up- 
 wards, to read the entries. Presently he came to one at which 
 be stopped, holding his forefinger on the name. 
 
 ' 468(189 
 
2 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 It was on the right-hand side, the side which to small men is 
 so terrifying, because it always does its best to annihilate the cash 
 balance, and seems bent upon transforming addition into multi- 
 plication, so amazing are the results. The name which Mr. Ber- 
 ing read was Edmund Gray. The amount placed in the same 
 line opposite to that name was £720. Therefore, he had drawn 
 a check to the order of Edmund Gray for the sura of £720. 
 
 Now, a man may be in very great practice indeed ; but if, like. 
 Mr. Deriif^, he knows the details of every case that is brought 
 into the house he would certainly remember drawing a check for 
 £720, and the reason why it was drawn, and the person for whom 
 it was drawn, especially if the check was only three weeks old. 
 Seven hundred and twenty pounds! It is a sum in return for 
 which many and very substantial services must be rendered. 
 
 "Edmund Gray!" he murmured. "Strange! I cannot re- 
 member the name of Edmund Gray. Who is Edmund Gray? 
 Why did I give him seven hundred and twenty pounds?" 
 
 The strange fact that he should forget so large a sum amused 
 liim at first. Beside him lay a book which was his private diary. 
 lie opened it, and looked back for three months, lie could find 
 no mention anywhere of Edmund Gray. To repeat: he knew all 
 the details of every case that came into the house ; he signed all 
 the checks; his memory was as tenacious and as searching as the 
 east wind in April ; yet this matter of Edmund Gray and his 
 check for £720 he could not recall to his mind by any effort. 
 
 There is a certain stage in brain fatigue when one cannot re- 
 member names; it is the sure and certain symptom of overwork; 
 the wise man recognizes the symptom as a merciful warning, and 
 obeys it. Mr. Bering knew this symptom. " I must take a holi- 
 day," he said. " At sixty-seven one cannot afford to neglect the 
 least loss of memory. Edmund Gray ! To forget Edmund Gray 
 — and seven hundred and twenty pounds! I must run down to 
 the sea-side for a fortnight's rest." 
 
 He shut up the bank-book, and tried to go back to his work. 
 But this name came back to him. "Edmund Gray," he mur- 
 mured — "Edmund Gray. Who on earth is this Edmund Gray? 
 Why did he get a check for seven hundred and twenty pounds?" 
 
 The thing ceased to amuse him ; it began to irritate him ; in 
 two minutes it began to torture him ; he leaned back in his chair; 
 he drummed with his fingers on the table; he took up the book 
 
THE IVORY GATE 
 
 and looked at the entry again. lie got up and walked about the 
 room — a long lean figure in a tight frock-coat. To walk about 
 the room and to swing your arms often stimulates the memory. 
 In this case, however, no good effect followed. The nomme Ed- 
 mund Gray remained a name and nothing more — the shadow of 
 a name. Mr. Bering rapped the table with his paper-knife, as if 
 to conjure up that shadow. Futile superstition ! No shadow 
 appeared. But how could the shadow of a name— an unknown 
 name— carry off seven hundred and twenty golden sovereigns? 
 
 "I feel as if I am going mad," he murmured. "Seven hun- 
 dred and twenty pounds paid by myself in a single lump, only 
 three weeks ago, and I remember nothing about it! I have no 
 client named Edmund Gray. The money must therefore have 
 been paid by me for some client to this unknown person. Yet 
 it was paid by my check, and I don't remember it. Strange ! I 
 never forgot such a thing before." 
 
 There was an office-bell on the table. lie touched it. A clerk 
 — an elderly clerk, an ancient clerk — obeyed the call. He was 
 the clerk who sat in the room outside Mr. Bering's office; the 
 clerk who wrote the checks for the chief to sign, brought back 
 the letters when they had been copied, directed the letters for the 
 post, received visitors, and passed in cards ; in fact, the private 
 secretary, stage-manager — we all want a stage-manager in every 
 profession — or confidential clerk. As befits a man of responsi- 
 bility he was dressed all in black, his office-coat being as shiny 
 as a mirror on the arms and on the shoulders ; by long habit it 
 hung in certain folds or curves which never unbent ; his face was 
 quite shaven and shorn ; all that was left of his white hair was 
 cut short ; his eyes were keen and even foxy ; his lips were thin ; 
 liis general expression was one of watchfulness: when he watched 
 his master it was with the attention of a servant; when he watched 
 anybody else it was as one who watches a rogue, and would out- 
 wit him, if he could, at his own roguery. In certain commercial 
 walks of the lower kind where honor and morality consist in the 
 success of attempts to cheat each other, this kind of expression 
 is not uncommon. Whether his expression was good or bad, 
 he was an excellent clerk : he was always at his post at nine in 
 the morning; he never left the ofl3ce before seven, and, because 
 Mr. Dcrino- was a whale for work, he sometimes stayed without 
 a grumble until eight or even nine. Man and boy, Chcckley had 
 
4 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 been in the office of Daring & Son for fifty-five years, entering 
 as an errand boy at twelve. 
 
 " Checkley," said liis master, " look at this bank-book. Credit 
 side. Fourth entry. Have you got it ?" 
 
 " Edmund Gray — seven hundred and twenty pounds," the clerk 
 read. 
 
 " Yes, AVhat is that check for ? Who is Edmund Gray ?" 
 
 The clerk looked surprised. "I don't know," he said. 
 
 " Why did I pay that money ?" 
 
 The clerk shook his head. 
 
 "Did you look at the book when you laid it on the table?" 
 
 The clerk nodded. 
 
 " Well— what did you think of it ?" 
 
 " I didn't think of it at all. It wasn't one of the checks you 
 told me to draw about that time ago. If I had thought I should 
 have supposed it was your private business." 
 
 " I was not aware, Checkley, that I have any private affairs 
 that you do not know." 
 
 " Well — but you miglit have." 
 
 "True. I might have. Just so. As I haven't, who — I ask 
 you again — who is this Edmund Gray ?" 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Have you ever heard of any Edmund Gray ?" 
 
 " Never to my knowledge." 
 
 " This is the first time you have heard that name ?" the lawyer 
 persisted. 
 
 " The very first time." 
 
 "Consider. Is there any Edmund Gray in connection with 
 any of my clients ?" 
 
 "Not to my knowledge." 
 
 "Not to your knowledge. Has any Edmund Gray ever been 
 employed about the office f 
 
 " No — certainly not." 
 
 " We have recently been painted and papered and whitewashed 
 and new-carpeted, at great expense and inconvenience. Did Ed- 
 mund Gray conduct any of those operations?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Has the name of Edmund Gray ever been mentioned in any 
 letters that have come here?" 
 
 It was notorious in the office that Checkley read all the letters 
 
THE IVORY GATE 
 
 that came, and that he never forgot the contents of any. If you 
 named any letter he would at once tell you what was written in 
 it, even if it were twenty years old. 
 
 *' I have never even heard the name of Edmund Gray, in any 
 letter or in any connection whatever," the clerk replied, tirmly. 
 
 " I put all these questions, Checkley, because I was pretty cer- 
 tain myself from the beginning; but I wanted to make myself 
 quite certain. I thought it might be a trick of failing memory. 
 Now, look at the name carefully." The clerk screwed up his 
 eyes tightly in order to get a good grip of the name. " You see 
 I have given him a check for seven hundred and twenty pounds, 
 only three weeks ago. I am not the kind of man to give away 
 seven hundred and twenty pounds for nothing. Yet I have actu- 
 ally forgotten the whole business." 
 
 Certainly he did not look the kind of man to forget such a 
 simple thing as the giving -away of £720. Quite the con- 
 trary. His grave face, his iron-gray hair, his firm lips, his keen, 
 steady eyes, apart from the methodical regularity with which 
 his papers were arranged before him, all proclaimed that he was 
 very far from being that kind of man. Very much the reverse, 
 indeed. 
 
 "You don't mean to say, sir," Checkley began, with a 
 change in his face from watchfulness to terror — "you can't 
 mean — " 
 
 "I mean this, Checkley. I know of no Edmund Gray, and 
 unless the bank has made a mistake there has been committed a 
 — what do they call it in the law-courts?" 
 
 The clerk held the bank-book in his hand, staring at his master 
 with open eyes. " What?" he repeated. " What do they call it? 
 Good Lord ! They call it forgery — and for seven hundred and 
 twenty pounds ! And on yon, of all people in the world ! And 
 in this office ! In our office ! — our office ! What a dreadful 
 thing, to be sure ! Oh ! what a dreadful thing to happen ! In 
 our office — here!" The clerk seemed unable to express his 
 astonishment. 
 
 " First of all, get me the cancelled checks." 
 
 The checks always came back in the pocket of the bank-book. 
 Checkley was accustomed to take them out, and to file them in 
 their proper place. 
 
 Again, Mr. Dering neither drew his checks nor wrote his letters 
 
6 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 ■with his own liand. He only signed them. One clerk wrote 
 the letters, another drew the checks by his instruction and dic- 
 tation. 
 
 Checkley went back to his own room, and returned with a 
 bundle of cancelled drafts. lie then looked in the safe — a great 
 fireproof safe — that stood open in one corner of the room, and 
 took out the current check-book. 
 
 " Here it is," he said. " Check drawn by you yourself, in your 
 own handwriting and properly signed — payable to order, not 
 crossed, and duly endorsed. Now you understand why I know 
 nothing about it. Edmund Gray, Esquire, or order. Seven hun- 
 dred and twenty pounds. Signed Dering & Son. Your own 
 handwriting and your own signature." 
 
 "Let tnc look." Mr. Dering took the paper and examined it. 
 His eyes hardened as he looked. "You call this my handwriting, 
 Checkley?" 
 
 "I — I — I did think it was," the clerk stammered. "Let me 
 look again. And 1 think so still," he added, more firmly. 
 
 "Then you're a fool. Look again. Wlien did I ever sign 
 like that?" 
 
 Mr. Dering's handwriting was one of those which are impos- 
 sible to be read by any except his own clerks, and then only 
 when they know what to expect. Thus, when he drew up in- 
 structions in lawyer language, he expressed the important words 
 by an initial, a medial, or a final consonant, and made scratches for 
 all the words between. His clerks, however, understood him very 
 well. If he had written a love-letter or a farce, or a ballade or a 
 story, no one — neither clerks nor friends nor compositors — would 
 have understood anything but a word here and a word there. 
 For his signature, however, that was different. It was the sio-na- 
 ture of the firm ; it was a signature a hundred and twenty years 
 old ; it was an eighteenth-century signature : bold, large, and 
 clear, every letter fully formed; with dots and flourishes, the last 
 letter concluding with a fantasia of penmanship belonging to a 
 time when men knew how to wiite, belonging to the decorative 
 time of penmanship. 
 
 "Two of the dots are out of place," said Checkley, "and the 
 flourish isn't quite what it should be. But the check itself looks 
 like your hand," he added, stoutly. " I ought to have seen that 
 there was something wrong about the signature, though it isn't 
 
THE IVORY GATE 7 
 
 much. I own to tliat. But the writing is like yours, and I would 
 swear to it still." 
 
 " It isn't my handwriting at all, then. Where is the counter- 
 foil ?" 
 
 Checkley turned over the counterfoils. " What is the date ?" 
 he asked. " March the 4th ? I can't find it. Here are checks 
 for the 3d and for the 6th, but none at all for the 4th." 
 
 " Let me look." Strange ! There was no counterfoil. And 
 the numbers did not agree with that on the check. 
 
 " You haven't got another check-book, have yon ?" 
 
 "No; I certainly have not." 
 
 Mr. Bering sat with the check in his hand, looking at it. Then 
 he compared it with a blank check. "Why," he said, "this 
 check is drawn from an old book — two years old — one of the 
 books before the bank amalgamated and changed its title and the 
 form of the checks — not much of a change, it is true — but — how 
 could we be such fools, Checkley, as not to see the difference?" 
 
 "Then somebody or other must have got hold of an old check- 
 book. Shameful! To have check-books lying about for every 
 common rogue to go and steal !" 
 
 Mr. Dering reflected. Then he looked up, and said: "Look 
 again in the safe. Li the left-hand compartment over the drawer 
 I think you will find an old check-book. It belonged to a sepa- 
 rate account — a trust. That has been closed. The book should 
 be there. Ah ! There it is. I wonder now," the lawyer went 
 on, "how I came to remember that book? It is more than two 
 years since I last used it or even thought of it. Another trick 
 of memory. We forget nothing, in fact, nothing at all. Give it 
 to me. Strange, that I should remember so slight a thing. Now 
 — here are the checks, you see — color the same — lettering the 
 same — size the same — the only difference being the style and 
 title of the company. The fellow must have got hold of an old 
 book left about, as you say, carelessly. Ah !" — his color chano-ed 
 — " here's the very counterfoil we wanted ! Look ! the number 
 corresponds. The check was actually taken from this very book ! 
 a book in my own safe ! in this very office ! Checkley, what does 
 this mean ?" 
 
 Checkley took the book from his master with a trcmblino- 
 hand, and read feebly the writing of the counterfoil, "March 4th, 
 1883. Edmund Gray, seven hundred and twenty pounds." 
 
8 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 "Lord knows what it means," ho said. "I never came across 
 such a thing in my life before." 
 
 "Most extraordinary! It is two years since I have given a 
 thought to the existence of that book. Yet I remembered it the 
 moment when it became useful. Well, Checkley, what have you 
 got to say ? Can't you speak ?" 
 
 "Nothing — nothing. O Lord, what should I have to say? If 
 you didn't draw that check with your own hand — " 
 
 "I did not draw that check with ray own hand." 
 
 " Then — then it must have been drawn by somebody else's 
 band." 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 " Perhaps you dictated it." 
 
 "Don't be a fool, Checkley. Keep your wits together, though 
 this is a new kind of case for you. Criminal law is not exactly 
 in your line. Do you think I should dictate my own handwriting 
 as well as my own words?" 
 
 " No. But I could swear — I could indeed — that it is your 
 writing." 
 
 " Let us have no more questions and answers. It is a forgery. 
 It is a forgery. It is not a common forgery. It has been com- 
 mitted in my own ofiice. Who can have done it? Let me 
 think." He placed the check and the old check-book before 
 him, " This book has been in my safe for two years. I had 
 forgotten its very existence. The safe is only used for my private 
 papers. I open it every morning myself at ten o'clock. I shut 
 it when I go upstairs to lunch. I open it again when I return. 
 I close it when I go away. I have not departed from that custom 
 for thirty years. I could no more sit in this room with the safe 
 shut — I could no more go away with the safe open — than I could 
 walk the streets in my shirt-sleeves. Therefore, not only has the 
 forgery been committed by some one who has had access to my 
 safe, but by some one who has stolen the check in my very pres- 
 ence and before my eyes. This consideration should narrow the 
 field." He looked at the check again. " It is dated March the 
 4th. The date may mean nothing. But it was presented on the 
 5th. Who came to my room on the 4th or the days preceding? 
 Go and find out." 
 
 Checkley retired, and brought back his journal. 
 
 "You saw on the 4th — " He read the list of callers. 
 
THE IVORY GATE 9 
 
 " That doesn't help," said Mr. Bering. 
 
 "On the 1st, 2d, 3d, and 4th you had Mr. Arundel working 
 witli you here every day from ten till twelve." 
 
 " Mr. Arundel ? Yes, I remember. Anybody else ?" 
 
 " Nobody else." 
 
 "You forget yourself, Checkley," Mr, Bering said. "You 
 were, as usual, in and out at different times." 
 
 "O Lord! sir — I hope you don't think — " the old clerk 
 stammered, turning pale. 
 
 " I think nothing, I want to find out. Go to the bank. See 
 the manager. Let him tell you if he can find out by whom the 
 check was cashed. If in notes — it must have been in notes — let 
 those notes be instantly stopped. It is not crossed, so that we 
 must not expect anything so simple as the Clearing House. Go 
 at once, and find out exactly what happened." 
 
 This happened at about half-past ten. The bank was no more 
 than five-minutes' walk. Yet it was twelve o'clock when the 
 clerk returned. 
 
 "Well, what have you found out?" asked the master. 
 
 " I have found out a great deal," Checkley began, eagerly. 
 " First, I saw the manager, and I saw the pay-clerk. The check 
 was handed in by a commissionaire. Everybody trusts a com- 
 missionaire. The pay-clerk knows your signature, and thought 
 it was all right. I showed the check to the manager. He knows 
 your handwriting, and he says he would swear that the check was 
 drawn bv you yourself. So I am not such a fool as you think," 
 
 "Goon." 
 
 "The commissionaire told the pay-clerk that he was ordered 
 to take it all in ten-pound notes. He took them, put them in his 
 pouch, and walked away. He was a one-armed man, and took a 
 long time over the job, and didn't seem a bit in a hurry," 
 
 "About the notes?" 
 
 "The manager will stop them at once. But he says that if 
 the thing was done by an old hand there must be confederates 
 in it, and there will be trouble. However, the notes are stopped. 
 That's done. Then I went on to the commissionaires' barracks 
 in the Strand. The sergeant very soon found the man, and I had 
 a talk with him. He was employed by an old gentleman, he 
 says, staying at the Cecil Hotel, Strand. The old gentleman sent 
 him to the bank with instructions to get the money in ten-pound 
 1* 
 
10 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 notes ; and very particular he was with him about not losing any 
 of them on the way. He didn't seem a bit in a liurry either. 
 Took tlie notes from the man and laid them in a pocket-book. 
 It was in the coffee-room, and half a dozen other gentlemen were 
 there at the same time. But this gentleman seemed alone." 
 
 "Humph! A pretty cool business, upon my word! No hurry 
 about it. Plenty of time. That was because they knew that the 
 old check-book would not be found and examined." 
 
 "Why did they write the check on the counterfoil? Why did 
 they put the check-book back again — after they had taken it out?" 
 
 " I don't know. The workings of a forger's brain are not 
 within the compass of my experiences. Go on, Checkley !" 
 
 "The commissionaire says that he is certain he would know 
 the gentleman again." 
 
 " Very good indeed, if we can only find the gentleman." 
 
 " I then went on to tlie Cecil Hotel, and saw the head waiter 
 of the coffee-room. He remembered the commissionaire being 
 sent for; he saw the bundle of bank-notes brought back from the 
 bank, and he remembers the old gentleman very well. Says he 
 should certainly know him again." 
 
 "Did he describe him?" 
 
 "There didn't seem anything particular to describe. He was 
 of average height, so to speak, dressed in gray trousers and a 
 black frock-coat, and was gray-haired. Much as if I was to 
 describe you." 
 
 "Oh! The notes arc stopped. Yet in three weeks there has 
 been ample time to get them all changed. Every note may have 
 been changed into gold in three weeks. An elderly gentleman, 
 gray hair, average height; that tells us nothing. Checkley, the 
 thing has been done by some one who had, or still has, access to 
 my safe. Perhaps, in some way or other, keys have been pro- 
 cured. In that case — " He stepped over to the safe, and opened 
 a drawer. "See, Checkley; this drawer is untouched — it is full 
 of jewelry and things which belonged to my mother. Nothing 
 touched. Here is a bag of spade guineas — again nothing taken. 
 What do you say to that? If the forger had possessed keys he 
 would, first of all, clear out the things which he could turn into 
 money without any difficulty and very little risk. Nothing taken 
 except that check, and the check-book replaced. What do you 
 savtothat? Eh?" 
 
THE IVORY GATE 11 
 
 "I don't know what to say. I'm struck stupid. I never 
 heard of such a thing before." 
 
 "Xor I. Why, it must have been done in this room, wliile the 
 safe was open, while I was actually present. That is the onlv 
 solution possible. Again, who has been in this room ?" 
 
 " All the callers — I read their names to you — your clients." 
 
 "They all sit in that chair. They never leave that chair so 
 long as they are with me." He indicated the chair which stood 
 at the corner of the lawyer's great table at his left hand. Now 
 the safe was in the far corner, on the other side of the room. 
 "They could not possibly — Checkley, the only two who could 
 possibly have access to that safe in office-hours are yourself and 
 Mr. Arundel." 
 
 "Good heavens! sir — you can't believe — you can't actually 
 think — " 
 
 "I believe nothing. I told you so before. I think nothing. 
 I want the facts." 
 
 The room was long rather than square, lit by two large win- 
 dows, overlooking the gardens of New Square, Lincoln's Inn. 
 The lawyer sat with his back to the fire, protected by a cane- 
 screen, before a large table. On his left hand, at the corner of 
 the table, stood the clients' chair ; on his right hand, between the 
 two windows, was a small table with a couple of drawers in it. 
 And in the corner, to the left of any one writing at the small 
 table, and on the right hand of the lawyer, was the open safe 
 already mentioned. There were two doors, one communicating 
 with the clerk's room, the other opening directly on the stairs. 
 The latter was locked on the inside. 
 
 "Call Mr. Arundel," said the chief. 
 
 While Checkley was gone he walked to the window, and ob- 
 served that any one sitting at the table could, by merely reaching 
 out, take anything from the safe and put it back again unob- 
 served, if he himself happened to be occupied or looking another 
 way. Ilis grave face became dark, lie returned to his own chair, 
 and sat thinking, while his face grew darker and his eyes harder, 
 until Mr. Arundel appeared. 
 
 Alhelstan Arundel was at this time a recently admitted mem- 
 ber of the respectable but too-numerous family of solicitors. He 
 was between two and three and twenty years of age, a tall and 
 handsome young fellow, of a good manly type. He was an ex- 
 
12 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 articled cleric of the house, and had just been appointed a manag- 
 ing clerk until something could be found for him. The Arun- 
 dels were a City family of some importance ; perhaps something 
 in a City firm might presently be achieved by the united influence 
 of family and money. Meantime, here he was, at work, earning 
 a salary and gaining experience. Checkley, for his part — who 
 was as jealous of his master as only an old servant or a young 
 mistress has the right to be — had imagined symptoms or indica- 
 tions of a growing preference or favor towards this yonng gentle- 
 man on the part of Mr. Dering. Certainly, he had Mr. Arundel 
 in his own office a good deal, and gave him work of a most confi- 
 dential character. Besides, Mr. Dering was executor and trustee 
 for young Arundel's mother, and he had been an old friend and 
 school-fellow of his father, and had known the young man and 
 his two sisters from infancy. 
 
 "Mr. Arundel," the lawyer began. At his own house he ad- 
 dressed his ward by his Christian name ; in the office, as manag- 
 ing clerk, he prefixed the courtesy title. "An extremely disa- 
 greeable thing has happened here — nothing short of a forgery. 
 Don't interrupt me, if you please" — for the young man looked as if 
 he was about to practise his interjections — " it is a most surprising 
 thing, I admit. You needn't say so, however — that wastes time. 
 A forgery. On the 5th of this month, three weeks ago, a check, 
 apparently in my handwriting, and with my signature so skilfully 
 executed as to deceive even Checkley and the manager of the 
 bank, was presented at my bank and duly cashed. The amount 
 is large — seven hundred and twenty pounds — and the sum was 
 paid across the counter in ten-pound notes, which are now 
 stopped — if there are any left." He kept his eyes fixed on the 
 young man, whose face betrayed no other emotion than that of 
 natural surprise. " We shall doubtless trace these notes, and 
 through them, of course, the forger. We have already ascer- 
 tained who presented the clieck. You follow ?" 
 
 " Certainly. There has been a forgery. The forged check has 
 been cashed. The notes are stopped. Have you any clue to the 
 forgery ? — any suspicions ?" 
 
 " As yet, none. We are only beginning to collect the facts." 
 The lawyer spoke in the coldest and most austere manner. "I am 
 laying them, one by one, before you." 
 
 Young Arundel bowed. 
 
THE IVORY GATE 13 
 
 " Observe, then, that the forged check belongs to a check-book 
 which has been lying, forgotten by rae, in this safe for two years. 
 Here is the book. Turn to the last counterfoil. Here is the 
 check, the forged check, which corresponds. You see ?" 
 
 " Perfectly. The book has been in the safe for two years. It 
 has been taken out by some one — presumably the forger; the 
 check has been forged, the counterfoil filled up, and the book 
 replaced. Why was all this trouble taken ? If the man had got 
 the check, why did he fill up the counterfoil ? Why did he re- 
 turn the book ? I beg your pardon." 
 
 " Your questions are pertinent. I come to the next point. The 
 safe is never opened but by myself. It is open so long as I am 
 in the room, and at no other time." 
 
 " Certainly. I know that." 
 
 *' Very well. The man who took out the check-book, forged 
 the check, and replaced the book must have done it in my very 
 presence." 
 
 " Oh ! could not some one — somehow — have got a key 1" 
 
 *' I thought of that. It is possible. But the drawers are full 
 of valuables, jewelry, curios — all kinds of things which could easily 
 be turned into money. And they were not touched. Now, had 
 the safe been opened by a key, these things would certainly have 
 vanished." 
 
 " So it would seem." 
 
 " These arc the main facts, Mr. Arundel. Oh ! one more. We 
 have found the messenger who cashed the check. Perhaps there 
 are one or two other points of more or less importance. There is 
 only one more point I wish to bring before you. Of course I 
 make no charge — I insinuate none. But this must be remem- 
 bered — there are only two persons who have had access to this 
 safe in such a manner as to make it possible for them to take 
 anything out of it — Checkley — " 
 
 " No — no — no !" cried the old man. 
 
 " And you yourself. At the time of the robbery you were 
 working at that table, with the safe open and within reach of your 
 left hand. This is a fact, mind — one of the facts of the case — 
 not a charge." 
 
 *' What r' cried the young man, his cheek aflame, "you mean — " 
 
 " I mean nothing — nothing at all. I want you and Checkley — 
 who alone have used this room, not counting callers who sat in 
 that chair — to know the facts." 
 
14 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 "The facts — yes — of course — the facts. Well" — he spolce 
 rapidly and a little incoherently — " it is true that I worked here 
 — but — oh ! it is absurd. I knew nothing of any check-book 
 lying in your safe. I was working at this table" — he went to the 
 table — "sitting in this chair. How could I get up and search 
 about in a safe for an unknown and unsuspected check-book be- 
 fore your very eyes ?" 
 
 " I do not know. It seems impossible. I only desire yon to 
 consider, with me, the facts." 
 
 Had Mr. Bering spoken just a little less coldly, with just a lit- 
 tle less dryness in his manner, what followed would perhaps have 
 been different. 
 
 "Yes — the facts," repeated the young man. " Well, let us get 
 at the facts. The chief fact is that whoever took that check and 
 filled it up must have known of the existence of that check-book 
 more than two years old." 
 
 " It would seem so." 
 
 "Who could know about that old check-book? Only one who 
 had been about your office more than two years, or one who had 
 had opportunities of examining the safe. Now, you sat there — I 
 sat here" — he seated himself, only turning the chair round. " How 
 is it possible for a man sitting here to take anything out of that 
 safe without your seeing him? How is it possible for him, with- 
 out your knowledge, to examine slowly and carefully the contents 
 of the safe ?" 
 
 " Everything is possible," said Mr. Dering, still coldly. " Let 
 us not argue on possibilities. AVe liave certain facts before us. 
 By the help of these I shall hope to find out others." 
 
 " At five o'clock every day I put the work in the drawer of this 
 table, and come away." He opened the drawer, as if to illustrate 
 this unimportant fact. He saw in it two or three pieces of paper 
 with writing on them. He took them out. "Good heavens!" he 
 cried. " They are imitations of your handwriting." 
 
 Checkley crossed the room swiftly, snatched them from him, 
 and laid them before his master. "Imitations of your handwrit- 
 ing," he said. " Imitations — exercises in forgery — practice makes 
 perfect — found in the drawer. Now !" 
 
 Mr. Dering looked at the papers, and laid, them beside the 
 forged check. " An additional fact," he said. " These are cer- 
 tainly imitations. The probable conclusion is that they were 
 made by the same hand that forged this check." 
 
THE IVORY GATE 15 
 
 "Found in tlie drawer," said Checkley, "used by Mr. Arundel, 
 never by inc. Ali ! The only two, are we? Tlicse imitations 
 will prove tbat I'm not in it." 
 
 "The fact tliat these imitations arc found in the drawer," said 
 Mr. Derino', "is a fact which may or may not be important." 
 
 "What?" cried tlie young man, flaring up — "you tliink that 
 / made those imitations ?" 
 
 " I do not permit myself — yet — to mal^c any conclusions at all. 
 Everything, however, is possible." 
 
 Then this foolish young man lost liis temper and his head. 
 
 "You have known me all my life," he cried, "You liave 
 known me and all my people. Yet at tlie first moment you are 
 ready to believe that I have committed a most abominable for- 
 gery ! You — my father's oldest friend — my mother's trustee — 
 my own guardian ! You !" 
 
 "Pardon me. There are certain facts in this case. I have laid 
 them before you. I have shown — " 
 
 "To suspect me!" Arundel repeated; "and all the time another 
 man — that man, your clerk — who knows everything ever done in 
 tliis office is in and about the place all day long." 
 
 "The imitations," said Checklcy quietly, "were found in liis 
 own drawer — by himself." 
 
 " Who put them there? Who made them? You — villain and 
 scoundrel !" 
 
 "Stop, stop," said Mr. Dering coldly. "We go too fast. Let 
 us first prove our facts. 'We will then proceed to conclusions." 
 
 " Well, sir, you clearly believe that I forged your name and 
 robbed you of all tliis money. I liavc not got ten pounds in the 
 world ; but that is not, I suppose, a fact wliicli bears on the case. 
 You think I have seven liundred pounds somcwliere. Very good. 
 Think so, if you please. Meanwhile, I am not going to stay in 
 the service of a man who is capable of thinking such a thing. I 
 leave your service — at once. Get some one else to serve you — 
 somebody wlio likes being charged with forgery and theft." He 
 flung liimself out of the room, and banged the door behind liim. 
 
 "He has run away," said Checkley. "Actually run away at 
 the very outset! What do you think now?" 
 
 " I do not think. We shall, I dare say, find out the truth in 
 due course. Meantime, these documents will remain in my keep- 
 ing." 
 
16 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 "Only I hope, sir," the cleric began, "that after what you've 
 just seen and beard — after such insolence and running- away and 
 all—" 
 
 " Don't be an ass, Checkley. So far as appearances go no one 
 could get at the safe except you and Arundel. So far as the ascer- 
 tained facts go there is notiiing to connect either of you with the 
 thing. He is a foolish young man ; and if he is innocent, which 
 we must, I suppose, believe" — but his look did not convey the 
 idea of robust faith — " he will come back when he has cooled 
 down," 
 
 " The imitations of your handwriting in his drawer — " 
 
 " The man who forged the check," said Mr. Bering, " whoever 
 lie was, could easily have written those imitations. I shall see 
 that hot-lieadcd boy's mother, and bring him to reason. Now, 
 Checkle}', we will resume work. And not a word of this business, 
 if you please, outside. You have yourself to think of as well, 
 remember. You, as well as that boy, have access to the safe. 
 Enough — enough." 
 
 Athelstan Arundel walked home all the way, foaming and rag- 
 ing. No omnibus, cab, or conveyance ever built could contain a 
 young man in such a rage. His mother lived at Pembridge 
 Square, which is four good measured miles from Lincoln's Inn. 
 He walked the whole way, walking through crowds, and under 
 the noses of dray-horses, carriage-horses, and cart-horses, without 
 taking the least notice of them. When he reached home, he 
 dashed into the drawing-room, where he found his two sisters — 
 Hilda and Elsie — one of them a girl of eighteen, the other of 
 thirteen. With flaming cheeks and fiery eyes he delivered him- 
 self of his story; he hurled it at their heads; he called upon 
 them to share his indignation, and to join with him in scorn and 
 contempt of the man — their supposed best friend, trustee, guar- 
 dian, adviser ; their father's best friend — who had done this thing 
 — who had accused him, on the bare evidence of two or three cir- 
 cumstantial facts, of such a crime ! 
 
 There is something magnetic in all great emotions; one proof 
 of their reality is that they are magnetic. It is only an actor 
 who can endow an assumed emotion with magnetism. Elsie, the 
 younger girl, fell into a corresponding sympathy of wrath; she 
 was equal to the occasion ; passion for passion, she joined him 
 and fed the flame. But — for all persons are not magnetic — the 
 
THE IVORY GATE 17 
 
 elder sister remained cold. From time to time slie wanted to 
 know exactly what Mr. Dering had said ; this her brother was 
 too angry to remember; she was pained and puzzled ; she neither 
 soothed him nor sympathized with him. 
 
 Then the mother returned, and the whole story was told again, 
 Elsie assisting. Now, Mrs. Arundel was a woman of great sense ; 
 a practical woman ; a woman of keen judgment. She prided 
 herself upon the possession of these qualities, which arc not sup- 
 posed to be especially feminine. She heard the story with dis- 
 turbed face and knitted brow. 
 
 "Surely," she said, "what you tell me, Athelstan, is beyond 
 belief. Mr. Dering, of all men, to accuse you — you — of such a 
 thing ! It is impossible." 
 
 " I wish it were impossible. lie accuses me of forging that 
 check for seven hundred and twenty pounds. lie savs that 
 while I was working in his office for him, a fortnight ago, I took 
 a certain check-book out of the safe, forged his writing on a 
 check, and returned the check-book. This is what he says. Do 
 you call that accusing, or don't you?" 
 
 "Certainly. If he says that. But how can he — Mr. Dering, 
 the most exact and careful of men ? I will drive to Lincoln's Inn 
 at once, and find out. My dear boy, pray calm yourself. There 
 is — there must be — some terrible mistake." 
 
 She went immediately, and she had a long interview with the 
 solicitor. 
 
 Mr. Dering was evidently much disturbed by what had hap- 
 pened. He did not receive her as he usually received his clients, 
 sitting in his arm-chair. He pushed back the chair and stood 
 up, leaning a hand on the back of it, a tall, thin, erect figure, 
 gray-haired, austere of face. There was little to reassure the 
 mother in that face. The very trouble of it made her heart sink. 
 
 " I certainly have not accused Athelstan," he said. " It is, 
 however, quite true that there has been a robbery here, and that 
 of a large sum of money — no less than seven hundred and twenty 
 pounds." 
 
 " But what has that to do with my boy?" 
 
 " We have made a few preliminary inquiries. I will do for 
 you, Mrs. Arundel, what I did for your son, and you shall your- 
 self understand what connection those inquiries have with him." 
 
 He proceeded coldly and without comment to set forth the 
 
18 THE IVORY OATE 
 
 case so far as lie had got at tlie facts. As lie went on the moth- 
 er's heart became as heavy as lead. Before he finished she was 
 certain. There is, you see, a way of presenting a case without 
 comment which is more efficacious than any amount of talk ; and 
 Mrs. Arundel plainly perceived — which was indeed the case — 
 that the lawyer had by this time little doubt in his own mind 
 that her son had done this thing. 
 
 " I thought it right," he continued, " to lay before him these 
 facts at the outset. ' If he is innocent,' I thought, ' he will be the 
 better able to prove his innocence, and perhaps to find the guilty 
 person. If he is guilty, he may be led to confession or restitu- 
 tion.' The facts about the check-book and the safe are very 
 clear. I am certain that the safe has not been opened by any 
 other key. The only persons who have had access to it are Check- 
 lev and your son Athelstan. As for Checkley — he wouldn't do 
 it; he could not possibly do it; the thing is quite beyond him." 
 
 Mrs. Arundel groaned. " This is terrible," she said. 
 
 " Meantime, the notes are numbered ; they may be traced ; 
 they are stopped ; we shall certainly find the criminal by means 
 of those notes." 
 
 "Mr. Dering" — Mrs. Arundel rose and laid her hand on his — 
 " you are our very old friend. Tell me — if this wretched boy 
 goes away — if he gives back the money that remains — if I find 
 the rest — will there be — any further — investigation ?" 
 
 " To compound a felony is a crime. It is, however, one of 
 those crimes which men sometimes commit without repentance 
 or shame. My dear lady, if he will confess and restore — we 
 shall see." 
 
 Mrs. Arundel drove home again. She came away fully per- 
 suaded in her own mind that her son — her only son — and none 
 other, must be that guilty person. She knew Mr. Bering's room 
 well — she had sat there hundreds of times; she knew the safe; 
 she knew old Checkley. She perceived the enormous improba- 
 bility of this ancient clerk's doing such a thing. She knew, 
 again, what temptations assail a young man in London ; she saw 
 what her trustee thought of it; and she jumped to the conclu- 
 sion that her son — and none other — was the guilty person. She 
 even saw how he must have done it — she saw the quick look 
 while Mr. Dering's back was turned; the snatching of the check- 
 book ; the quick replacing it. Iler very keenness of judgment 
 
THE IVORY GATE 19 
 
 helped her to the conviction. Women less clever would have 
 been slower to believe. Sbamefnl, miserable termination of all 
 lier hopes for lier boy's career! But that she could think of 
 afterwards. For the moment the only thing was to get the boy 
 away — to induce him to confess — and to get hiin awav. 
 
 lie was calmer when she got home, but he was still talking 
 about the thing — he would wait till the right man was discovered ; 
 then he would have old Dering on his knees. The thing would 
 be set right in a few days. He had no fear of any delay. He 
 was quite certain that it was Checkley — that old vilhiin. Oh ! 
 he couldn't do it by himself, of course — nobody couhl believe 
 that of him. He had accomplices — confederates — behind him. 
 Checkley's part of the job was to steal the check-book, and give 
 it to liis confederates, and share the swag. 
 
 "Well, mother?" he asked. 
 
 His mother sat down. She looked pale and wretched. 
 
 " Mother !" cried Hilda, the elder sister. " Quick ! What has 
 happened ? What does Mr. Dering say ?" 
 
 " He accuses nobody," she replied, in a hard, dry voice. 
 " But—" 
 
 " But what ?" asked Hilda. 
 
 "He told me everything — everything — and — and — Oh!" 
 She burst into sobs and crying, though she despised women who 
 cry. " It is terrible — it is terrible — it is incredible. Yet what 
 can I think? What can any one think? Leave us, Hilda. Leave 
 us, Elsie." The two girls went out unwillingly. " Oh, my son ! 
 — how can I believe it? And yet — on the one liand a boy of 
 two-and-twenty, exposed to all the temptations of town ; on the 
 other an old clerk of fifty years' service and integrity. And 
 when the facts are laid before you both — calmly and coldly — 
 you fly into a rage and run away, while Checkley calmly remains 
 to await the inquiry." 
 
 Mrs. Arundel had been accustomed all her life to consider Mr. 
 Dering as the wisest of men. She felt instinctively that he re- 
 garded her son with suspicion. She heard all the facts ; she 
 jumped to the conclusion that he was a prodigal and a profli- 
 gate ; that he had fallen into evil ways, and spent money in riot- 
 ous living. She concluded that he had committed this crime 
 in order to get more money for skittles and oranges. 
 
 "Athelstan" — she laid her hand upon his arm, but did not 
 
20 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 dare to lift her eyes and behold that guilty face — ** Athelstan, 
 confess — make reparation so far as yon can — confess — oh ! my 
 son — my son ! You will be caught and tried and fonnd guilty, 
 and — oh ! I cannot say it — through the notes which you have 
 changed. They arc all known and stopped." 
 
 The boy's wrath was now changed to madness. 
 
 "You!" he cried — "you? My own mother? You believe it 
 — no? Oh ! we are all going mad together. What? Then I am 
 turned out of this house, as I am turned out of my place. I go, 
 then — I go; and" — here he swore a mighty oath, as strong as 
 anybody out of Spain can make them — " I will never — never — 
 never come home again till you come yourself to beg forgive- 
 ness. You — my own mother !" 
 
 Outside, in the hall, his sisters stood, waiting and trembling. 
 
 "Athelstan," cried the elder, Hilda, a girl of eighteen or nine- 
 teen, "what, in the name of Heaven, have you done?" 
 
 " Go ask my mother. She will tell you. She knows, it seems, 
 better than I know myself. I am driven away by my own mother. 
 She says that I am guilty of — of — of forgery." 
 
 " If she says so, Athelstan," his sister replied coldly, " she 
 must have her reasons. She would not drive you out of the 
 house for nothing. Don't glare like that. Prove your inno- 
 cence." 
 
 " What ? You, too ? Oh ! I am driven away by my sisters 
 as well—" 
 
 " No, Athelstan — no," cried Elsie, catching his hand. " Not 
 both your sisters." 
 
 "My poor child!" — he stooped and kissed her — "they will 
 make you believe what they believe. Good heavens! They make 
 haste to believe it ; they are glad to believe it." 
 
 " No — no ! Don't go, Athelstan." Elsie threw her arms about 
 him. " Stay, and show that they are wrong. Oh ! you are in- 
 nocent. I will never — never — never believe it." 
 
 He kissed her again, and tore himself away. The street-door 
 slammed behind him ; they heard his footsteps as he strode away. 
 He had gone. 
 
 Then Elsie fell into loud weeping and wailing. But Hilda 
 went to comfort her mother. 
 
 " Mother," she said, " did he really — really and truly do 
 it?" 
 
THE IVORY GATE 21 
 
 " What else can I believe? Either he did it or that old clerk. 
 Where is he ?" 
 
 " lie is gone. He says he will come back when his innocence 
 is proved. Mother, if he is innocent, why does ho run away ? 
 It's foolish to say that it is becansc wc believe it. I've said 
 nothing except that you couldn't believe it without reasons. In- 
 nocent young men don't run away when they are charged with 
 robbery. They stay and fight it out. Athelstan should have 
 stayed." 
 
 Later on, when they were both a little recovered, Hilda tried 
 to consider the subject more calraly. She had not her mother's 
 cleverness, but she was not without parts. The following re- 
 marks — made by a girl of eighteen — prove so much. 
 
 " Mother," she said, " perhaps it is better, so long as tliis sus- 
 picion rests upon him, that he should be away. We shall cer- 
 tainly know where he is — he will want money, and will write for 
 it. If it should prove that somebody else did the thing we can 
 easily bring him back as a martyr — for my own part I should be 
 so glad that I would willingly beg his pardon on my knees — and 
 of course we could easily get him replaced in the office. If it is 
 proved that he did do it — and that, you think, they will be cer- 
 tain to find out — Mr. Dering, for your sake, will be ready to 
 Lush it up. Perhaps we may get the notes back — he can't liave 
 used them all ; in any case, it will be a great comfort to feel that 
 he is out of the way. A brother tried in open court — convicted — 
 sentenced — oh !" She sliuddered. " We should never get over 
 it; never, never! It would be a most dreadful tiling for Elsie 
 and me. As for his going away, if people ask why lie is gone, 
 and wlicre, we must invent something — we can easily make up a 
 story — hint that he has been wild; there is no disgrace, happily, 
 about a young man being wild — that is the only thing that recon- 
 ciles one to the horrid selfishness of wild young men ; and if, by 
 going away in a pretended rage, Athelstan has really enabled us 
 to escape a liorrid scandal — why, mother, in that case we may 
 confess that the blow has been by Providence most mercifully 
 softened for us — most mercifully. We ought to consider that, 
 raotlier." 
 
 "Yes, dear, yes. But he is gone. Athelstan is gone. And 
 his future seems ruined. There is no hope for him. I can see 
 no hope whatever. My dear, he was so promising. I thou"^ht 
 
22 THE IVORY GATK 
 
 that all the family influence would be liis — we haven't got a 
 single City solicitor in the wliole family, I tliought that he was 
 so clever and so ambitious, and so eager to get on and make 
 money and be a credit to the family. Solicitors do sometimes — 
 especially City solicitors — become so very, very rich ; and now it 
 is all gone and done — and nothing left to hope but the miserable 
 wish that there should be no scandal." 
 
 " It is, indeed, dreadful. But still — consider — no scandal. 
 Mother, I think we should find out, if we can, something about 
 his private life — how he has been living. lie has been out a 
 good deal of evenings lately. If there is any — any person on 
 wliom he has been tempted to spend money — if he has been 
 gambling, or betting, or any of the things that I read of" — this 
 yonno- lady, thanks to the beneficent assistance of certain works 
 of fiction, was tolerably acquainted with the ways of young men 
 and their temptations — " it would be a satisfaction to know it at 
 least." 
 
 The ladies of a family where there is a " wild" young man do 
 not generally find it easy to get at the facts of his wildness; they 
 remain locked up in the bosoms of his companions. No details 
 could be learned about any wildness — quite the contrary. He 
 seemed, so far as could be learned, to have led a very quiet and 
 regular life. " But then," said the philosopher of eighteen, 
 quoting from a novel, " men shelter each other. They are all bad 
 together." 
 
 But — no scandal. 
 
 Everybody knows that kind of brother or sister by whom all fam- 
 ily events are considered with a view to the scandal likely to be 
 caused and the personal injury resulting to himself or herself; or 
 the envy that will follow and the personal advantage accruing from 
 that event. That her brother was perhaps a shameful criminal 
 might be considered by Hilda Arundel later on ; at first, she was 
 only capable of perceiving that this horrid fact, unless it could be 
 hidden away and kept secret, might very materially injure herself. 
 
 Almost naturally, she folded her hands sweetly and laid her 
 comely head a little on one side — it is an attitude of resignation 
 which may be observed in certain pictures of saints and holy 
 women. Hilda knew many little attitudes. Also, quite natu- 
 rally, she glanced at a mirror on the wall, and observed that her 
 pose was one of sorrow borne with Christian resignation. 
 
THE IVORY GATE 23 
 
 We must blame neither Hilda nor licr mother. The case, as 
 put by Mr. Deling, in the form of plain fact without any com- 
 ment, did seem very black, indeed, against Athelstan. In every 
 family the first feeling in such a case — it is the instinct of self- 
 preservation — is to hush up the thing if possible — to avoid a 
 scandal. 
 
 Such a scandal as the prosecution of a brother for forgery — 
 with a verdict of guilty — is a most truly horrible, deplorable, 
 fatal thing. It takes the respectability out of a family perhaps 
 at a critical moment, when the family is just assuming the robes 
 of respectability ; it ruins the chances of the girls; it blights the 
 prospects of the boys; it drives away friends; it is a black spot 
 which all the soaps ever advertised could never wash off. There- 
 fore, while the mother hoped, first of all, that the boy would 
 escape the clutch of the law, Hilda was, first of all, grateful that 
 there would be no scandal. Mr. Bering would not talk about it. 
 The thing would not interfere with lier own prospects. It was 
 sad, it was miserable; but yt't — no scandal. With what a deep, 
 deep sigh of satisfaction did the young lady repeat that there 
 would probably be no scandal ! 
 
 As for Elsie, that child went about for many days with tearful 
 eyes, red cheeks, and a swollen nose. She was rebellious and 
 sharp with her mother, and to her sister she refused to speak. 
 The days went on. They became weeks, months, years — other- 
 wise they would not have been days. Nothing at all was heard 
 of Athelstan. lie sent no letters to any one ; he did not even 
 write for money ; they knew not where he was or what he was 
 doing. lie disappeared. It was understood that there had been 
 wildncss. 
 
 Now — which was very remarkable — though the forger had liad 
 a clear run of three weeks, it could not be discovered that any of 
 the notes had been presented. Perhaps they were sent abroad; 
 yet foreign and colonial banks would know the numbers of 
 stopped notes. And towards the discovery of the forger no fur- 
 ther step had been taken. The commissionaire who took the 
 check had been, as you liave seen, easily found ; he said he sliould 
 know the old gentleman who gave him the forged draft to cash. 
 He said, being again interrogated, that Checkley was not in the 
 least like that old gentleman. What could be thought, then? 
 Athelstan must have "made-up" as an old man — he was fond of 
 
24 THE IVOUy GATE 
 
 private theatricals; lie could make-up very well ; of course lie had 
 made-up. And then, this point being settled, they left off talking 
 about the business. 
 
 Other things happened — important things — which made the 
 memory of the prodigal son to wax dim. First of all came Hilda's 
 case. She was a graceful young person, with features of great 
 regularity; her expression was cold, her eyes were hard, and her 
 lips were a little thin, but these things at nineteen are liardly 
 perceived. She was that sort of girl who seems created for the 
 express purpose, first, of wearing and beautifying costly raiment, 
 and next, of sitting in a splendid vehicle. The finer the dress, the 
 more beautiful she looked. The grander the carriage, the more 
 queenly she seemed. In rags her coldness would be arctic, bcr hard- 
 ness would be granitic; in silk and velvet she became a goddess. 
 It was therefore most fitting that she should marry a rich man. 
 Now, to be rich in these days one must be old. It is the price 
 that one has to pay for wealth. Sometimes one pays the price, and 
 docs not get what one lias paid for. That seems hardly fair. 
 There was a certain rich man — Mr. Dering's younger brother. Sir 
 Samuel Dering, knight — one of the most substantial City men, a 
 man who had a house in Kensington Palace Gardens, a yacht, 
 a country place in Sussex, and piles of papers in a safe, meaning 
 investments. He was a widower without encumbrance; he was 
 fifty-seven years of ago, not yet decayed ; he wanted a wife to be 
 the mistress of his house and to look well at his dinner-parties. 
 Of course, when one does want a wife, at any age, one wants her 
 young. Hilda Arundel, his brother's ward, looked as if she 
 would discharge the duties required of the position admirably. 
 He suggested the arrangement to his brother, who spoke about it. 
 
 There was a good deal of talking about it. Mrs. Arundel 
 showed that she knew the value of her daughter, but there was 
 no doubt about the conclusion of the matter. There was a grand 
 wedding, at which all the richer Arundcls were present and none 
 of the poor relations. Mr. Dering, the young lady's guardian, 
 gave her away ; Hilda became Lady Dering, and has been per- 
 fectly happy ever since. Elsie remained with her mother. Her 
 brother was never spoken of between them. But she remembered 
 him, and she was firm in her conviction that his innocence would 
 be, some day, established. 
 
 After a few years, nothing at all having been heard of the notes, 
 
THE IVORY GATE 25 
 
 Mr. Dering made application to the Bank of England, and re- 
 ceived from it the sum of seven hundred and twenty pounds 
 in new, crisp notes in the place of those of which he had been 
 robbed, so that the actual loss at four per cent, compound inter- 
 est amounted to no more than £155 19s, did., which is more 
 than one likes to lose, yet is not actually embarrassing to a man 
 whose income is about six thousand a year. He ceased to think 
 about the business altogether, except as a disagreeable episode of 
 his office. 
 
 Thus Athelstan Arundel became completely forgotten. His 
 old friends — the young men with whom he had played and 
 sported — only remembered him from time to time as a fellow who 
 had come to some unknown grief, and had gone away. There is 
 always some young fellow in every set of young fellows who gets 
 into some scrape, and so leaves the circle, and is no more seen or 
 heard of. Wo go on just the same without him; very seldom 
 that such a man is remembered long. It is the way of the world ; 
 we cannot stop to lament over the fallen ; we must push on ; 
 others fall ; close up the ranks ; push on ; Time drives ; the 
 memory of the fallen swiftly waxes dim. 
 
 Four years or so after the mysterious business of Edmund 
 Gray, Mr. Dering received a letter with an American stamp, 
 marked " Private and Confidential." He laid this aside until he 
 had got through the business letters, then he opened it. He 
 turned first to the signature. " Ha ! " he said, " ' Athelstan Arun- 
 del.' At last. Now we shall see — we shall see." 
 
 He expected a full confession of the crime. " We should never 
 expect," says the sage, " what we desire, because we never obtain 
 what we expect." It would have made Mr. Dering more com- 
 fortable in his mind had the letter contained a confession. Of 
 course Athelstan had done it. Nobody else could have done it. 
 Yet when he thought about the business at all there always 
 arose in his mind an uneasy feeling that perhaps the boy had 
 been treated unwisely. It might liave been more prudent to have 
 kept the facts from him, although they pointed so strongly in 
 his direction, until proof positive was obtained. It might, again, 
 have been better had the facts been put before him with a few 
 words of confidence, even though that confidence did not exist. 
 Time only strengthened Mr. Dcrlng's suspicions against the young 
 man. The thing must have been done by Checkley or by him. 
 2 
 
26 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 Now, Checkley was not able, if he had wished, to imitate any 
 handwriting. No! It was done by Athelstan. Why he did it, 
 what he got by it, seeing that those notes had never been pre- 
 sented, no one could explain. Bu the did it — lie did it. That 
 was certain. 
 
 Mr. Bering, therefore, began to read the letter with interest. 
 Its commencement was without any opening words of respect or 
 friendliness. And it was not by any means the letter of a wicked 
 man turning away from his wickedness. Not a word of repent- 
 ance from beginning to end. 
 
 " ' Four years ago,' " Mr. Dering read, " ' you drove me from your 
 place and changed my whole life, by a suspicion — amounting to 
 a charge — of the gravest kind. You assumed, without explana- 
 tion or examination, that because certain facts seemed to point in 
 a certain direction, I had been guilty of an enormous crime, that 
 I had robbed my father's oldest friend, my mother's trustee, my 
 own guardian, my employer, of a great sum of money. You 
 never asked yourself if this suspicion was justified by any conduct 
 of mine — you jumped at it.' " 
 
 " Quite wrong. Wilfully wrong," said Mr. Dering. *' I laid 
 the facts before him — nothing but the facts. I brought no 
 charge." 
 
 " 'I dare say that by this time the criminal has been long since 
 detected. Had I remained I would have brought the thing home 
 to him. For of course it could be none other than your clerk. 
 I have thought over the case thousands of times. The man who 
 forged the check must have been one of two — either your clerk — 
 the man Checkley — or myself. It did not take you long, I ap- 
 prehend, to learn the truth. You would discover it through the 
 presentation of the notes.' " " This is a very crafty letter," said 
 Mr. Dering — " when he never presented any of the notes. Very 
 crafty." He resumed the letter — '* ' Enough said about that. I 
 dare say, however, that I shall some day or other — before you are 
 dead, I hope — return, in order to receive some expression of sor- 
 row from you if you can feel shame.' " " Certainly not," said 
 Mr. Dering, with decision. " ' Meantime, there is a service 
 which I must ask of you for the sake of my people. There 
 is no one else whom I can ask. It is the reason of ray writing 
 this letter. 
 
 " ' I came away with ten pounds — all I had in the world — in my 
 
THE IVORY GATE 
 
 27 
 
 pocket. Not seven hundred and twenty pounds, as you imagined 
 or suspected. Ten pounds. With that slender capital I got 
 across the Atlantic. I have now made twelve thousand pounds. 
 I made it in a very short time by extraordinary good luck,' " Mr. 
 Dering laid down the letter, and considered. Twelve thousand 
 pounds might be made — perhaps — by great good luck — with a 
 start of seven hundred and twenty, but hardly with ten, pounds. 
 A silver reef — or more likely a gambling-table or other crime. 
 It will be observed that his opinion of the young man was now 
 very bad indeed ; otherwise, he would have reflected that as none 
 of those notes had been presented, none of them had been used. 
 Even if an English ten-pound note is converted into American 
 dollars, the note comes home after a few years. " ' Extraordinary 
 good luck.'" He read the words again, and shook his head. 
 " ' Now, I want you to take charge of this money ; to say nothing 
 at all about it ; to keep the matter a profound secret ; to invest it, 
 or put it in some place of safety wliere confidential clerks with 
 a taste for forgery cannot get at it ; and to give it, on her twenty- 
 first birthday, to my sister Elsie. Do not tell her or anybody 
 from whom the money comes. Do not tell anybody that you 
 liave heard from me. When I came away she was the only one 
 of all my friends and people who declared that she believed in 
 me. I now strip myself of my whole possessions in order to 
 show this mark of my love and gratitude towards her. In send- 
 ing you this money I go back to the ten pounds with which I 
 started.' " 
 
 Mr. Dering laid the letter down. The words, somehow, seemed 
 to ring true.' Could the boy — after all? — He shook his head, 
 and went on, "'You will give Elsie this money on her twenty- 
 first birthday, to be settled on her for herself. — Athelstan 
 Arundel.' " 
 
 The letter was dated, but no address was given. The post- 
 mark was Idaho, which, as we all know, is in the far West. 
 
 He looked into the envelope. There fell out a paper, which 
 was a draft on a well-known London firm, payable to his order, 
 for twelve thousand and fifty pounds. 
 
 " Tlii^s very unbusiness-like," said Mr. Dering. " He puts all 
 this money in my hands, and vanishes. These are the ways he 
 learns, in America, I suppose. Puts the money blindly in my 
 hands, without giving me the means of communicating with him. 
 
28 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 Then he vanishes. How could he prove that it was a trust? 
 Well, if I could only think — but I cannot, the circumstantial 
 evidence is too strong — that the boy was innocent, I should be 
 very sorry for him. As for Elsie — she must be seventeen now, 
 about seventeen — she will get this windfall in four years or so. 
 It will be a wonderful lift for her. Perhaps it may make all the 
 difference in her future! If I could only think that the boy 
 was innocent — a clever lad, too, which makes it more probable. 
 But I can't — no, I can't. Either Checkloy or that boy — and 
 Checklcy couldn't do it. He couldn't if he were to try. What 
 did the boy do it for? And what did he do with those notes?" 
 
 CUArXER I 
 
 UP THE U I V E U 
 
 "Can you not be content, George ?" asked the girl sitting in 
 the stern. " I think that I want nothing more than this. If we 
 could only go on always, and always, and always, just like this." 
 She had taken off her right-hand glove, and she was dropping her 
 fingers into the cool waters of the river as the boat slowly drifted 
 down stream. "Always like this," she repeated softly — "with 
 you close to me, so that I could touch you if I wanted to — so 
 that I could feel safe, you know ; the sun behind us, warm and 
 splendid; such a sweet and fragrant air about us; trees and gar- 
 dens and fields and lanes on either side ; and both of us always 
 young, George, and — and nice to look at, and all the wprld be- 
 fore us." 
 
 She, for one, was not only young and nice to look upon, but 
 fair — very fair — to look upon. Even young persons of her own 
 sex, critics and specialists in the art and science of beauty — 
 rivals as well — had to confess that Elsie was rather pretty. I be- 
 lieve that few such critics ever go further. She was, to begin 
 with, of sufficient stature in a time when dumpy women are not 
 considered, and when height is a first necessity of comeliness ; she 
 paid, next, such obedience to the laws of figure as becomes the 
 age of twenty, and is, with stature, rigorously demanded at this 
 
THE IVORY GATE 29 
 
 end of the century. Iler cliief points, perhaps, lay in her eyes, 
 which were of a darker sliade of blue than is common. They 
 were soft, yet not languid; they were full of light; they were 
 large, and yet they could be quick. Her face was subject to 
 sudden changes that made it like a spring-time sky of shower, 
 rainbow, sunshine, and surprise. Her hair was of a very common 
 brown, neither dark nor light. She was attired, this evening, in 
 a simple gray frock of nun's cloth with a bunch of white roses on 
 her left shoulder. 
 
 When one says that her companion was a young man, nearly 
 all is said, because the young men of the present day are surpris- 
 ingly alike. Thousands of young men can be found like George 
 Auslin. They are all excellent fellows, of much higher principles, 
 in some things, than their fathers before them ; not remarkably 
 intellectual, to judge by their school record, yet with intelligence 
 and application enough to get through their examinations moder- 
 ately — fur the most part they do pass them with moderate suc- 
 cess ; they are not ambitious of obtaining any of the great prizes 
 — which, indeed, they know to be out of their reach — but they 
 always set before themselves and keep always well in sight the ideal 
 suburban villa and the wife ; they always work steadily, if not fever- 
 ishly, with the view of securing these two blessings; they always 
 hope to secure an income that will enable them to maintain that 
 wife — with a possible following of babies — in silk attire (for 
 Sundays) — in ease as to household allowance, and in such freedom 
 of general expenditure as may enable her to stand up among her 
 neighbors in church without a blush. 
 
 The world is quite full of such men ; they form the rank and 
 file, the legionaries; their opinion on the subject of labor is 
 purely Scriptural — namely, that it is a curse ; they do not partic- 
 ularly love any kind of work ; they would prefer, if they had 
 the choice, to do nothing at all ; when they get their summer 
 holiday they do nothing all day long, with zeal ; they give no 
 more thought to their work than is sufficient for the bread- win- 
 ning; whether they are professional men or trading men their 
 view of professional work is solely that it brings in the money. 
 If such a young man becomes a clerk he never tries to learn any 
 more after he has left school ; he accepts the position — a clerk 
 and a servant he is, a clerk and a servant he will remain. If he is 
 engaged in trade he gives just so much attention to his business as 
 
30 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 will keep his connection together — that and no more ; others may 
 soar; others may become universal providers; for his part he is 
 contented with liis shop and his Sunday feast. If he becomes a 
 professional man he learns no more of his science than is wanted 
 every day. The lawyer passes his examination and puts away 
 his law-books — he knows enough for professional purposes ; the 
 doctor reads no more ; he knows enough for the ordinary needs of 
 the G. P. ; the school-master lays aside his books, scholarship and 
 science interest him no longer — he has learned enough to teach his 
 boys ; the curate makes no further research into the history and 
 foundations of his Church — he has learned enough. In a word, 
 the average young man is without ambition ; he is inclined to be 
 lazy; he loves the present far more than the future — indeed, all 
 his ciders unite in letting him know that his own is quite the 
 most enviable time of life; he likes to enjoy whatever he can 
 afford, so that he very often eats up all his wages ; he does not 
 read too much ; he does not think too much ; he does not vex his 
 soul too much with the problems of life — greater problems or 
 lesser problems, he accepts the teaching of his newspaper, and 
 agrees with the words and the wisdom of yesterday's leading 
 article; he accepts religion, politics, morals, social systems, con- 
 stitutions, things present, past, and future, as if — which is per- 
 fectly true — he had nothing to do with them, and could not help 
 it whatever was to happen. lie never wants to alter anything; 
 he believes that all British institutions are built on the solid rock 
 and fashioned out of the hardest granite — any exceptions to this 
 rule, he thinks, have come straight down from heaven. 
 
 Observe, if you please, that this kind of young man confers 
 the greatest possible benefits upon the country. He ought to be 
 made a baronet at least if honors meant anything. His apparent 
 sluo'o'ishness keeps us from the constant changes which trouble 
 some nations ; his apparent lack of ambition makes it easy for 
 the restless spirits to rise ; were the country full of aspiring 
 young men we should be forever having civil wars, revolutions, 
 social upsydowns, new experiments, new religions, new govern- 
 ments, new divisions of property, every year. Again, it is this 
 young man who, by his steady attention to business — his readiness 
 to work as much as is wanted but no more, his disregard of 
 theories and speculations, his tenacity, his honesty, his loyalty, 
 his courage, and his stout heart — has built up the British name so 
 
THE IVORY GATE 31 
 
 that there has never been any name like unto it, nor ever will be 
 again, for these solid and substantial virtues. 
 
 Bcinfy, then, just a young man of the time, George Austin was 
 naturally like most young men in dress, in appearance, in lan- 
 guage, and in manners. And had it not been for the strange ex- 
 perience which he was to undergo, he would have remained to 
 this day just like other young men. He was better looking than 
 most, having a good figure, a well-shaped head, and regular feat- 
 ures, with eves rather fuller of possibilities than falls to the lot 
 of most young men. In short, a good-looking fellow, showing 
 a capability for something or other in his firm mouth, ample 
 cheek, strong chin, and resolute carriage. He would have made 
 a fine soldier, but perhaps an unsuccessful general for want of 
 that quality which in poets is called genius. In the same way he 
 would in a lower walk keep a business together, but would fail to 
 achieve a great fortune for lack of the same quality. As for his 
 age, he was seven-and-twenty. 
 
 " Always like this," the girl went on — " always floating down 
 the stream under a summer sky ; always sweet looks and love 
 and youth. It seems as if we could never be unhappy, never be 
 worried, never want anything, on such an evening as this." She 
 turned, and looked up the stream on which lay the glory of the 
 sinking sun — she sighed. " It is good to come out on such an 
 evening only to have a brief dream of what might be. When 
 will the world give up their foolish quarrels, and join together to 
 make the lives of all happy ?" 
 
 They had been talking, among other things, of Socialism, all 
 out of yesterday's leading article. 
 
 " When there is enough of good things to go round ; when we 
 invent a way to make all men ready to do their share as well as 
 to devour it ; when we find out how to make everybody contented 
 with his share." 
 
 Elsie shook her head, which was filled with vague ideas — the 
 ideas of a restless and a doubting time. Then she went back to 
 her original proposition. " Always like this, George — and never 
 to get tired of it. Time to stand still — nothing to change ; never 
 to get tired of it ; never to want anything else. That is heaven, 
 I suppose." 
 
 " We are on earth, Elsie," said her lover, " and on earth 
 everything changes. If we were to go on drifting down the 
 
32 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 stream we should get into trouble over the weir. To capsize 
 would be a pretty interruption to your heaven, wouldn't it? 
 And the sun will soon be setting, and the river will get misty, 
 and the banks will grow ugly. But the chief thing is that we 
 shall both grow ©Id. And there is such a lot that we have got 
 to do before we grow old." 
 
 " Everything has to be done," said Elsie. " I suppose we have 
 done nothing yet." 
 
 " We have got to get married, for the first thing, before wc 
 grow old." 
 
 " Couldn't you love an old woman, George ?'' 
 
 "Not so well, Elsie," her lover replied, truthfully. "At least, 
 I think not. And oh ! Elsie, whenever I do think of the future 
 my heart goes down into my boots, for the prospect grows darker 
 and darker." 
 
 Elsie sighed. She knew already, too well, what was in his 
 mind. Plenty of girls, in these days, know the familiar tale. 
 
 "Darker every day," he repeated. "They keep on crowding 
 into the profession by multitudes, as if there was room for any 
 number. They don't understand that, what with the decay of the 
 landed interest and of the country towns, and the cutting down 
 of the costs, and the work that goes to accountants, there isn't 
 half the business to do that there was. There don't seem any 
 partnerships to be had for love or money, because the few people 
 who have got a good thing have got no more than enough for 
 themselves. It is no use for the young fellows to start by them- 
 selves ; so they have got to take whatever they can get, and they 
 are glad to get even a hundred a year to begin with — and I am 
 seven-and-tvventy, Elsie, and I'm drawing two hundred pounds a 
 year." 
 
 " Patience, George ; something will turn up. You will find a 
 partnership somewhere." 
 
 " My child, you might as well tell Robinson Crusoe that a 
 boiled leg of mutton, with caper-sauce, is going to turn up on his 
 desert island. We must not hope for the impossible. I ought 
 to be grateful, I suppose, considering what other men are doing. 
 I am planted in a good, solid house. It won't run away, so long 
 as the old man lives." 
 
 " And after that ?" 
 
 " Well, Mr. Dering is seventy-five. But he will not die yet, 
 
THE IVORY GATE 33 
 
 not for a long time to come. He is made of granite ; he'is never 
 ill ; he never takes a holiday ; he works harder than any of his 
 people, and he keeps longer hours. To be sure, if he were to 
 die without taking a partner — well, in that case, there would be 
 an end of everything, I suppose. Elsie, here's the position." 
 She knew it already, too well — but it pleased them both to 
 parade the facts as if they were something quite novel. " Let ns 
 face it " — they were always facing it : "I am managing clerk 
 to Dcring »k Son ; I get two hundred pounds a year; I have no 
 prospect of anything better; I am bound all my life to be a ser- 
 vant. Elsie, it is not a brilliant prospect. I found out at school 
 that it was best not to be too ambitious. But a servant all my 
 life— I confess that did not enter into my head. If I knew any 
 other trade I would cut the whole business. If there was any 
 mortal tiling in the whole world by which I could keep myself I 
 would try it. But there's nothing. I have but one trade. I can't 
 write novels or leading articles; I can't play on any instrument; 
 I can't paint or act or sing or anything — I am only a solicitor — 
 that's all. Only a solicitor who can't get on— a clerk, Elsie. No 
 wonder her ladyship turns up her nose— a clerk." He leaned his 
 chin upon his hands and laughed the conventional laugh of the 
 young man down on his luck. 
 
 " Poor George !" she sighed. In such a case there are only 
 two words of consolation. One may say, " Poor George !" or one 
 may say, " Patience !" There is nothing else to say. Elsie first 
 tried one method and then the other, as a doctor tries first one 
 remedy and then another when Nature sulks and refuses to get 
 
 well. 
 
 " And," he went on, piling up the misery, " I am in love with 
 the sweetest girl in the whole world, and she is in love with 
 
 me !" 
 
 " Poor George !" she repeated, with a smile. " That is, indeed, 
 a dreadful misfortune." 
 
 " I am wasting your youth, Elsie, as well as my own." 
 
 "If it is wasted for your sake, George, it is well spent. Some 
 day, perhaps — " 
 
 " No — no — not some day — immediately — at once." The young 
 man changed color, and his eyes sparkled. It was not the first 
 time that^he had advanced this revolutionary proposal. " Let 
 prudence go to the — ' 
 2** 
 
84 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 *' Not there, George — oh ! not there. To the winds, perhaps, 
 or to that famous city of Palestine. But not there. Wliy, we 
 might never get her back again — poor Prudence! And we shall 
 be sure to want her all our lives — very badly. We will, if you 
 please, ask her to go for a short voyage for the benefit of her 
 health. We will give her six months' leave of absence, but we 
 shall want her services again after her holiday, if you think we 
 can do without her for so long." 
 
 " For a whole twelvemonth, Elsie. Let us brave everything, 
 get married at once, live in a garret, and have a splendid time — 
 for a whole twelvemonth — on my two hundred pounds." 
 
 "And am I to give up my painting?" 
 
 " Well, dear, you know you have not yet had a commission 
 from anybody." 
 
 " llow can you say so, George? I have painted you — and my 
 sister — and my mother — and your sisters. I am sure that no 
 studio, even of an R. A., could make a braver show of work. Well, 
 I will give it up — until Prudence returns. Is it to be a garret? 
 — a real garret, with sloping walls, where you can only stand up- 
 right in the middle?" 
 
 " We call it a garret. It will take the form, I suppose, of a 
 tiny house in a cheap quarter. It will have six rooms, a garden 
 in front and a garden behind. The rent will be thirty pounds. 
 For a whole twelvemonth it will be a real slice of Eden, Elsie, 
 and you shall be Eve." 
 
 Elsie laughed. "It will be great fun. We will make the Eden 
 last longer than a twelvemonth. I dare say I shall like it. Of 
 course I shall have to do everythmg for myself. To clean the 
 doorsteps will be equivalent to taking exercise in the fresh air; to 
 sweep the floors will be a kind of afternoon dance or a game of 
 lawn-tennis; to wash up the cups and saucers will be only a 
 change of amusement. There is one thing, George — one thing" 
 — she became very serious — " I suppose you never — did you ever 
 witness the scouring of a frying-pan? I don't think I could do 
 that. And did you ever see beefsteaks before they are cooked? 
 They suggest the animal in the most terrible way. I don't really 
 think I could handle those bleeding lumps." 
 
 "You sha'n't touch a frying-pan, and we will have nothing 
 roasted or fried. We will live on cold Australian beef, eaten out 
 of its native tin ; the potatoes shall be boiled in their skins. 
 
THE IVORY GATE 35 
 
 And perhaps — I don't know — with two hundred pounds a year 
 we could atford a servant — a very little one — just a girl warranted 
 not to cat too ninch." 
 
 "What shall we do when our clothes are worn out?" 
 
 "The little maid shall make some more for you, I suppose. 
 We certainly shall not be able to buy new tilings — not nice 
 things, that is — and you must have nice things, mustn't you?" 
 
 " I do like things to be nice," she replied, smoothing her dainty 
 skirts with her dainty hand. "George, where shall we find this 
 house — formerly Eve's own country villa before she — resigned her 
 tenancy, you know ?" 
 
 "There are places in London where whole streets are filled with 
 families living on a hundred and fifty pounds a year. Checkley 
 — the chief's private clerk — lives in such a place; he told me so 
 himself. He says there is nobody in his parish who has got a 
 bigger income than himself; he's a little king among them be- 
 cause he gets four hundred pounds a year, besides what he has 
 saved — which is enormous piles, Elsie, my dear, we must give 
 up our present surroundings, and take up with gentility in its 
 cheapest form." 
 
 "Can we not go on living among our own friends?" 
 
 George shook his head wisely. " Impossible. Friendship 
 means equality of income. You can't live with people unless you 
 do as they do. People of the same means* naturally live together. 
 Next door to Lady Dering is another rich madam, not a clerk's 
 wife. For my own part, I shall sell my dress clothes for what they 
 will fetch — you can exchange your evening things for morning 
 things. That won't matter much. Who cares where we live, or 
 bow we live, so that we live together? What do you sav, Elsie, 
 dear?" 
 
 "The garret I don't mind — nor the doorsteps — and since you 
 sec your way out of the difficulty of the frying-pan — " 
 
 " You will be of age next week, when you can please yourself." 
 
 " Hilda gives me no peace or rest. She says there can be no 
 happiness without money. She has persuaded my mother that 
 1 am going to certain starvation. She promises the most splendid 
 establishment if I will only be guided by her." 
 
 "And marry a man fifty years older than yourself, with one 
 foot already well in — " 
 
 " She says she has always been perfectly happy. Well, George, 
 
36 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 you know all that. Next Wednesday, which is my birthday, I 
 am to have a c;rand talk with my guardian. My mother hopes 
 that he will bring me to my senses. Hilda says that she trusts 
 entirely to Mr. Bering's good sense. I shall arm myself with all 
 my obstinacy. Perhaps, George — who knows? — I may persuade 
 him to advance your salary." 
 
 " No, Elsie. Not even you would persuade Mr. Dering to give 
 a managing clerk more than two hundred pounds a year. But 
 don't forget any piece of that armor, child. The breastplate — 
 there was a poor damsel once who forgot that, and was caught by 
 an appeal to her heart; nor the helmet — another poor damsel was 
 once caught by an appeal to her reason after forgetting the hel- 
 met. The shield, of course, you will not forget; and for weap- 
 ons, my dear, take your sweet eyes and your lovely face and your 
 winning voice, and I swear that you will subdue even Mr. Dering 
 himself — that hardened old parchment." 
 
 This was the kind of talk which these lovers held together 
 whenever they met. George was poor — the son of a clergyman, 
 whose power of advancing him ceased when he had paid the fees 
 for admission. He was only a clerk, and he saw no chance of be- 
 ing anything else but a clerk. Elsie could bring nothing to the 
 family nest, unless her mother made her an allowance. Of this 
 there could be no hope. The engagement was considered de- 
 plorable; marriage, under the circumstances, simple madness. 
 And Hilda had done so well for herself, and could do so much 
 for a sister so pretty, so bright as Elsie! Oh ! she was throwing 
 away all her chances. Did one ever hear of anything so lament- 
 able? No regard for the family ; no ambition ; no sense of what 
 a girl owes to herself ; no recognition or gratitude for the gift of 
 good looks — as if beauty were given for the mere purpose of 
 pleasing a penniless lover! And to go and throw herself away 
 upon a twopenny lawyer's clerk ! 
 
 "George," she said, seriously, "I have thought it all out. If 
 you really mean it — if you really can face poverty — mind, it is 
 harder — much — for a man than for a woman — " 
 
 " I can face everything — with you, Elsie," replied the lover. 
 Would he have been a lover worth having if he had not made 
 that answer? And, indeed, he meant it, as every lover should. 
 
 " Then — George — what in the whole world is there for me 
 unless I can make my dear boy happy ? I will marry you as soon 
 
THE IVORY GATE 37 
 
 as you please — rich or poor, for belter or worse — whatever they 
 may say at home. "Will tiiat do for you, George?" 
 
 Since man is so constituted that his happiness wholly depends 
 upon the devotion of a woman, I believe that no dear boy ever 
 had a better chance of happiness than George Austin — only a 
 managing clerk — with his Elsie. And so this history begins 
 where many end, with an engagement. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 IN THE OFFICE 
 
 " I'll take in your ladyship's name. There is no one with him 
 at this moment. Oh, yes, my lady," Checklcy smiled superior. 
 "We are always busy. We have been busy in this office for fifty 
 years and more. But I am sure Iie'll see you. Take a chair, my 
 lady. Allow me." 
 
 Checkley, the old clerk, had other and younger clerks with 
 him ; but lie kept in his own hands the duty or the privilege of 
 going to the private room of the chief. Ue was sixty-seven when 
 last we saw him. Therefore, he was now seventy-five — a little 
 more bent in the shoulders, a little more feeble, otherwise unal- 
 tered. In age we either shrivel or we swell. Those live the 
 longest who shrivel ; and those who shrivel presently reach a 
 point when they cease to shrink any more till they reach the 
 ninetieth year. Checkley was bowed and bent and lean ; his face 
 was lined multitudinously ; his cheeks were shrunken, but not 
 more so than eight years before. He wrote down the name of 
 the caller — Lady Dering — on a square piece of paper, and opened 
 the door with an affectation of extreme care not to disturb the 
 chief's nerves by a sharp turn of the handle, stepped in as if it 
 were most important that no one should be able to peep into the 
 room, and closed the door softly behind iiim. Immediately he 
 reappeared, and held the door wide open, inviting the lady to step 
 in. She was young, of good stature and figure, extremely hand- 
 some in face — of what is called the classical type, and very richly 
 dressed. Her carriage might have been seen, on looking out of 
 the window, waiting in the square. 
 
38 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 " Lady Derins^, sir," said Checkley. Then he swiftly vanished, 
 closing the door softly behind him. 
 
 "I am glad to see you, Hilda." The old lawyer rose, tall and 
 commanding, and bowed, offering his hand with a stately and 
 old-fashioned courtesy which made ladies condone his unmarried 
 condition. "Why have you called this morning? You are not 
 come on any business, I trust. Business with ladies who have 
 wealthy husbands generally means trouble of some kind. You 
 arc not, for instance, in debt witii your dress-maker?" 
 
 "No — no. Sir Samuel does not allow of any difficulties or 
 awkwardness of that kind. It is not about myself that I am 
 here, but about my sister Elsie." 
 
 "Yes? What about her? Sit down, and let me hear." 
 
 " Wx'll, you know, Elsie lias always been a trouble to us on 
 account of her headstrong and wilful ways. She will not look on 
 things from a reasonable point of view. You know that my 
 mother is not rich, as I have learned to consider rich, though, of 
 course, she has enough for a simple life and a man-servant and a 
 one-horse brougham. Do you know," she added pensively, " I 
 have often found it difficult not to repine at a Providence which 
 removes a father when he was beginning so well, and actually on 
 the high-road to a great fortune." 
 
 " It is certainly difficult to understand the wisdom of these 
 disappointments and disasters. We must accept, Hilda, what we 
 cannot escape or explain." 
 
 "Yes — and my mother had nothing but a poor thousand a 
 year! — though I am sure that she has greatly bettered her cir- 
 cumstances by lier transactions in the City. Well — I have done 
 all I can, by precept and by example, to turn my sister's mind 
 into the right direction. Mr. Dering" — by long habit Hilda still 
 called her guardian, now her brother-in-law, by his surname — 
 " you would hardly believe the folly that Elsie talks about 
 money." 
 
 " Perhaps because she has none. Those who have no property 
 do not understand it. Young people do not know what it means 
 or what it commands. And whether they have it or not young 
 people do not know what the acquisition of property means — the 
 industry, the watchfulness, the carefulness, the self-denial. So 
 Elsie talks folly about money — well, well" — he smiled indulg- 
 ently — " we shall see." 
 
THE IVORV GATE 
 
 39 
 
 " It is not only that she talks, but she acts. Mr. Dering, we 
 are in despair about her. You know the Rodings T' 
 
 " Roding Brothers ? Everybody knows Roding ]3rothcrs." 
 "Al'i-y Roding, the eldest son of the senior partner— enor- 
 mously'' rich— is gone— quite gone— foolish about Elsie. He has 
 been at me a dozen times about her. He has called at the house 
 to see her. lie cares nothing at all about her having no money. 
 She refuses even to hear his name mentioned. Between our- 
 selves, he has not been, I believe, a very steady young man ; but, 
 of course, he would settle down ; we could entirely trust to a 
 wife's influence in that respect; the past could easily be forgotten 
 —in fact, Elsie need never know it; and the position would be 
 splendid. Even mine would not compare with it." 
 " Why does she object to the man ?" 
 
 "Says he is an ugly little snob. There is a becoming spirit for 
 a girl to receive so rich a lover! But that is not all. She might 
 ha°e him if she chose, snob or not, but she prefers one of your 
 clerks— actually, Mr. Dering, one of your clerks." 
 
 " I have learned something of this from your mother. She is 
 
 engaged, I am told, to young Austin, one of my managing clerks." 
 
 " Whose income is two hundred pounds a year. Oh ! think of 
 
 it! She refuses a man with ten thousand a year at the very least, 
 
 and wants to marry a man with two hundred." 
 
 " I suppose they do not propose to marry on this— this pit- 
 tance — this two hundred a year?" 
 
 " They arc engaged ; she refuses to break it off ; he has no 
 money to buy a partnership ; he must, therefore, continue a clerk 
 on two hundred." 
 
 "Managing clerks get more, sometimes; but, to be sure, the 
 position is not good, and the income must always be small." 
 
 " My mother will not allow the man in the house. Elsie goes 
 out to meet him ; oh 1 it is most irregular. I should be ashamed 
 for Sir Samuel to know it. She actually goes out of the house 
 every evening, and they walk about the square garden or in the 
 Park till dark. It is exactly like a housemaid going out to meet 
 her young man." 
 
 " It does seem an unusual course, but I am no judge of what 
 is becoming to a young lady." 
 
 t»^\'ell — she needn't go on like a housemaid," said her sister. 
 " Of course the position of things at home is strained, and I don't 
 
40 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 know what may happen at any moment. Elsie says tliat she 
 shall be twenty-one next week, and that she means to act on her 
 own judgment. She even talks of setting up a studio somewhere, 
 and painting portraits for money. That is a pleasant thing for 
 me to contemplate — my own sister earning her own living by 
 painting 1" 
 
 "How do you think I can interfere in the matter? Lovers' 
 quarrels or lovers' difficulties are not made or settled in this 
 room." 
 
 " Mr. Dcring, there is no one in the world of wliom she is 
 afraid except yourself. There is no one of whose opinion she 
 thinks so much. Will you see her? Will you talk with her? 
 Will you admonish her?" 
 
 " Why, Hilda, it so happens that I have already invited her to 
 call upon me on her birthday, when she ceases to be my ward. 
 I will talk to her if you please. Perhaps you may be satisfied 
 with the result of my conversation." 
 
 " I shall— I am sure I shall." 
 
 " Let me understand. You desire that your sister shall marry 
 a man who, if he is not already rich, should be at least on the 
 high-road to wealth. You cannot force her to accept even the 
 richest young man in London unless she likes him, can you?" 
 
 *' No, certainly not. And we can hardly expect her to marry, 
 as I did myself, a man whose wealth is already established. Un- 
 less she would take Algy Roding." 
 
 " Very good. But he must have a certain income, so as to 
 insure the means of an establishment conducted at a certain 
 level?" 
 
 " Yes. She need not live in Palace Gardens, but she ought to 
 be able to live — say in Pembridge Square." 
 
 " Quite so. I suppose with an income of fifteen hundred or 
 so to begin with? If I make her understand that, you will be 
 satisfied ?" 
 
 " Perfectly. My dear Mr. Dering, I really believe you have 
 got the very young man up your sleeve. But how will you per- 
 suade her to give up the present intruder?" 
 
 *' I promise nothing, Hilda — I promise nothing. I will do my 
 best, however." 
 
 Hilda rose, and swept back her dress. 
 
 "I feel an immense sense of relief," she said. "The dear 
 
THE IVORV GATE 
 
 41 
 
 child's happiness is all I desire. Perhaps if you were to dismiss 
 the yoiini,' man immediHtely, with ignominy, and were to refuse 
 him 'a wrrtten character on the ground of trying to win the affec- 
 tions of a girl infinitely above him in station, it might produce a 
 good effect on Elsie— showing what you think of it — as well as 
 an excellent lesson for himself and his friends. There is no 
 romance about a cast-off clerk. Will you think of this, Mr. 
 Dering? The mere threat of such a thing might make him 
 ready to give her up; and it might make her inclined, for his 
 own sake, to send him about his business." 
 
 " I will think of it, Hilda. By the way, will you and my 
 brother dine with me on Monday, unless you are engaged? We 
 can talk over tliis little affair then at leisure." 
 
 " With pleasure. We are only engaged for the evening. Now 
 I won't keep you any longer. Good-by." 
 
 She walked away, smiling graciously on the clerks in the outer 
 cflSce, and descended the stairs to the carriage, which waited 
 below. 
 
 Mr. Dering returned to his papers. He was not changed in 
 the eight years since the stormy interview with this young lady's 
 brother— his small whiskers were a little whiter; his iron-gray 
 hair was unchanged ; his lips were as firm and his nostrils as 
 sharp, his eyes as keen as then. 
 
 The room looked out pleasantly upon the garden of New 
 Square, where the sunshine lay warm upon the trees with their 
 early summer leaves. Sunshine or rain, all the year round, the 
 solicitor sat in his high-backed chair before his great table. lie 
 sat there this morning, working steadily until he had got through 
 what he was about. Then he looked at his watch. It was past 
 two o'clock. He touched a bell on the table, and his old clerk 
 came in. 
 
 Though he was the same age as his master, Checkley looked a 
 great deal older. He was bald, save for a small white patch over 
 each ear. He was bent, and his hands trembkJ. His expression 
 was sharp, foxy, and suspicious. He stood in the unmistakable 
 attitude of a servant, hands hanging in readiness, head a little bent. 
 " The clerks are all gone, I suppose ?" said Mr. Dering. 
 " All gone. All they think about when they come in the 
 morning is how soon they will get away. As for any pride in 
 their work, they haven't got it." 
 
42 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 " Let tbem go. Cbcckloy, I have wanted to speak to you for 
 some time." 
 
 "Anything the matter?" The old clerk spoke with the famil- 
 iarity of long service, which permits the expression of opinions. 
 
 " The time has come, Checkley, when we must make a change." 
 
 "A change? Why, I do my work as well as ever I did — 
 better than any of the yonnger men. A change?" 
 
 "The change will not affect you." 
 
 "It must be for you, then. Surely you're never going to 
 retire !" 
 
 "No — I mean to hold on as long as I can. That will only be 
 for a year or two at most. I am seventy-five, Checkley," 
 
 "What of that? So am I. You don't find me grumbling 
 about my work, do you ? Besides, you eat hearty. Your health 
 is good." 
 
 "Yes, my health is good. But I am troubled of late, Check- 
 ley — I am troubled about my memory." 
 
 " So is many a younger man," returned the clerk stoutly. 
 
 "Sometimes I cannot remember in the morning what I was 
 doing the evening before." 
 
 "That's nothing — nothing at all." 
 
 " Yesterday I looked at my watch, and found that I had been 
 unconscious for three hours." 
 
 "You were asleep. I came in, and saw you sound asleep." 
 It was not true, but the clerk's intentions were good. 
 
 "To go asleep in the morning argues a certain decay of 
 strength. Yet I believe that I get through the work as well as 
 ever. The clients do not drop off, Checkley ? There is no sign 
 of mistrust — eh? No suspicion of failing powers?" 
 
 " They think more of you than ever." 
 
 " I believe they do, Checkley." 
 
 " Everybody says you are the top of the profession." 
 
 "I believe I am, Checkley — I believe I am. Certainly, I am 
 the oldest. Nevertheless, seventy-five is a great age to be con- 
 tinuing work. Things can't last much longer." 
 
 " Some men go on to eighty, and even ninety." 
 
 " A few — a few only," the lawyer sighed. " One may hope, but 
 must not build upon the chance of such merciful prolongation. 
 The older I grow, Checkley, the more I enjoy life, especially the 
 only thing that has ever made life happy for me — this work. I 
 
THE IVORY GATE 43 
 
 cling to it " — he spread bis hands over the papers — " I cling to it. 
 I cannot bear to think of leaving it." 
 
 " That — and your savings," echoed the clerk. 
 
 "It seems as if I should be content to go on for a lumdred 
 years more at the work of which I am never tired. And I must 
 leave it before long — in a year — two years — who knows? Life 
 is miserably short — one has no time for half the things one 
 would like to do. Well " — he heaved a deep sigh — " let us work 
 while we can. However, it is better to climb down than to be 
 pulled down or shot down. I am going to make preparations, 
 Checklcy, for the end." 
 
 "What preparations? You're not going to send for the min- 
 ister, are you?" 
 
 " No. Not that kind of preparation. Nor for the doctor 
 either. Nor for a lawyer to make my will. All those things 
 are duly attended to. I have resolved, Ciicckley, upon taking a 
 partner." 
 
 " Vou take a partner? You^ At your time of life?" 
 
 " I am going to take a partner. And you are the first person 
 who has been told of my intention. Keep it a secret for the 
 moment." 
 
 "Take a partner? Divide your beautiful income by two?" 
 
 " Yes, Checkley. I am going to give a share in that beautiful 
 income to a young man." 
 
 " What can a partner do for you that I can't do ? Don't I 
 know the whole of the office work? Is there any partner in the 
 world who can draw up a conveyance better than me?" 
 
 "You are very useful, Checkley, as you always have been. 
 But you arc not a partner, and you never can be." 
 
 " I know that very well. But what's the good of a partner 
 at all ?" 
 
 " If I have a partner he will have his own room, and he won't 
 interfere with you. There's no occasion for you to be jealous." 
 
 " As for jealous — well — after more than si.xty years' work in 
 this office it would seem hard to be turned out by some new- 
 comer. But what I say is — what is the good of a partner?" 
 
 "The chief good is that the house will be carried on. It is 
 a hundred and twenty years old. I confess I do not like the 
 thought of its coming to an end when I disappear. That will 
 be to me the most important advantage to be gained by taking a 
 
44 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 partner. The next advantai^e will be that I can turn over to him 
 a quantity of work. And, thirdly, he will bring young blood and 
 new connections. My mind is quite made up, Checkley. I am 
 going to take a partner." 
 
 " Have you found one yet ?" 
 
 " I have. But I am not going to tell you who he is till the 
 right time comes." 
 
 Checkley grumbled inaudibly. 
 
 "If I had been less busy," Mr. Bering went on, "I might 
 have married, and had sons of my own to put into the house. 
 But somehow, being very much occupied always, and never 
 thinking about such things, I let the time pass by. I was never, 
 even as a young man, greatly attracted to love or to young wom- 
 en. Their charms, such as they are, seem to mo to depend upon 
 nothing but a single garment." 
 
 " Take away their frocks," said Checkley, " and what are they ? 
 All alike — all alike — I've been married myself — women are ex- 
 pensive frauds." 
 
 " Well — things being as they are, Checkley, I am going to take 
 a partner." 
 
 " You'll do as you like," said bis servant. " Mark my words, 
 however — you've got ten years more of work in you yet, and all 
 through these ten years you'll regret having a partner. Out of 
 every hundred pounds his share will have to come. Think of 
 that!" 
 
 " It is eight years, I remember," Mr. Bering went on, " since 
 first I thought of taking a partner. Eight years — and for much 
 the same reason as now. I found my memory going. There 
 were gaps in it — days, or bits of days — which I could not recol- 
 lect. I was greatly terrified. The man whom I first thought of 
 for partner was that young Arundel, now — " 
 
 " AVho forged your name. Lucky you didn't have him." 
 
 " ^Yho ran away in a rage because certain circumstances 
 seemed to connect him with the crime." 
 
 "Seemed? Did connect him." 
 
 "Then the symptoms disappeared. Now they have returned, 
 as I told you. I have always regretted the loss of young Arun- 
 del. He was clever and a quick worker." 
 
 " He was a forger," said the clerk stoutly. " Is there anything 
 more I can do for vou V 
 
THE IVORY GATE 46 
 
 " Nothing ; tliank you." 
 
 " Then I'll go. On Saturday afternoon I collect my little rents. 
 Not much in your way of thinking — a good deal to me. I hope 
 you'll like your partner when you do get him. I hope I sha'n't 
 live to see hiui the master here and you knuckling under. I hope 
 I sha'n't see him driving away the clients." 
 
 " I hope you will not see any of these distressing consequences, 
 Checkley. Good-day." 
 
 The old clerk went away, shutting the outer door after him. 
 Then the lawyer was the sole occupant of the rooms, lie was 
 also the sole occupant of the whole liouse, and perhaps of the 
 whole square. It was three o'clock. 
 
 He sat leaning back in his chair, looking through the open 
 window upon the trees in the square garden. Presently there 
 fell upon his face a curious change. It was as if the whole of the 
 intelligence was taken out of it ; his eyes gazed steadily into 
 space, with no expression whatever in them ; liis lips slightly 
 parted ; his head fell back ; the soul and spirit of the man had 
 gone out of him, leaving a machine which breathed. 
 
 The watch in his pocket ticked audibly — there was no other 
 sound in the room ; the old man sat quite motionless. 
 
 Four o'clock struck from the clock tower in the high court of 
 justice, from St. Clement's Church, from Westminster, from half 
 a dozen clocks which could be heard in the quiet of the Saturday 
 afternoon. But Mr. Dcriiig heard nothing. 
 
 Still he sat in his place with idle hands, and a face like a mask 
 for lack of thought. 
 
 The clocks struck five. 
 
 lie neither moved nor spoke. 
 
 The clocks struck six — seven- — eight. 
 
 The shades of evening began to gather in the corners of the 
 room as the sun sank lower towards his setting. At twilight in 
 the summer there is never anybody to fear — man, woman, or cat 
 — in the chambers, and at that hour the mice come out. They 
 do not cat parchment or foolscap or red tape, but they eat the 
 luncheon crumbs. Mr. Checkley, for instance, always brought his 
 dinner in a paper parcel in his coat-tail pocket, and ate it when 
 so disposed, sprinkling crumbs lavishly — the only lavishment of 
 which he was ever guilty — on the floor. Junior clerks brought 
 buns and biscuits, or even apples, which they devoured furtively. 
 
46 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 Mr. Deling liimsclf took his luncheon in liis own room, leaving 
 crumbs. There was plenty for a small colony of mice. They 
 came out, therefore, as usual ; they stopped at sight of a man, an 
 unwonted man, in a chair. But he moved not; he was asleep; 
 he was dead ; they ran without fear all about the rooms. 
 
 It was past nine, when the chambers were as dark as at this sea- 
 son of the year they ever are, that Mr. Dering returned to con- 
 sciousness. 
 
 He sat up, staring about him. The room was dark. He looked 
 at his watch. Half-past nine. " What is this ?" he asked. " Have 
 I been asleep for seven hours? Seven hours? I was not asleep 
 when Chccklcy went away. Why did I fall asleep ? I feel as if 
 1 had been somewhere — doing something. What? I cannot re- 
 member. This strange sensation comes oftcner. It is time tiiat 
 I should take a partner before something worse happens. I am 
 old — I am old." He rose, and walked across the room erect and 
 with firm step. " I am old and worn-out and spent. Time to 
 give up the keys — old and spent." 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE SELECT CIKCLE 
 
 At lialf-past nine on this Saturday evening the parlor of the 
 Salutation Inn, High Holborn, contained most of its customary 
 visitors. They came every evening at eight ; they sat till eleven, 
 drinking and talking. In former days every tavern of repute 
 kept sucli a room for the select circle — a club, or society, of hab- 
 itues, who met every evening for a pipe and a cheerful glass. In 
 this way all respectable burgesses, down to fifty years ago, spent 
 their evenings. Strangers might enter the i-oom, but they were 
 made to feel that they were there on sufferance ; they were re- 
 ceived with distance and suspicion. Most of the regular visitors 
 knew each other; when they did not, it was tavern politeness not 
 to ask. A case is on record of four cronies, who used the Cock in 
 Fleet Street for thirty years, no one of them knowing either the name 
 or the trade of the other three — yet when one died the other three 
 pined away. This good old custom is now decayed. The respect- 
 
47 
 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 able burgess stays at homo, ^vbich is much more n.onotonous. 
 Yet tbcve may still be found a parlor hero and there ^vlth a soci- 
 etv meeting every evening all the year round. 
 
 The parlor of the Salutation was a good-sized room, wainscoted 
 and provided with a sanded floor. It was furnished with a dozen 
 ^.ooden chairs and three small round tables, the chairs disposed in 
 a circle so as to prevent corners or cliques in conversation^ Sacred 
 is Uie fraternit' liberty, and equality of the parlor. The room 
 ^vas low, and in the evenings always hot with its two flaming, un- 
 protected cas-iets; the window was never opened, except in the 
 Clt and\he;e was always present a rich perfume of tobacco^ 
 beer, and spirits, both that anciently generated and that of the 
 
 day's creation. <■ i „ 
 
 Amonc. the frequenters -who were, it must be confessed a 
 somewhal faded or decayed company-was to put him first be- 
 cause he was the richest, the great Mr. Robert He Iyer, of Bar- 
 nard's Inn, usurer or money-lender. Nobody quite likes the pro- 
 fession-one knows not why. Great fortunes have been made n 
 t ; the same fortunes have been dissipated by t^« ™«-r'-^^^^^^ 
 heirs. Such fortunes do not stick, somehow. Mr Hellyer fo 
 instance, was reputed wealthy beyond the dreams of the wildest 
 desire. It was also said of him, under breath and in whispers 
 and envious murmurs, that, should a man borrow a five-pound note 
 of him that borrower would count himself lucky if he escaped 
 with the loss of seventy-five, and might generally expect to lose 
 the whole of his household furniture and the half of his income 
 for the rest of his natural life. To be sure, he sometimes had 
 losses, as he said himself, with a groan--as when an "nscrupiilous 
 client jumped off the Embankment when he had not paid mo c 
 than fi ty pounds on the original five ; or when a wicked man sold 
 ofi his /ur'niture secretly, in contempt of the b 1 of sale, and go 
 clean out of the country witli his wife and children. But on he 
 whole, he did pretty well. It was further said, by old ch n . t^iat 
 his heart was a simple piece of round granite for which he had 
 no use, and that he made money out of it by letting it out at so 
 much an hour for a paving mallet. , r i ,, „ 
 
 Mr Robert Uellvcr was not a genial man or a cheerful or a 
 pleasant man to look upon ; he neither loved nor <^ornvrohoude^. 
 est; he never smiled ; he kept his mind always employed on tin. 
 ionduct of his business. Every night-forgive the solitary weak- 
 
48 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 ness — he drank as much as he could carry. In appearance he 
 was red-faced, thick-necked, and stout ; his voice was thick even 
 in the morning, wlicn he was under no compulsion to thickness. 
 It was believed by his friends that his education had been imper- 
 fect; this was because lie never gave anybody reason to suppose 
 that he had ever received any education at all. To such men as 
 Mr. Ilellyer, who every night take much strong drink, and on no 
 occasion wliatevcr take any exercise, sixty is the grand climacteric. 
 He was a year ago just fifty-nine. Alas ! he has not even reached 
 his grand climacteric. Already he is gone. He was cut off by 
 pneumonia, or apoplexy, last Christmas. Tbose who saw the mel- 
 ancholy cortege filing out of the narrow gates of Barnard's Inn 
 mournfully remarked that none of his money was taken with him, 
 and asked what happiness he could possibly find in the next world, 
 which he would begin with nothing — nothing at all, not even 
 credit — an absolute pauper. 
 
 Mr. Robert Ilellyer sat on one side of the empty fireplace. On 
 the opposite side, a great contrast to his coarse and vulgar face, 
 sat an elderly man, tall, thin, dressed in a coat whose sleeves were 
 worn to shininess. His face was dejected; his features were still 
 fine; lie was evidcitly a gentleman. This person was a barrister, 
 decayed and unsuccessful ; he lived in a garret in Gray's Inn. 
 There are a good many wrecks at the bar, but few quite so forlorn 
 as this poor old man. He still professed to practise, and picked 
 up a guinea now and then by defending criminals. On these 
 casual fees he managed to live. His clothes were threadbare; it 
 was many years since he had had a great-coat; on rainy and cold 
 days he had a thin cape which he wore over his shoulders. 
 Heaven knows how he dined and breakfasted; every evening, ex- 
 cept in the hot days of summer, he came to this place for light 
 and warmth. Unless he was very poor indeed he called for a 
 pint of old and mild, and read the day's paper. Sometimes he 
 talked, but not often ; sometimes one or other of the company 
 would offer him a more costly drink, which he always accepted 
 with all that was left to him of courtesy. Outside, he had no 
 friends — they had all forgotten him or died ; it is very easy for a 
 poor man to be forgotten. He had no relations — they had all 
 died, emigrated, or dispersed; the relations of the unsuccessful 
 are easily lost. When he talked, he sometimes became animated, 
 and would tell anecdotes of the bar and of the time when he was 
 
TUE IVOKY GATE 49 
 
 called, nearly fifty years ajronc, by tlic benchers of Gray's Inn. 
 "What had become of the liopcs and ambitions with which that 
 young man entered upon the profession, which was to lead him 
 to the parlor of the iSalntation and the company that gathered 
 there — and to the bare and miserable garret of Gray's Inn, forgot- 
 ten and alone? 
 
 Another man, also elderly, who sat next to the barrister, was a 
 gentleman who sold an excellent business and retired, in order to 
 betake himself more completely to toping. lie drank in three 
 taverns during the day. One was in Fleet Street, where he took 
 his chop at three; one was near Drury Lane Theatre, where he 
 dallied with a little whiskey from five to nine; and this was the 
 third, lie was a quiet, happy, self-respecting, dignified old man. 
 In the evening he spoke not at all — for sufficient reasons; but he 
 benevolently inclined his head if he was addressed. 
 
 Next to him sat a younger man, a solicitor, whose practice con- 
 sisted of defending prisoners in the police courts; he had with 
 him two friends, and he had a confident swagger which passed for 
 ability. Next to him and his friends was a house-agent, who had 
 been a member for an Irish borough. And there was a gentle- 
 man whose wife sang in music halls, so that this fortunate person 
 could — and did — sit about in taverns all day long; his appearance 
 was that of a dcboshed City clerk, as he was. Not to mention 
 other members of the company, Chcckley was there, occupying a 
 chair next to the money-lender. 
 
 Here lie was called Mr. Checkley. He came every evening at 
 nine o'clock, Sundays included. Like the money-lender, he want- 
 ed his little distractions, and took them in this way. Here, too, 
 he was among those who respected him, not so much on account 
 of his public and private virtues, or for his eminence in the law, 
 as his money. It is not often that a solicitor's clerk becomes a 
 warm man, but then it is not often that one of the calling deliber- 
 ately i)roposes to himself early in life to save money, and lives 
 till seventy-five steadily carrying out his object. If you are good 
 at figures you will understand how Mr. Chcckley succeeded. Be- 
 tween the ages of eighteen and twenty-five he had an income 
 which averaged about seventy -five pounds; he lived upon fifty 
 pounds a year. From twenty-five to thirty -five he made an aver- 
 age of one hundred and fifty pounds ; he still lived upon fifty 
 pounds a year. At thirty-five he was induced by prudential con- 
 
 a 
 
50 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 siderations to marry ; the lady, considerably his senior, had a 
 thousand pounds. She was even more miserly than himself; and 
 in a year or so after marriage she fell into a decline, owing to in- 
 sufficient nourishment, and presently expired. On the whole, he 
 calculated that he was the better man for the marriage by a thou- 
 sand pounds. From thirty-five to forty-five his income rose to 
 two hundred pounds; it then for twenty-five years stood at three 
 hundred pounds a year; at the age of seventy Mr. Dcring gave 
 him four hundred pounds. Therefore, to sum up, he had put by 
 out of his pay the sum of eleven thousand six hundred and sev- 
 enty-five pounds — and this without counting the compound inter- 
 est, always mounting up from his investments, which were all of 
 a careful kind, such as he understood — tenement houses, of which 
 he had a good number; shares in building societies; money lent 
 on bills of sale or on mortgage. At home — Mr. Checkley lived 
 on the ground floor of one of his own houses — he grew more 
 miserly as he grew older. The standard of luxury is not high 
 when fifty pounds a year covers all ; but of late he had been try- 
 ing to keep below even that humble amount. lie conducted his 
 affairs in the evening, between his office hours and nine, at his 
 own house or among the pco])le where his property lay. It was 
 in the district visited by few, lying cast of Gray's Inn Road ; his 
 own house was in a certain small square, a good half of the houses 
 in which belonged to him. 
 
 At nine o'clock he arrived at the tavern. Here his drinks cost 
 him nothing. A custom had grown up in the course of years for 
 the money-lender to consult him on the many difficult points 
 which arise in the practice of his profession. He was one of those 
 who like to have one foot over the wall erected by the law, but 
 not both. In other words he was always trying to find out liow 
 far the law would allow him to go, and where it called upon him 
 to stop. With this view he schemed perpetually to make his cli- 
 ents sign bonds under the delusion that they meant a hundredtli 
 part of w^hat they really did mean. And as, like all ignorant men, 
 he had the most profound belief in the power and the knowledge 
 and the chicanery of lawyers, he was pleased to obtain Chcckley's 
 advice in return for Chcckley's drinks. 
 
 It was a full gathering. The old clerk arrived late ; he was 
 gratified at hearing the ex-M.P. whispering to his neighbors that 
 the new arrival was worth his twenty thousand pounds if a penny. 
 
THE IVORY GATE 51 
 
 Ue swelled with honorable pride. Yes, Twenty thousand pounds ! 
 And more — more. Who would have thought, when ho began as 
 an office-boy, that lie could ever achieve so much ? 
 
 The money-lender, bursting with a new case, real or supposed, 
 took his pipe out of his mouth, and communicated it in a hoarse 
 whisper. 
 
 " Suppose — " it began. 
 
 "Then," Checkley replied when the case was finished, "you 
 would lay yourself open to a criminal prosecution. Don't you go 
 so much as to think of it. There was a case twenty-five years 
 ago exactly like it. The remarks of the judge were most severe, 
 and the sentence was heavy." 
 
 " Ah !" The usurer's red face grew redder. " Tlicu it can't 
 be thought of. Pity, too. There's a houseful of furniture and 
 a shopful of stuff. And a young man as it would do good to 
 him just to start fair again. Pity. Put a name to it, Mr. 
 Checkley." 
 
 "Rum — hot — with lemon," replied tlio sage. "You get 
 more taste in your mouth, more upliftin' for your heart as they 
 say, more strengthenin' for the stomach, better value all round for 
 your money out of rum than any other drink that I know." 
 
 At this point, and before the waiter could execute the order, 
 voices and steps were heard outside the room — the voices of two 
 men. That of one loud, eager, noisy. That of the other quiet, 
 measured, and calm. 
 
 Checkley sat upright suddenly, and listened. 
 
 "That is young Cambridge," said the old barrister. "I 
 thought he would be here — Saturday night and all." lie smiled, 
 as if expectant of something, and drank off the rest of liis beer 
 at a draught. 
 
 " Most distinguislicd Cambridge man," whispered the ex-M.P. to 
 his neighbors. " Wanst a Fellow of Cambridge College. Great 
 scholar. Ornament to any circle. Dhrinks like an oyster. Son 
 of a bishop, too — son of an Irish bishop — talks Greek like Eng- 
 lish. Hell come in directly. He's taking something outside. 
 He's always half dhrunk to begin, and quite dhrunk to finish. 
 But he only talks the better — being Oirish. Most remarkable 
 man." 
 
 The voice of this distinguished person Checkley knew. But 
 the other voice — that he knew as well. And he could not re- 
 
52 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 member whose voice it was. Very well, indeed, lie remembered 
 the sound of it. Some men never forget a face ; some men never 
 forget a shape or figure ; some men never forget a voice ; some 
 men never forget a handwriting. A voice is the simplest thing, 
 after all, to remember, and the most unchanging. From eighteen 
 till eighty a man's voice changes not, save that in volume it de- 
 creases during the last decade ; the distinguishing quality of the 
 voice remains the same to the end. 
 
 " Have a drink, my dear fellow." That was the voice of the 
 pride of Cambridge. 
 
 " Thanks. I don't want a drink." 
 
 Whose voice was it? Checkley sat up, eager for the door to 
 be opened and that doubt to be resolved. 
 
 It was opened. The two men came in, first the Cambridge 
 man, leading the way. He was a good-looking, smooth-faced 
 man of thirty-two or so, with bright blue eyes — too bright — a 
 fine face, full of delicacy and mobilit}', a high, narrow forehead, 
 and quick, sensitive lips; a man who was obviously in want of 
 some one to take him in hand and control him ; one of those 
 men who have no will of their own, and fall naturally before any 
 temptation which assails them. The chief temptation which as- 
 sailed Freddy Carstone — it seems to stamp tlie man that his 
 friends all called him Freddy ; a Freddy is amiable, weak, be- 
 loved, and given to err, slip, fall, and give way — was the tempta- 
 tion to drink. He was really, as the ex-M.P. told his neighbors, 
 a very fine scholar; he had been a fellow of his college, but never 
 received any appointment or oflSce of lecturer there, on account 
 of this weakness of his, which was notorious. When his fel- 
 lowship expired he came to London, lived in Gray's Inn, and 
 took pupils. He had the reputation of being an excellent coach 
 if he could be caught sober. He was generally sober in the 
 morning, often a little elevated in the afternoon, and always 
 cheerfully — not stupidly — drunk at night. 
 
 " You must have a drink," Freddy repeated. " Not want a 
 drink? Hang it! old man, it isn't what you want, it's what you 
 like. If I only took what I wanted I should be — what should I 
 be? Fellow and tutor of the college — very likely master — most 
 probably archdeacon — certainly bishop. Wasn't my father a 
 bishop ? Now, if you take what you like, as well as what you 
 want — what happens? You go easily and comfortably down- 
 
THE IVORY GATE 
 
 53 
 
 l,ill_do\vn— down— down— like me. Tobogganing isn't easier; 
 the switchback railway isn't more pleasant. Always take what 
 you like." 
 
 " No— no, Freddy ; thanks." 
 
 " What? You've got ambitions still? You want to be climb- 
 ing? Man alive! it's too late. You've stayed away from yonr 
 frkjnds too long. You can't get up. Better join us at the Salu- 
 tation Club. Come in with me. I'll introduce you. They'll be 
 glad to have you. Intellectual conversation carried on nightly. 
 Romantic scenery from the back window. Finest parlor in Lon- 
 don. Come in, and sample the Scotch. Not ^ want a drink? 
 Who ever saw a man who didn't want a drink?" 
 
 The other man followed reluctantly, and at sight of him 
 Cliecklcy jumped in his chair. Then he snatclied the paper 
 from the hands of the ancient barrister and buried his head in 
 it. The action was most remarkable and unmistakable. Ue hid 
 himself behind the paper. For the man whom the Cambridge 
 scholar was dragging into the room was none other than Athel- 
 stan Arundel— the °very man of whom Mr. Bering had been 
 speaking that very afternoon ; the very man whose loss lie had 
 been regretting; the man accused by himself of forgery. So 
 great was his 'terror at the sight of this man that he was fain 
 to hide behind the paper. 
 
 Yes, the same man ; well dressed, apparently, and prosperous— 
 in a velvet jacket and a white waistcoat, with a big brown beard 
 —still carrying himself with that old insolent pride, as if he had 
 never forged anything ; looking not a day older, in spite of the 
 eight years that "had elapsed. What was he doing here? 
 
 '" Come in, man," said Freddy, again. " You shall have one 
 drink at least, and as many more as you like. Robert, two 
 Scotch and soda. Wo haven't met for eight long years. Let 
 us sit down and confess our sins for eight years. Where have 
 you been ? ' 
 
 " For the most part — abroad." 
 
 " You don't look it. Ue wlio goes abroad to make his fortune 
 always comes home in rags, with a pistol in his coat-tail and a 
 bowie-knife in his belt— at least we are taught so. You wear 
 velvet and fine linen. You haven't been abroad. T don't believe 
 you've been farther than Cambcrwell. In fact, Cambcrwell has 
 been your headquarters. You've been living in Camberwell— on 
 
64 THE IVOKY GATE 
 
 Cambcrwcll Green, which is a slice of Eden, witli — perhaps — 
 didn't pretty Polly Perkins live on Camberwell Green ? — for eight 
 long years." 
 
 " Let me call upon you in your lodgings, where we can talk." 
 
 " I haven't got any lodgings, I am in chambers — I live all 
 by myself in Gray's Inn. Come and see mc. I am always at 
 home in the mornings — to pupils only — and generally at home 
 in the afternoon to pupils and topers and lushingtons. Here's 
 your whiskey. Sit down. Let mc introduce you to the com- 
 pany. This is a highly intellectual society — not what you would 
 expect of a Ilolborn parlor. It is a club which meets here every 
 evening — a first-class club. Subscription, nothing. Entrance 
 fee, nothing. Order what you like. Don't pretend not to know 
 your brother-members. Gentlemen, this is my old friend, Mr. 
 Athelstan Arundel, who has been abroad — on Camberwell Green, 
 for the sake of Polly Perkins — for eight years, and has now 
 returned." 
 
 The ex-M.P. nudged his neighbors to call their attention to 
 something good. The rest received the introduction and the re- 
 marks which followed in silence. 
 
 " Arundel, the gentleman by the fireplace — he with the pipe — 
 is our Shylock, sometimes called the Lord Sliylock." The money- 
 lender looked up with a dull and unintelligent eye ; I believe the 
 allusion was entirely above his comprehension. " Beside him is 
 Mr. Vulpes — he with his head buried in the paper — you'll see 
 him presently. Mr, Vulpes is advanced in years, but well pre- 
 served, and knows every letter of the law ; he is, indeed, an or- 
 nament of the lower branch. Vulpes will let you a house — he 
 has many most charming residences — or will advance you money 
 on mortgage. lie knows the law of landlord and tenant, and the 
 law regarding bills of sale. I recommend Vulpes to your friend- 
 ly consideration. Here is Senex Bibulus Bencvolcns." The old 
 gentleman kindly inclined his head, being too far gone for speech, 
 " Here is a most learned counsel, who ought, had merit pre- 
 vailed, to have been by this time lord chancellor, chief justice, 
 judge, or master of the rolls — or queen's counsel at least. So 
 far he is still a junior, but we liope for his speedy advancement. 
 Sir, I entreat the honor of offering you a goblet of more gener- 
 ous drink. Robert, Irish whiskey and a lemon for this gentle- 
 man. There" — he pointed to the cx-M.P., who again nudged 
 
THE IVORY GATE 
 
 55 
 
 bis neif^hbors and grinned—" is oiir legislator and statesman, the 
 pride ol his constituents, the darling of Ballynacuddcry till they 
 turned him out. There"— he pointed to the deboshed clerk— 
 "is a member of a great modern profession, a gentleman with 
 whom it is indeed a pride to sit down. He is Monsieur le Mari— 
 Monsieur le Mari complaisant et content." 
 
 " I don't know what you mean," said the gentleman indicated. 
 " If you want to talk Greek, talk it outside." 
 
 " i cannot stay," said Athelstan, looking about the room with 
 scant respect. " I will call upon you at your chambers." 
 
 i'Do do, my dear fellow." Athelstan shook hands, and 
 
 walked away. " Now, there's a man, gentlemen, who might 
 have done anything — anything he might have done. Rowed 
 stroke to his boat. Threw up everything eight years ago, and 
 went away— nobody knew why. Sad to see so much promise 
 wasted. Sad— sad. He hasn't even touched his drink. Then 
 I must — myself." And he did. 
 
 Observe that there is no such lamentation over the failure of a 
 promising young man as from one who has also failed. For, by 
 a merciful" arrangement, the failure seldom suspects himself of 
 having failed. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Checkley," said the barrister, " he's gone away, 
 and you needn't hide yourself any longer— and you can let me 
 have my paper again." 
 
 Mr. Checkley spoke no more that evening. He drank up his 
 rum-and-water, and he went away mightily perturbed. That 
 Athelstan Arundel had come back portended that something 
 would happen. And, like King Cole's prophet, he could not 
 foretell the nature of the event. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 A KEBELLI0U3 CHILD 
 
 Elsie left her lover at the door. Most accepted suitors accom- 
 pany their sweethearts into the very bosom of the family — the 
 gt/n(cceiu7i—ihc parlor, as it used to be called. Not so George 
 
56 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 Austin. Since the engagement — the deplorable engagement — it 
 was understood that he was not to presume upon entering the 
 house. Romeo might as well have sent in his card to Juliet's 
 mamma. In fact, that lady could not possibly have regarded the 
 pretensions of Romeo more unfavorably than Mrs. Arundel did 
 those of George Austin. This not on account of any family ine- 
 quality, for his people were no more decidedly of the middle class 
 than her own. That is to say, they numbered as many members 
 who were presentable, and quite as many who were not. Our great 
 middle class is pretty well alike in this respect. In every house- 
 hold there are things which may be paraded and things tacenda — 
 members successful, members unsuccessful, members disgraceful. 
 All the world knows aH the things which must be concealed; we 
 all know that all the world knows them ; but still we protend 
 that there arc no such things, and so we maintain the family dig- 
 nity. Nor could the widow object to George on account of his 
 religious opinions, in which he dutifully followed his forefathers; 
 or of his abilities, manners, morals, culture, accomplishments, or 
 outward appearance, in all of which he was everything that could 
 be expected of a young man who had his own fortune to make. 
 A rich young man has no need of manners, morals, abilities, or 
 accomplishments — a thing too often forgotten by satirists wlien 
 they depict the children of Sir Midas Gorgias and his tribe. The 
 lady's objection was simply and most naturally that the young 
 man had nothing, and would probably never have anything; that 
 he was a managing clerk, without money to buy a partnership, in 
 a highly congested profession. To aggravate this objection, he 
 stood in the way of two most desirable suitors who were sup- 
 posed to be ready should Elsie give them any encouragement. 
 They were a rich old man, whose morals could no longer be ques- 
 tioned ; and a rich young man, whose morals would doubtless 
 improve with marriage — if, that is, they wanted improvement, for 
 on this delicate subject ladies find it difficult to get reliable infor- 
 mation. And, again, the exalted position of the elder sister should 
 have been an example and a beacon. Which of you, mesdames, 
 would look on with patience to such a sacrifice — a young and 
 lovely daughter thrown away, with all her charms and all lier 
 chances, upon a man with two hundred pounds a year and no 
 chance of anything much better? Think of it — two hundred 
 pounds a year — for a gentlewoman ! 
 
TIIK IVORY GATE 
 
 57 
 
 There are some families— many families— with whom the wor- 
 ship of wealth is hereditary. The Arundels have been City peo- 
 ple, married with other City people-in trade— for two hundred 
 years and more ; they are all members of City companies; there 
 have been lord mayors and sheriffs among them ; some of them 
 —for they are now a clan— are rich ; some are very rich ; one or 
 two are very, very rich ; those who fail and go bankrupt quickly 
 drop out of sight. All their traditions are of money-getting ; 
 they estimate s'ucccss and worth and respect by the amount a 
 man leaves behind— it is the good old tradition ; they talk of 
 money ; they are not vulgar, or loud, or noisy, or disagreeable in 
 any way, but they openly and without disguise worship the great 
 god riutus, and believe that he, and none other, is the God of 
 the Christians. They have as much culture as other people, at 
 least to outward show ; they furnish their houses as artistically 
 as other people; they buy pictures and books; but ideas do not 
 touch them ; if they read new ideas they are not affected by 
 them, however skilfully the> may be put; they go to church arid 
 hear the parable about Dives, and they wonder how Dives could 
 have been so hard-hearted. Then they go home, and talk about 
 
 money. c \ ■ c 
 
 Elsie's father, a younger son of the richest branch of this fam- 
 ily started with a comfortable little fortune and a junior partner- 
 ship He was getting on very well indeed ; he had begun to show 
 the stuff of which he was made— a good, stout, tenacious kind of 
 stuff likely to last and to hold out ; he was beginning to increase 
 his fortune ; he looked forward to a successful career ; and he 
 hoped to leave behind him, after many, many years, perhaps 
 three quarters of a million. He was only thirty-five years of age, 
 yet he was struck down and had to go. His widow received lit- 
 tle more than her husband's original fortune ; it was small com- 
 pared with what she might fairly expect when she married, but 
 it was lar.rc enough for her to live with her three children in 
 Pembrid^e" Squared What happened to the son, you know. He 
 went away in a royal rage, and had never been heard of since. 
 The elder daughter, Hilda, when about two-and-twenty, as )-^ou 
 also know, had the good fortune to attract the admiration of a 
 .vidower of very considerable wealth, the brother of her guardian. 
 Ue was thirty-five years older than herself, but he was rich— nay, 
 very rich indeed. Jute, I believe, on an extensive scale, was the 
 
58 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 cause of his great fortune. He was knighted on a certain great oc- 
 casion wlien warden of his company, so that he offered his bride a 
 title and precedence, as well as a great income, a mansion in Pal- 
 ace Gardens, a handsome settlement, carriages and horses, and 
 everything else that the feminine heart can desire. 
 
 The widow, soon after her husband died, found the tinie ex- 
 tremely dull without the daily excitement of the City tallc to 
 which she had been accustomed. There was no one with whom 
 she could discuss the money market. Now, all her life she had 
 been accustomed to talk of shares, and stocks, and investments, and 
 fluctuations, and operations, and buying in and selling out. She 
 began, therefore, to watch the market on her own account. Then 
 she began to operate ; then she gave her whole time and all her 
 thoughts to the business of studying, watching, reading, and fore- 
 casting. Of course, then, she lost her money, and fell into diffi- 
 culties? Nothing of the kind — she made money. There is al- 
 ways plenty of virtuous indignation ready for those foolish per- 
 sons who dabble in stocks. They are gamblers; they always lose 
 in the long run — we all know that, the copy-books tell us so. 
 If two persons play heads-and-tails for sovereigns, do they both 
 lose in the long run ? If so, who wius? Wliere does the money 
 go? Even a gambler need not always lose in the long run, as 
 all gamblers know. La Veuve Arundel was not in any sense a 
 gambler. Nor was she a dabbler. She was a seiious and calcu- 
 lating operator. She took up one branch of the great money 
 market, and confined her attentions to that branch, which she 
 studied with so much care and assiduity that slie became a pro- 
 fessional ; that is to say, she threw into the study all her ener- 
 gies, all her thoughts, and all her intellect. ^Vhen a young man 
 does this on the Stock Exchange he may expect to win. Mrs. 
 Arundel was not an ordinary young man — she was a sharp and 
 clever woman ; by hard work she had learned all that can be 
 learned, and had acquired some of that prescience which comes of 
 knowledge — the prophet of the future is, after all, he who knows 
 and can discuss the forces and the facts of the present ; the Sibyl 
 at the present day would be a journalist. She was clear-headed, 
 quick to see, and ready to act ; she was of a quick temper as well 
 as a quick perception ; and she was resolute. Such qualities in 
 most women make them absolute sovereigns in the household. 
 Mrs. Arundel was not an absolute sovereign — partly because she 
 
THE IVORY GATE 59 
 
 thought little of her household, and partly because her children 
 were distinguished by much the same qualities, and their subjec- 
 tion would have proved difficult if not impossible. 
 
 This was the last house in London where one might have ex- 
 pected to find a girl who was ready to despise wealth and to find 
 her happiness in a condition of poverty. Elsie was completely 
 out of harmony with all her own people. There is a good deal 
 of opinion going about in favor of the simple life; many girls 
 have become Socialists in so far as they think the amassing of 
 wealth neither desirable nor worthy of respect; many would rath- 
 er marry a man of limited means who has a profession than a 
 rich man who has a business ; many girls hold that art is a much 
 finer tiling than wealth. Elsie learned these pernicious senti- 
 ments at school ; they attracted her at first because they were so 
 fresh; she found all the best literature full of these sentiments; 
 she developed in due course a certain natural ability for art; she 
 attended an art school ; she set up an easel ; she painted in pastel ; 
 she called her room a studio. She gave her friends the greatest 
 uneasiness by her opinions; she ended, as you have seen, by be- 
 coming engaged to a young man with nothing. How could such 
 a girl be born of such parents? 
 
 When she got home on Saturday evening she found her moth- 
 er playing a game of double vingt-et-un with a certain cousin, 
 one Sydney Arundel. The game is very good for the rapid inter- 
 change of coins ; you should make it a time game, to end in half 
 an hour — one hour — two hours, and at the end you will find that 
 you have had a very pretty little gamble. Mrs. Arundel liked 
 nothing better than a game of cards — provided the stakes were 
 high enough to give it excitement. To play cards for love is in- 
 deed insipid — it is like a dinner of cold boiled mutton or like sand- 
 wiches of veal. The lady would play anything — piquet, ocarte, 
 double dummy — and her daughter Elsie hated the sight of cards. 
 As for the cousin, he was on the Stock Exchange ; he came often 
 to dinner, and to talk business after dinner ; he was a kind of mu- 
 sical box or barrel organ in conversation, because he could only 
 play one tune. His business as well as his pleasure was in the 
 money market. 
 
 " So you have come home, Elsie ?" said Mrs. Arundel, coldly. 
 
 "Yes, I have come home." Elsie seated herself at the window, 
 and waited. 
 
60 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 " Now, Sydney " — her mother took up the cards — " my deal ; 
 will you take any more ?" 
 
 She was a c;ood-looking woman still, though past fifty — her 
 abundant hair had gone pleasantly gray, her features were fine, 
 her brown eyes were quick and bright ; her lips were firm, and 
 her chin straight. She was tall and of good figure ; she was 
 clad in black silk, with a large gold chain about her neck and 
 good lace upon her shoulders. She wore many rings and a brace- 
 let. She liked, in fact, the appearance of wealth as well as the 
 possession of it; she therefore always appeared in costly raiment; 
 her house was furnished with a costly solidity; everything, even 
 the bindings of her books, was good to look at ; her one man-ser- 
 vant looked like the responsible butler of a millionaire, and her 
 one-horse carriage looked as if it belonged to a dozen. 
 
 The game went on. Presently the clock struck ten. "Time," 
 said the lady. " We must stop. Now then. Let us see — I make 
 it seventy-three shillings. Thank you. Three pounds thirteen — 
 an evening not altogether wasted. And now, Sydney, light your 
 cigar — you know I like it. You shall have your whiskey-and- 
 soda, and we will talk business. Tiiere are half a dozen things 
 that I want to consult you about. Heavens! why cannot I be 
 admitted to the Exchange? A few women among you — clever 
 women, like myself, Sydney — would wake you up." 
 
 They talked business for an hour, the lady making notes in a 
 little book, asking questions and making suggestions. At last the 
 cousin got up — it was eleven o'clock — and went away. Then her 
 mother turned to Elsie. 
 
 "It is a great pity," she said, "that you take no interest in 
 these things." 
 
 " I dislike them very much, as you know," said Elsie. 
 
 " Yes — you dislike them because they are of real importance. 
 Well — never mind. You have been out with the young man, I 
 suppose ?" 
 
 " Yes — we have been on the river together." 
 
 " I supposed it was something of the kind. So the house- 
 maid keeps company with the pot-boy without consulting her 
 own people ?" 
 
 " It is nothing unusual for me to spend an evening with 
 
 George. Why not? You will not suffer me to bring him here." 
 
 " No," said her mother, with firmness. " Tiiat young man shall 
 
THE IVORY GATE 61 
 
 never, under any circnmstances, enter this house with my knowl- 
 edge ! For the rest," she added, " do as you please." 
 
 This was the kind of amiable conversation that had been go- 
 ino- on day after day since Elsie's engagement — protestations of 
 ceasing to interfere, and continual interference. 
 
 There are many ways of considering the subject of injudicious 
 and unequal marriages. You may ridicule ; you may cajole ; you 
 may argue ; you may scold ; you may coax ; you may represent 
 the naked truth as it is, or you may clothe its limbs with lies — 
 the lies are of woven stuff, strong, and home-made. When you 
 have an obdurate, obstinate, contumacious, headstrong, wilful, 
 self-contained maiden to deal with, you will waste your breath 
 whatever you do. The mother treated Elsie with scorn, and scorn 
 alone. It was her only weapon. Ilcr elder sister tried other 
 weapons — she laughed at the makeshifts of poverty ; she cajoled 
 with soft flattery and golden promises; she argued with logic 
 pitiless ; she scolded like a fishwife ; she coaxed with tears and 
 kisses; she painted the loveliness of men who are rich, and the 
 power of women who are beautiful. And all in vain. Nothing 
 moved this obdurate, obstinate, contumacious, headstrong, wilful 
 Elsie. She would stick to her promise; she would wed her lover 
 even if she had to entertain poverty as well all her life. 
 
 "Are you so infatuated," the mother went on, " that you can- 
 not see that he cares nothing for your happiness? He thinks 
 about nobody but himself. If he thought of you he would see 
 that he was too poor to make you happy, and he would break it 
 off. As it is, all he wants is to marry you." 
 
 " That is, indeed, all. He has never disguised the fact." 
 
 " He offers you the half of a bare crust." 
 
 " By halving the crust wc shall double it." 
 
 " Oh I I have no patience. But there is an end. You know 
 my opinion, and you disregard it. I cannot lock you up, or beat 
 you, for your foolishness. I almost wish I could, I will neither 
 reason with you any more nor try to dissuade you. Go your 
 own way." 
 
 " If you would only understand. We are going to live very 
 simply. We shall put all unhappiness outside the luxuries of 
 life. And we shall get on, if we never get rich. I wish I could 
 make you understand our point of view. It makes me very un- 
 happy that you will take such a distorted view." 
 
62 THE IVORY GATK 
 
 " I am glad that you can still feci unhappiness at such a cause 
 as my displeasure." 
 
 " Well, mother, to-night we have come to a final decision." 
 
 "Am I to learn it?" 
 
 " Yes — I wish to tell you at once. We have been engaged for 
 two years. The engagement has brought me nothing but wretch- 
 edness at home. But 1 should be still more wretched — I should 
 be wretched all my life — if I were to break it off. I shall be of 
 ago in a day or two, and free to act on my own judgment." 
 
 "You are acting on your own judgment already." 
 
 " I have promised George that I will marry him when he 
 pleases — that is, about the middle of August, when he gets his 
 holiday." 
 
 " Oh ! The misery of poverty will begin so soon ? I am sorry 
 to hear it. As I said before, I have nothing to say against it — no 
 persuasion or dissuasion ; you will do as you please." 
 
 ** George has his profession, and he has a good name already. 
 He will get on. Meantime, a little plain living will hurt neither 
 of us. Can't you tliinlc that we may begin in a humble way and 
 yet get on ? Money — money — money. Oh! Must we think of 
 nothing else?" 
 
 " What is there to think of but money ? Look round you, 
 silly child ! What gives me this house — this furniture — every- 
 thing? Money. What feeds you and clothes you? Money. 
 What gives position, consideration, power, dignity ? Money. 
 Rank without money is contemptible. Life without money is 
 miserable, wretched, intolerable. Who would care to live when 
 the smallest luxury — the least comfort — has to be denied for 
 want of money. Even the art of which you talk so much only 
 becomes respectable when it commands money. You cannot 
 keep off disease without money ; you cannot educate your chil- 
 dren without money ; it will be your worst punishment in the 
 future that your children will sink and become servants. Child !" 
 she cried passionately, "we must be masters or servants — nay, 
 lords or slaves. You leave the rank of lord and marry the rank 
 of slave. It is money that makes the difference — money — money 
 — money — that you pretend to despise. It is money that has 
 done everything for you. Your grandfather made it — your fa- 
 ther made it — I am making it. Go on in your madness and your 
 folly. In the end, when it is too late, you will long for money. 
 
THE IVORY GATE 
 
 63 
 
 pray for money, be ready to do anytliing for money— for your 
 Ir.isband and your children." 
 
 " \Vc shall have, I hope, enough. We shall work fur enough 
 — no more." 
 
 " Well, child," her Jiiothor returned quietly, " I said that I 
 would say nothing. I have been carried away. Let there be no 
 more said. Do as you please. You know my mind— your sis- 
 ter's mind — your cousins' — " 
 
 " I do not wish to be guided by my cousins." 
 "Very well. You will stay here until your wedding-day. 
 When you marry, you will leave this house— and me and your 
 sister and all your people. Do not expect any help from me. 
 Do not look forward to any inheritance from me. My money is 
 all my own, to do with as I please. If you wish to be poor, you 
 shall be poor. Hilda tells me that you are to see your guardian 
 on Monday. Terhaps he may bring you to your senses. As for 
 me, I shall say no more." 
 
 With these final words the lady left the room and went to bed. 
 How many times had she declared that she would say no more? 
 
 The next day being Sunday, the bells began to ring in the 
 morning, and the two ladies sallied forth to attend divine service 
 as usual They walked side by side in silence. That sweet and 
 gracious nymph, the Lady Charity, was not with them in their 
 pew. The elder lady, externally cold, was full of resentment and 
 bitterness; the younger was more than usually troubled by the 
 outbreak of the evening before. Yet she was no nearer surrender. 
 The sermon, by a curious coincidence, turned upon the perishable 
 nature of earthly treasures, and the vanity of the objects desired 
 bv that unreasoning person whom they used to call the worldling. 
 The name has perished, but the creature still exists, and is found 
 in countless herds in every great town. The parsons are always 
 trying to shoot hira down, but they never succeed. There was 
 just a fiery passage or two directed against the species. Elsie 
 lioped that the words would go home. Not at all. They fell 
 upon her mother's heart like seed upon the rock. She heard 
 them, but heeded them not. The worldling, you see, never un- 
 derstands that he is a worldling. Nor does Dives believe himself 
 to be anything more than Lazarus, such is his modesty. 
 
 The service over, they went home in silence. They took their 
 early dinner in silence, waited on by the solemn man -servant. 
 
64 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 After dinner, Elsie sought tlie solitude of her studio. And here 
 — nobody looking on — she obeyed the first law of her sex, and 
 had a good cry. Even the most resolute of maidens cannot carry 
 through a great scheme against great opposition without the con- 
 solation of a cry. 
 
 On the table lay a note from Mr. Dering : 
 
 " My dear Warp, — I am reminded that you come of age on Monday. I 
 am also reminded by Hilda that you propose to take a very important step 
 against the wish of your mother. Will you come and see me at ten o'clock 
 to talk this over? Your affectionate guardian." 
 
 Not much hope to be got out of that letter. A dry note from 
 a dry man. Very little doubt as to the line which he would take. 
 Yet, not an unkind letter. She put it back in her desk, and 
 sighed. Another long discussion. No, she would not discuss — 
 she would listen, and then state her intention. She would listen 
 again, and once more state her intention. 
 
 On the easel stood an almost finished portrait in pastel, exe- 
 cuted from a photograph. It was the portrait of licr guardian. 
 She had caught — it was not difficult with a face so marked — the 
 set expression, the closed lips, the keen eyes, and the habitual 
 look of caution and watchfulness which become the characteristics 
 of a solicitor in good practice. So far it was a good likeness. 
 But it was an austere face. Elsie, with a few touches of her 
 thumb and the chalk which formed her material, softened the 
 lines of the mouth, communicated to the eyes a more genial light, 
 and to the face an expression of benevolence which certainly had 
 never before been seen upon it. 
 
 "There!" she said. "If you would only look like that to- 
 morrow, instead of like your photograph, I should have no fear 
 at all of what yon would say. I would flatter you, and coax you, 
 and cajole you, till you had doubled George's salary and promised 
 to get round my mother. You dear old man ! You kind old 
 man ! You sweet old man ! I could kiss you for your kindness." 
 
THE IVOUY GATE 66 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 SOMETHING HAPPENS 
 
 So far a truly enjoyable Sunday. To sit in churcli beside her 
 angry mother, both going through the forms of repentance, char- 
 ity, and forgiveness ; and to dine together, going through the or- 
 dinary forms of kindliness while one, at least, was devoured with 
 wrath — waste of good roast iamb and gooseberry tart ! 
 
 Elsie spent the afternoon in her studio, where she sat undis- 
 turbed. People called, but her mother received them. Now that 
 the last resolution had been taken; now that she had promised 
 licr lover to brave everything and to live the simplest possible life 
 for love's sweet sake, she felt that sinking which falls upon the 
 most courageous when the boats are burned. Thus Love makes 
 loving hearts to suffer. 
 
 The evening, however, made amends. For then, like the house- 
 maid, who mounted the area stair as Elsie went down the front 
 door-steps, she went forth to meet her lover, and in his company 
 forgot all her fears. They went to church together. There they 
 sat side by side, this church not having adopted the barbarous 
 custom of separating the sexes — a custom which belongs to the 
 time when women were monkishly considered unclean creatures, 
 and the cause, to most men, of everlasting suffering, which they 
 themselves would most justly share. This couple sat hand in 
 hand ; the service was full of praise and hope and trust ; the 
 psalms were exultant, triumphant, jubilant; the sermon was a ten 
 minutes' ejaculation of joy and thanks ; there was a procession 
 with banners, to cheer up the hearts of the faithful — what is faith 
 without a procession ? Comfort stole back to Elsie's troubled 
 heart; she felt less like an outcast; she came out of the church 
 with renewed confidence. 
 
 It was still daylight. They walked round and round the near- 
 est square. Jane, the liouse-maid, and her young man were doing 
 the same thing. They talked with confidence and joy of the 
 
66 THE IVORY" GATE 
 
 future before tbcin. Presently the rain began to fall, and Elsie's 
 spirits fell too. 
 
 "George," sbe said, "arc we sclfisb — each of us? Is it right 
 for me to drag and keep you down?" 
 
 "You will not. You will raise mc and keep me up. Never 
 doubt that, Elsie. I am the selfish one, because I make you sacri- 
 fice so much." 
 
 " Oh no — no ! It is no sacrifice for me. You must make 
 me brave, George, because I am told every day by lliUla and my 
 mother the most terrible things. I liave been miserable all day 
 long. I suppose it is the battle I had with my mother yesterday." 
 
 "Your mother will be all right again as soon as the thing is 
 done. And Hilda will come round too. She will want to show 
 you her new carriage and her newest dress. Nobody admires and 
 envies the rich relation so much as the poor relation. That is 
 the reason why the poor relation is so much courted and petted 
 in every rich fainilv. We shall be the poor relations, you know, 
 Elsie." 
 
 " I suppose so. Wc must accept the i)art and play it properly." 
 She spoke gayly, but with an effort. 
 
 "She will give you some of her old dresses. And she will ask 
 us to some of her crushes — but we won't go. Oh! Hilda will 
 come round. As for your mother" — he repressed what he 
 was about to say — " as for your mother, Elsie, there is no obsti- 
 nacy so desperate that it cannot be softened by something or 
 other. The constant dropping, you know. Give her time. If 
 she refuses to change — why — then " — again he changed the words 
 in time — " dear child ! we must make our own happiness for our- 
 selves without our own folk to help us." 
 
 " Yes, we will. At the same time, George, though I am so 
 valiant in talk, I confess that I feel as low as a school-boy who is 
 going to be punished." 
 
 "My dear Elsie," said George, with a little exasperation, "if 
 they will not come round, let them stay flat, or square, or sulky, 
 or anything. I can hardly be expected to feel very anxious for 
 a change of temper in people who have said so many hard things 
 of me. To-morrow, dear, you shall get through your talk with 
 Mr. Dering. He's as hard as nails; but he's a just man, and he is 
 sensible. In the evening I will call for you at nine, and you shall 
 tell mc what he said. In six weeks we can be married. I will 
 
THE IVORY GATE ^' 
 
 sec about the banns. We ^vill find a lodging somewhere, pack up 
 our things, get married, and move in. We can't afford a honej-- 
 nioon, I am afraid. That shall come afterwards, when the ship 
 
 coraes home." ^ . , 
 
 "Yes When I am with you I fear nothing. It is when you 
 ^re cronc-when I sit by myself in ray own room, and know that 
 in the next room my mother is brooding over her wrath and 
 keepin- it warm-that I feel so guilty. To-night it is not that 
 I feel guilty at all-it is quite the contrary ; but I feel as if some- 
 thing were going to happen. • ^ f 
 
 "Something is going to happen, dear. I am going to put a 
 wedding-ring round this pretty finger." 
 
 "When one savs ' something,' in the language of superstition 
 one means something bad, something dreadful, something that 
 shall stand between us and force us apart, something unex- 
 
 ^'"My child," said her lover, "all the powers of all the devils 
 shall not force us apart "-a daring and comprehensive boast. 
 
 She laughed a little, lightened by words so brave Here we 
 are, dear," she said, as they arrived at the house. I hink the 
 rain means to come down in earnest. You had better make 
 haste home. To-morrow evening, at nine, I will expect you. 
 
 ' She ran li<-htly up the steps, and rang the bell ; the door was 
 opened; she'turned her head, laughed, waved her hand to her 
 
 lover, and ran in. , , . . i 
 
 There was standing on the curb beneath the street-lamp a man 
 apparently engaged in lighting a cigar. When the girl turned 
 the li^'ht'of the lamp fell full upon her face. The man stared at 
 her forgetting his cigar light, which fell burning from his hand 
 into the° gutter. When the door shut upon her he stared at 
 George, who, for his part, his mistress having vanished, stared at 
 
 the door. , ^ i it • «.„ 
 
 All this staring occupied a period of at least half a minute. 
 Then George turned, and walked away; the man struck another 
 li.rht. lit his cigar, and strode away too, but in the same direc- 
 tion. Presently he caught up with George, and laid a hand upon 
 
 his shoulder. i -.i 
 
 "Here, you sir," he said gruffly; "I want a word with you 
 
 before we go any further." ,. , , ,.i i i ^ 
 
 George turned upon him savagely. Nobody likes a heavy hand 
 
68 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 laid upon Lis shoulder. In the old days it generally meant a writ 
 and Whitecross Street, and other unpleasant things. 
 
 " Who the devil are you ?" he asked. 
 
 " That is the question I was going — " He stopped and laughed. 
 " No — I see now. I don't want to ask it. You are George Aus- 
 tin, are you not?" 
 
 "That is my name. But who are you, and what do you want 
 with ine?" 
 
 The man was a stranger to him. lie was dressed in a velvet 
 coat and a white waistcoat; he wore a soft felt hat; and, with 
 the velvet jacket, the felt hat, and a full beard, he looked like an 
 artist of some kind. At the end of June it is still light at half- 
 past nine. George saw that the man was a gentleman ; his feat- 
 ures, strongly marked and clear cut, reminded him of something 
 — but vaguely ; they gave hitn the common feeling of having been 
 seen or known at some remote period. The man looked about 
 thirty, the time when the physical man is at his best; he was of 
 good height, well set up, and robust. Something, no doubt, in 
 the art world, or something that desired to appear as if belong- 
 ing to the art world. Because, you see, the artists themselves 
 are not so picturesque as those who would be artists if they 
 could. The unsuccessful artist, certainly, is sometimes a most 
 picturesque creature. So is the model. The rags and duds and 
 threadbarity too often enter largely into the picturesque. So with 
 the plough-boy's dinner under the hedge or the cotter's Saturday 
 night. And the village beer-shop may make a very fine picture, 
 but the artist himself does not partake in those simple joys. 
 
 " Well, sir, who are you ?" George repeated, as the other man 
 made no reply. 
 
 " Do you not remember me ? I am waiting to give you a 
 chance." 
 
 " No — certainly not." 
 
 "Consider. That house into which you have just taken my — 
 a young lady — does it not connect itself with me?" 
 
 " No. Why should it ?" 
 
 " Then T suppose that I am completely forgotten ?" 
 
 " It is very strange. I seem to recall your voice." 
 
 " I will tell you who I ^m by another question. George Aus- 
 tin, what in thunder are you doing with my sister?" 
 
 " Your sister ?" George jumped up, and stared. " Your sister ? 
 
THE IVORY GATE 
 
 69 
 
 Arc yon— arc you Athclstan come home again ? Really and truly 
 
 " I am really and truly Athclstan. I have been back in Eng- 
 land about a fortnight." 
 
 " You are Athclstan ?" George looked at him curiously. ^^ lien 
 the reputed black sheep comes home again it is generally in rags, 
 with a loner story of fortune's persecutions. This man was not in 
 the least nto-ged. On the contrary, he looked prosperous. ^\ hat 
 had he been'tloing i For although Elsie continued passionate in 
 her belief in her brother's innocence, everybody else believed that 
 he had run away to escape consequences, and George among the 
 number had accepted that belief. 
 
 " Your beard alters you greatly. I sliould not have known you. 
 To be sure, it is eight vears since I saw yon last, and I was only 
 just beginning my articles when you-left us." Ue was on the 
 point of saying, " when you ran away." 
 
 "There is a good deal to talk about. Will you come with me 
 to mv rooms? I am putting up in Half Moon Street." 
 Athclstan hailed a passing hansom, and they drove off. 
 "You have been a fortnight in London,"^said George, "and yet 
 you have not been to see your own people." 
 
 " I have been eight years away, and yet I have not written a 
 sino-le letter to my own people?" 
 
 Georo-e asked no more questions. Arrived at the lodging, they 
 went inland sat down. Athclstan produced soda- and -whiskey 
 
 and cigars. . , w * i 
 
 "Why have I not called upon my own people? — Atlielstan tooli 
 up the question again—" because, when I left home I swore that I 
 would never return until they came to bog forgiveness. That is why. 
 Every evening I have been walking outside the house, in the hope 
 of seeincr some of them without their seeing me. For, you sec, I 
 should like to go home ac;ain ; but I will not go as I went away, 
 under a shameful cloud. That has got to be lifted first. Presently I 
 shall know whether it is lifted. Then I shall know how to act. To- 
 nicrht I was rewarded by the sight of my sister Elsie, walking home 
 wiUi you. I knew her at once. She is taller than I thought she 
 would become when I went away. Her face hasn't changed much, 
 Ihourrh. She always had the gift of sweet looks, which isn't quite 
 llie same thing as beauty. My sister Hilda, for instance, was always 
 called u handsome girl.'but she never had Elsie's sweet looks." 
 
VO THE IVORY GATE 
 
 " She has the sweetest looks in the world." 
 
 " What are you doing with her, George Austin, I ask again ?" 
 
 '* We are engaged to be married." 
 
 " Married ? Elsie married ? Why — she's — well, I suppose she 
 must be grown up by this time." 
 
 "Elsie is very nearly one-and-twenty. She will be twenty-one 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "Elsie going to be married. It seems absurd. One-and-twen- 
 ty to-morrow. Ah !" He sat up eagerly. "Tell me, is she any 
 richer? lias she had any legacies or things?" 
 
 "No. IIow should she? Iler dot is her sweet self, which is 
 enough for any man." 
 
 "And you, Austin ? I remember you were an articled clerk of 
 eighteen or nineteen when I went away — are you rich?" 
 
 Austin blushed. " No," he said, " I am not. I am a manag- 
 ing clerk at your old ofTice. I get two hundred a year, and we 
 are going to marry on that." 
 
 Athelstan nodded. " A bold thing to do. However — Twen- 
 ty-one to-morrow — we shall sec." 
 
 " And I am sorry to say there is the greatest opposition — on 
 the part of your mother and your other sister. I am not allowed 
 in the house, and Elsie is treated as a rebel." 
 
 " Oh, well ! If you see your way, my boy, get married, and 
 liave a happy life, and leave them to come round at their leisure. 
 Elsie has a heart of gold. She can believe in a man. She is the 
 only one of my people who stood up for me when they accused 
 me, without a shadow of proof, of — The only one — the only 
 one. It is impossible for me to forget that — and difficult," he 
 added, "to forgive the other thing. Is my sister Hilda still at 
 home?" 
 
 "No. She is married to Sir Samuel, brother of your Mr. Ber- 
 ing. He is a great deal older than his wife — but he is very rich." 
 
 "Oh! And my mother?" 
 
 "I believe she continues in good health. I am not allowed the 
 privilege of calling upon her." 
 
 "And my old chief ?" 
 
 " He also continues well." 
 
 "And now, since we have cleared the ground so far, let us come 
 to business. How about that robbery ?" 
 
 " W^hat robbery ?" The old business had taken place when 
 
11 
 
 THE IVOUY GATE 
 
 George «a, a lad jvist entering upon Ins artieles. Ue l-ad eeascd 
 
 '" "'wLuobbe,). ? Man alive !"-Atl,elstan sprang to Ms feet- 
 " there is only on robbery to n,e in the wbole b.story of the wo Id 
 si ee "In and robberies began. Whatrobbery- /-""k here as e 
 George Austin,»hen a ,nan is eharged »,tl, .nurder the e .s fo that 
 „,an only one ranrder in the whole history of the world. Al the 
 other murders, even that of Abel himself, are of no eoneern at all 
 -Zol bit. lie isn't interested in them. They don't matter to 
 him a red e nt. That's mv ease. The robbery of eight years ago, 
 wWeh tool a few hnndred pounds fron, a rieh nuu,, ehanged n,y 
 : le m ; it drove me out into the world ; it foreed me for a ,,ne 
 to live among the prodigals and the swme and the husU It l^mded 
 me over to a thousand devils, and you ask me what robbery! 
 
 "T am very sorrv. It is now a forgotten Uung. Nobody re- 
 memb;rs it any n,Jre. I doubt whether Mr. Der.ng hunself ever 
 
 "'■'"'tve"! what was diseovered, after all ! Who did it V 
 
 "No°hh,g at all has been diseovered. No one knows to th« 
 
 '"^-M,tg at'alH I am disappointed. Hasn't old Cheekley 
 
 (lone time for it? Nothing found out ? 
 
 "n h n.. The notes ^ere stopped in time, and were ne^•er 
 presented. ^After a few years the Bank ^[^^.^J^;^ 
 Denng notes in the plaee of those stolen. And that i. all there 
 
 '' '^Nothin- discovered ! And the notes never presented ? What 
 good did the fellow get by it, then ?" ^^ 
 
 " I don't know, but nothing was discovered. 
 
 "Nothing diseovered," Athelstan repeated. " ^^ h) I took it 
 
 for granted^hat the truth had come out long s.nce. I ^^^'^'■^ 
 
 n' up my mind to call upon old Dering-I don t think I shall 
 
 go'now And my sister Hilda will not be coming here to express 
 
 her contrition— I am disappointed/ 
 
 " You can sec Elsie if yoa like." . „j 
 
 4es-I can see her," he repeated. "George - e returned 
 to the old subject-" do you know the exact particulars of that 
 
 '' 'J^There was a forged check, and the bank paid it across the 
 counter." 
 
72 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 *' The clieck," Athelstan explained, " was made payable to the 
 order of a certain unknown person named Edmund Gray. It was 
 endorsed by that name. To prove that forgery they should have 
 got the check and examined the endorsement. That was the first 
 thing, certainly. I wonder how they began." 
 
 " 1 do not know. It was while I was in my articles, and all 
 we heard was a vague report. You ought not to have gone away. 
 You should liave stayed to fight it out." 
 
 "I was right to give u[) my berth after what the chief said. 
 IIow could I remain, drawing his pay and doing liis work, when 
 he had calmly given me to understand that the forgery lay be- 
 tween two hands, and that he strongly suspected mine!" 
 
 "Did Mr. Doring really say so? Did he go so far as that?" 
 
 "So I walked out of the place. I should liave stayed at home, 
 and waited for the clearing-up of the thing, but for my own [teo- 
 ple — who — well, you know — So I went away in a rage." 
 
 "And have you come back — as you went — in a rage?" 
 
 " Well, you see, that is the kind of fire that keeps alight of its 
 own accord." 
 
 " I believe that some sort of a search was made for tliis Ed- 
 mund Gray, but I do not know how long it lasted or who was 
 employed." 
 
 " Detectives arc no good. Perhaps the chief didn't care to 
 press the business. Perhaps he learned enough to be satisfied 
 that Checkley was the man. Perhaps he was unwilling to lose 
 an old servant. Pcriiaps the villain confessed the thing. It all 
 comes back to me fresh and clear, though for eight long years I 
 have not talked with a soul about it." 
 
 "Tell me," said George, a little out of sympathy with this 
 dead-and-buried forgery — "tell me wliere you have been, what 
 you have done, and what you are doing now?" 
 
 "Presently — presently," he replied, with impatience. "I am 
 sure now that I was wrong. I should not have left the country. 
 I should have taken a lodging openly, and waited and looked on. 
 Yes, that would have been better. Then I should have seen that 
 old villain, Checkley, in the dock. Perhaps it is not yet too late. 
 Still — eight years. Who can expect a commissionaire to remem- 
 ber a single message after eight years?" 
 
 " Well — and now tell me," George said again, " what you have 
 been doinc;." 
 
THE IVORV GATE '^ 
 
 "The black Sheep always turns up, doesn't he? You learn at 
 home that he has got a berth in the Rocky Mountains; but he 
 iacks it up, and goes to Melbourne where he falls on his feet; but 
 gets tired, and moves on to New Zealand and so home agam. It s 
 
 the regular round." , . , i u-f„ 
 
 " You are apparently the black sheep whose wool is dyed white. 
 There are threads of gold in it. You look prosperous." 
 
 " A few years aero I was actually in the possession of money. 
 Then I became poor again. After a good many adventures I be- 
 came a iournalist. The profession is in America the refuge of tbe 
 educated unsuccessful and the hope of the uneducated unsuccess- 
 ful I am doin<^ as well as journalists in America generally^ do. 
 I am over here as the representative of a Frisco paper, and I ex- 
 pect to stay for some time-so long as I can be of service to my 
 people. That's all." 
 
 »\vcii_it might be a great deal worse. And won t yon come 
 to Pembridge S'luare with me?" 
 
 " When the cloud is lifted— not before. And-George-not a 
 word about me. Don't tell— yet— even Elsie." 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 SOMETHING MORE HAPPENS 
 
 Checkley held the door of the office wide open, and invited 
 Elsie to enter. The aspect of the room, solid of furniture, severe 
 in its fittings, with its vast table covered with papers, struck her 
 with a kin'd of terror. At the table sat her guardian, austere of 
 countenance. 
 
 All the way along she had been imagining a dialogue, lie 
 would begin with certain words. She would reply, firmly but 
 respectfuUy, with certain other words. lie would go on. She 
 would again reply. And so on. Everybody knows the consola- 
 tions of^ imagination in framing dialogues at times of trouble. 
 They never come off. The beginning is never what is expected, 
 and' the sequel, therefore, has to be changed on the spot. The 
 conditions of the interview had not been realized by Elsie. Also 
 4 
 
74 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 the beginning was not what she expected. For her guardian, in- 
 stead of frowning with a brow of corrugated iron and holding up 
 a finger of warning, received her raore pleasantly than she had 
 imagined it possible for him, bade her sit down, and leaned back, 
 looking at her kindly. 
 
 " And so," he said, " you are twenty-one — twenty-one — to-day. 
 I am no longer your guardian. You arc twenty-one. Everything 
 that is past seeras to have happened yesterday. So that it is 
 needless to say that you were a baby only yesterday." 
 
 " Yes, I am really twenty-one." 
 
 " I congratulate you. To be twenty-one is, I believe, for a 
 young lady at least, a pleasant time of life. For my own part I 
 have almost forgotten the memory of youth. Perhaps I never 
 liad the lime to be young. Certainly 1 have never understood 
 why some men regret their youth so passionately. As for your 
 se.x, Elsie, I know very little of it except in the way of business. 
 In that way, which docs not admit of romance, I must say that 
 I have sometimes found ladies imj)ortunate, tenacious, exacting, 
 persistent, and even revengeful." 
 
 "Oh!" said Elsie, with a little winning smile of conciliation. 
 This was only a beginning — a prelude — before the unpleasant- 
 ness. 
 
 "That, Elsie, is my unfortunate experience of women — always 
 in the way of business, which, of course, may bring out the worst 
 qualities. In society, of which I have little experience, they arc 
 doubtless charming — charming." He repeated the word, as if 
 be had found an adjective of whose meaning he was not quite 
 clear. " An old bachelor is not expected, at the age of seventy- 
 five, to know much about such a subject. The point before us 
 is that you have this day arrived at the mature age of twenty- 
 one. That is the first thing, and I congratulate you — the first 
 thing." 
 
 " I wonder," thought Elsie timidly, " when he will begin upon 
 the next thing — the real thing." 
 
 There lay upon the table before him a paper with notes upon 
 it. He took it up, looked at it, and laid it down again. Then 
 he turned to Elsie, and smiled — he actually smiled — he unmistak- 
 ably smiled. " At twenty-one," he said, " some young ladies 
 who are heiresses come into their property — " 
 
 "Those who are heiresses. Unhappily, I am not." 
 
THE IVORY GATE 76 
 
 "Come into their property — their property. It must be a 
 beautiful thing for a girl to come into property, unexpectedly, at 
 twenty-one. For a man, a temptation to do nothing and to make 
 no more money. Bad ! Bad ! But for a girl already engaged, 
 a girl who wants money, a girl who is engaged — ch 1 — to a pen- 
 niless young solicitor — " 
 
 Elsie turned crimson. This was the thing she expected. 
 
 " Under such circumstances, I say, such a stroke of fortune 
 would be providential and wonderful, would it not?" 
 
 She blushed, and turned pale, and blushed again. She also felt 
 a strong disposition to cry, but repressed that disposition. 
 
 " In your case, for instance, such a windfall would be most 
 welcome. Your case is rather a singular case. You do not be- 
 long to a family which has generally disregarded money — quite 
 the reverse ; you should inherit the love of money — yet you pro- 
 pose to throw away what I believe arc very good prospects, 
 and—" 
 
 " My only prospect is to marry George Austin." 
 
 " So you think. I have heard from your mother, and I have 
 seen your sister Hilda. They object very strongly to the engage- 
 ment." 
 
 " I know, of course, what they would say." 
 
 " Therefore I need not repeat it," replied Mr. Bering dryly. 
 " I learn, then, that you are not only engaged to this young 
 gentleman, but that you are also proposing to marry upon the 
 small income which he now possesses." 
 
 "Yes — we are prepared to begin tlie world upon that in- 
 come." 
 
 " Your mother asked me what chance he has in his profession. 
 In this office he can never rise to a considerable salary as manag- 
 ing clerk. If he had money he might buy a partnership. But 
 he has none, and his friends have none. And the profession is 
 congested, lie may remain all his life in a position not much 
 better than he now occupies. The prospect, Elsie, is not brilliant." 
 
 " No — we are fully aware of that. And yet — " 
 
 " Allow me, my dear child. Yeu are yourself — we will say for 
 the moment — without any means of your own." 
 
 " I have nothing." 
 
 '• Or any expectations, except from your mother, who is not 
 yet sixty." 
 
76 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 "I could not count upon my mother's death. Besides, she 
 says that, if I persist, she will not leave me anytliing at all." 
 
 "So much I understand from herself. Her present intention 
 is to remove your name from her will in case you go on with this 
 proposed marriage."" 
 
 " My mother will do what she pleases with her property," said 
 Elsie. " If she thinks that 1 will give way to a threat of this kind 
 she does not know me." 
 
 " Do not let us speak of threats. I am laying before you facts. 
 Here they arc plainly. Young Austin has a very small income; 
 he has very little prospect of getting a substantial income; you, 
 so far as you know, have nothing; and also, so far as you know, 
 you have no prospect of anything. These arc the facts, are they 
 not?" 
 
 " Yes, I suppose those arc the facts. We shall be quite poor 
 — very likely quite poor always." The tears rose to her eyes, 
 but this was not a place for crying. 
 
 *' I want you to understand these facts very clearly," Mr. Dering 
 insisted. " Believe me, I do not wish to give you pain." 
 
 *'A11 this," said Elsie, with the beginnings of the family ob- 
 stinacy in her eyes, " I clearly understand. I have bad them put 
 before me too often." 
 
 " I also learn from your sister, Lady Dering, that if you aban- 
 don this marriage she is ready to do anything for you that she 
 can. Iler liouse, her carriage, her servants — you can command 
 them all, if you please. This you know. Have you consid- 
 ered the meaning of what you propose? Can you consider it 
 calmly ?" 
 
 " I believe we have." 
 
 *' On the one side poverty — not what is called a small income 
 — many people live very well on what is called a small income 
 — but grinding, bard povert}', which exacts real privations and 
 burdens you with unexpected loads. My dear young lady, you 
 have been brought up to a certain amount of plenty and ease, if 
 not to luxury. Do you think you can get along without plenty 
 and ease ?" 
 
 " If George can, I can." 
 
 "Can you become a servant — cook, house-maid, lady's-maid — 
 as well as a wife — a nurse as well as a mother?" 
 
 " If George is made happier by my becoming anything — any- 
 
THE IVORY GATE 
 
 77 
 
 thing— it will only make me happier. Mr. Deriniv, I am sure you 
 wislTme well— you are my father's old friend, you have always 
 advised my mother in her troubles, my brother was articled to 
 you— but— " She paused, remembering that he had not been 
 her brother's best friend. 
 
 " I mean the best possible for you. Meantime, you are quite 
 fixed in your own mind ; you are set upon this thing— that is 
 clear. There is one other way of looking at it. You yourself 
 seem chiefly desirous, I think, to make the man you love happy. 
 So much the better for him. Are you quite satisfied that the 
 other party to the agreement— your lover— will remain happy 
 while he sees you slaving for him, while he feels his own helpless- 
 ness, and while he gets no relief from the grinding poverty of 
 his household ; while— lastly— he sees his sons taking their place 
 on a lower level, and his daughters taking a place below the rank 
 of gentlewomen ?" 
 
 " I reply by another question. You have had George in your 
 office as articled clerk and managing clerk for eight years. Is 
 he, or is he not, steadfast, clear-headed, one who knows his own 
 mind, and one who can be trusted in all things?'' 
 
 " Perhaps," said Mr. Bering, inclining his head. " Uow does 
 that advance him ?" 
 
 " Then, if you trust hitn, why should not I trust him ? I trust 
 George altogether— altogether. If he does not get on it will be 
 through no fault of his. We shall bear our burdens bravely, be- 
 lieve me, Mr. Bering. You will not hear him— or me— complain. 
 Besides, I am full of hope. Oh ! it can never be in this country 
 tliat a man who is a good workman should not be able to get on. 
 Then, I can paint a little— not very well, perhaps; but I have 
 thought— you will not laugh at me— that I might paint portraits, 
 and get a little money that way." 
 
 "It is quite possible that he may succeed, and that- you may 
 increase the family income. Everything is possible. But, re- 
 member, you are building on possibilities, and I on facts. Plans 
 very beautiful and easy at the outset often prove most difficult in 
 the carrying-out. My experience of marriages is learned by fifty 
 years of work — not imaginative, but practical. I have learned that 
 without adequate means no marriage can be happy. That is to 
 sav, I have never come across any case of wedded poverty where 
 the husband or the wife, or both, did not regret the day when 
 
78 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 they faced poverty togetbcr instead of separately. That, I say, 
 is my experience of such marriages. It is so easy to say that 
 hand-in-hand evils may be met and endured which would be in- 
 tolerable if one was alone. It isn't only liand-in-hand, Elsie. 
 The liands are wanted for the baby, and the evils will fall on the 
 children yet unborn." 
 
 Elsie hung her head. Then she replied, timidly, " I have 
 thought even of that. It only means that we go lower down in 
 the social scale." 
 
 " Only ? Yet that is everything. People who are well up the 
 ladder too often deride those who are fighting and struggling to 
 get up higher. It is great folly or groat ignorance to laugh. 
 Social position, in such a country as ours, means independence, 
 self-respect, dignity, all kinds of valuable things. You will throw 
 these all away — yet your grandfathers won them for you by hard 
 work. You are yourself a gentlewoman — why ? Because they 
 made their way up in the world, and placed their sons also in the 
 way to climb. That is how families arc made — by three genera- 
 tions at least of steady work uphill." 
 
 Elsie shook lier head sadly. " We can only hope," she mur- 
 mured. 
 
 " One more word, and I will say no more. Remember that, 
 love or no love, resignation or not, patience or not, physical com- 
 fort is the beginning and the foundation of all happiness. If you 
 and your husband can satisfy the demands of physical comfort 
 you may be happy — or at least resigned. If not — "Well, Elsie, 
 that is all. I should not have said so much had I not promised 
 your mother and your sister. I am touched, I confess, by your 
 courage and your resolution." 
 
 " We mean never to regret, never to look back, and always to 
 work and hope," said Elsie. " You will remain our friend, Mr. 
 Dering ?" 
 
 " Surely, surely. And now — " 
 
 *' Now " — Elsie rose — " I will not keep you any longer. You 
 have said what you wished to say very kindly, and I thank 
 you." 
 
 " No. Sit down again ; I haven't done with you yet, child. 
 Sit down again. No more about that young villain — George 
 Austin." He spoke so good- huraoredly that Elsie complied, 
 wondering, but no longer afraid. " Nothing more about your 
 
THE IVORY GATE 79 
 
 engagement. Now, listen carefully, because this is most impor- 
 tant. Three or four years ago a person wrote to me. That per- 
 son informed me that he — for convenience we will call the person 
 a man — wished to place a certain sum of money in my hands in 
 trust for you." 
 
 "Forme? Do you mean — intrust? What is trust?" 
 
 " Ue gave me this sum of money to be given to you on your 
 twenty-first birthday." 
 
 "Oh !" Elsie sat up with open eyes. "A sum of money? — 
 and to me ?" 
 
 " With a condition or two. The first condition was, that the 
 interest should be invested as it came in ; the next, that I was on 
 no account — mind, on no account at all — to tell you or any one 
 of the existence of the gift or the name of the donor. You are 
 now twenty-one. I have been careful not to afford you the least 
 suspicion of this happy windfall until the time should arrive. 
 Neither your mother, nor your sister, nor your lover, knows or 
 suspects anything about it." 
 
 "Oh!" Elsie said once more. An interjection may be defined 
 as a prolonged monosyllable, generally a vowel, uttered when no 
 words can do justice to the subject. 
 
 "And here, my dear young lady" — Elsie cried "Oh!" once 
 more, because — the most curious thing in the world — Mr. Bering's 
 grave face suddenly relaxed, and the lines assumed the very be- 
 nevolence which she had, the day before, imparted to his portrait 
 and wished to see upon his face — "here, my dear young lady" 
 — he laid his hand upon a paper — " is the list of the investments 
 which I have made of that money. You have, in fact, money 
 in corporation bonds — Newcastle, Nottingham, Wolverhampton. 
 You have water shares — you have gas shares — all good invest- 
 ments, yielding at the price of purchase an average of nearly 
 three and two-thirds per cent." 
 
 " Investments? Why — how much money was it, then ? I was 
 thinking, when you spoke of a sum of money, of ten pounds, 
 perhaps." 
 
 "No, Elsie, not ten pounds. The money placed in my hands 
 for your use was over twelve thousand pounds. With accumula- 
 tions, there is now a little under thirteen thousand." 
 
 "Oh !" cried Elsie, for the third time and for the same reason. 
 No words could express her astonishment. 
 
80 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 "Yes; it will produce about four hundred and eighty pounds 
 a year. Perhaps, as some of the stock has gone up, it might be 
 sold out and placed to better advantage. We may get it up to 
 five hundred pounds." 
 
 "Do you mean, Mr. Dcring, that I have actually got five hun- 
 dred pounds a year — all my own ?'' 
 
 "That is certainly my meaning. You have nearly five hundred 
 pounds a year all your own — entirely your own, without any con- 
 ditions whatever — your own." 
 
 "Oh!"' She sat in silence, her hands locked. Then the tears 
 came into her eyes. "Oh, George!" she murmured, "you will 
 not be so very poor after all." 
 
 "That is all I have to say to you at present, Elsie," said Mr. 
 Bering. "Now you may run away and leave me. Come to 
 dinner this evening. Your mother and your sister are coming. 
 I shall ask Austin as well. We may, perhaps, remove some of 
 those objections. Dinner at seven sharp, Elsie. And now you 
 can leave me." 
 
 "I said last night," said Elsie, clasping her hands with femi- 
 nine superstition, "that something was going to happen, but I 
 thought it was something horrid. Oh ! Mr. Dering, if you only 
 knew how happy you have made me ! I don't know what to 
 say. I feel stunned. Five hundred pounds a year! Oh! it is 
 wonderful ! What shall I say ? What shall I say ?" 
 
 "You will say nothing. Go away now. Come to dinner 
 this evening. Go away, my young heiress. Go, and make plans 
 how to live on your enlarged income. It will not prove too 
 much." 
 
 Elsie rose. Then she turned again. " Oh I I had actually for- 
 gotten. Won't you tell the man — or the woman — who gave you 
 that money for me that I thank him from my very heart? It 
 isn't that I think so much about money ; but, oh ! the dreadful 
 trouble that there has been at home because George has none — 
 and this will do something to reconcile my mother. Don't you 
 think it will make all the difference?" 
 
 "I hope that before the evening you will find that all opposi- 
 tion has been removed," said her guardian cautiously. 
 
 She walked away in a dream. She found herself in Lincoln's 
 Inn Fields; she walked all round that great square, also in a 
 dream. The spectre of poverty had vanished. She was rich ; 
 
THE IVORY GATE 81 
 
 she was rich — she liad fire hundred pounds a year. Between 
 them tliey would have seven hundred pounds a year. It seemed 
 enormous. Seven hundred pounds a year! Seven — seven — seven 
 hundred pounds a year ! 
 
 Slie got out into the street called Holborn, and she took the 
 modest omnibus, this heiress of untold wealth. How much was 
 it? Thirteen millions? or thirteen thousand? One seemed as 
 much as tlie other. Twelve thousand, with accumulations; with 
 accumulations — ations — ations. The wheels of the vehicle 
 groaned out these musical words all the way. It was in the 
 raorning, when the Bayswater omnibus is full of girls going home 
 to lunch after shopping or looking at the shops. Elsie looked at 
 these girls as they sat along the narrow benches. " My dears," 
 she longed to say, but did not, "I hope you have every one got 
 a brave lover, and that you have all got twelve thousand pounds 
 apiece — with accumulations — twelve tliousand pounds — with ac- 
 cumulations — ations — ations — realizing four liundred and eighty 
 pounds a year, and perliaps a little more. AVith accumulations — 
 ations — ations — accumulations." 
 
 She ran into the house and up the stairs, singing. At the 
 sound of her voice her mother, engaged in calculations of the 
 greatest difficulty, paused, wondering. When she understood 
 that it was the voice of her child and not an organ-grinder, she 
 became angry. What right had the girl to run about singing? 
 Was it insolent bravado ? 
 
 Elsie opened the door of the drawing-room, and ran in. Iler 
 mother's cold face repelled her. She was going to tell tlie joyful 
 news, but she stopped. 
 
 "You have seen Mr. Dcring?" asked her mother, 
 "Yes; I have seen him." 
 " If he has brought you to reason — " 
 " Oh ! lie has — he has. I am entirely reasonable." 
 Mrs. Arundel was astonished. The girl was flushed of face 
 and brif^lit of eye; her breath was quick; her lips were parted. 
 She looked entirely happy. 
 
 "My dear mother," she went on, " I am to dine with him to- 
 night. Hilda is to dine with him to-night. You are to dine with 
 him to-night. It is to be a family party. He will bring us all 
 to reason — to a bagful of reasons." 
 
 " Elsie, this seems to mc to be mirth misplaced." 
 i* 
 
82 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 " No — no — in its right place — reasons all in a row and on three 
 shelves, labelled and arranged and classified." 
 
 " Yon talk in enigmas." 
 
 "My dear mother" — yet that morning the dear mother wonld 
 not speak to the dear danghter — " I talk in enigmas, and I sing 
 in conundrums. I feel like an oracle or a Delphic old woman 
 for dark sayings." 
 
 She ran away, slamming the door after her. Jlcr mother heard 
 her singing in her studio all to herself. " Can she be in her right 
 mind ?" she asked, anxiously. " To marry a paujjcr, to receive 
 the admonition of her guardian — and such a guardian — and to 
 come home singing. 'Twould be better to lock her up than let 
 her marry." 
 
 CUAPTER VII 
 
 SOMETHING ELSE HAPPENS 
 
 Mr. Dering lay back in his chair, gazing at the door — the 
 unromantic ofBce-door — through which Elsie had just passed. 
 I suppose that even the dryest of old bachelors and lawyers may 
 be touched by the sight of a young girl made suddenly and un- 
 expectedly happy. Perhaps the mere apparition of a lovely girl — 
 dainty and delicate and sweet, daintily and delicately apparelled, 
 so as to look like a goddess or a wood-nymph rather than a 
 creature of clay — may have awakened old and long-forgotten 
 thoughts before the instincts of youth were stifled by piles of 
 parchment. It is the peculiar and undisputed privilege of the 
 liistorian to read thoughts, but it is not always necessary to write 
 thera down. 
 
 He sat up, and sighed. " I have not told her all," he mur- 
 mured. "She shall be happier still." lie touched his hand- 
 bell. " Checkley," he said, "ask Mr. Austin kindly to step this 
 way. A day of surprise — of joyful surprise — for both." 
 
 It was, indeed, to be a day of good fortune, as you shall see. 
 
 He opened a drawer, and took out a document, rolled and tied, 
 which he laid upon the table before him. 
 
 George obeyed the summons, not without misgiving; for Elsie, 
 
THE IVORY GATE 83 
 
 he knew, must by this tirae have had the dreaded interview, and 
 the call might have some reference to his own share in the great 
 contumacy. To incur the displeasure of his employer in connec- 
 tion with that event might lead to serious consequences. 
 
 Astonishing thing ! Mr. Bering received him with a counte- 
 nance that seemed transformed. lie smiled benevolently upon 
 him. He even laughed. He smiled when George opened the 
 door; he laughed when, in obedience to a gesture of invitation, 
 George took a chair. He actually laughed ; not weakly or fool- 
 ishly, but as a strong man laughs. 
 
 "I want ten minutes with you, George Austin" — he actually 
 used the Christian name — " ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, 
 or perhaps half an hour." He laughed again. " Now, then" — 
 his face assumed its usual judicial expression, but his lips broke 
 into unaccustomed smiles — " now then, sir, I have just seen my 
 ward — my former ward, for she is now of age — and have heard 
 — well, everything there was to hear." 
 
 " I have no doubt, sir, that what you heard from Elsie was 
 the exact truth." 
 
 " I believe so. The questions which I put to her I also put 
 to you. How do you propose to live ? — on your salary I Yuu 
 have been engaged to my late ward without asking the permis- 
 sion of her guardians — that is, her mother and myself." 
 
 " That is not quite the case. We found that her mother op- 
 posed the engagement, and therefore it was not necessary to ask 
 your permission. AVe agreed to let the matter rest until she 
 should be of age. Meanwhile, we openly corresponded and saw 
 each other." 
 
 " It is a distinction without a difference ; perhaps what you 
 would call a legal distinction. You now propose to marry. Elsie 
 Arundel is no longer my ward ; but, as a friend, I venture to ask 
 vou how yo«i propose to live? A wife and a house cost money. 
 Shall you keep house and wife on your salary alone? Have you 
 any other resources ?" 
 
 There arc several ways of putting these awkward questions. 
 There is especially the way of accusation, by which you charge 
 the guilty young man of being, by his own fault, one of a very 
 large family ; of having no money and no expectations — nothing 
 at all, unless he can make it for himself. It is the manner gen- 
 erally adopted by parents and guardians. Mr. Dering, however, 
 
84 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 when he put tlic question, smiled genially and rubbed Iiis hands — 
 a thing so unusual as to be terrifying in itself — us if he were ut- 
 tering a joke — a thing he never had done in his life. The ques- 
 tion, however, even when put in this, the kindest, way, is one 
 most awkward for any young man, and especially for a young man 
 in either branch of the law, and most especially for a young man 
 beginning the ascent of the lower branch. 
 
 Consider, of all the professions, crowded as they are, there is 
 none so crowded as this branch of the law. " What," asks anx- 
 ious Quiverful I'ere, "shall I do with this boy of mine? I will 
 spend a tliousand pounds upon him, and make him a solicitor. 
 Once he has passed, the way is clear for him." " How," asks 
 the ambitious man of trade, " shall I advance my son ? I will 
 make him a lawyer; once passed, he will open an ofllce and get 
 a practice and become rich, lie will be a gentleman, and his 
 children will be born gentlemen." Very good ; a most laudable 
 custom it is in this realm of Great Britain for the young men 
 still to be pressing upwards, though those who are already high 
 up would fain forget the days of climbing, and sneer at those 
 who are making their way. But, applied to this profession, 
 climbing seems no longer practicable. This way of advance will 
 have to be abandoned. 
 
 Consider, again. Every profession gets rich out of its own 
 mine. There is the mine ecclesiastic, the niine medical, the 
 mine artistic, the mine legal. The last named contains leases, 
 covenants, agreements, wills, bonds, mortgages, actions, partner- 
 ships, transfers, conveyances, county courts, and other treasures, 
 all to be had for the digging. But — and this is too often for- 
 gotten — there is only a limited quantity to be taken out of the 
 mine every year, and there is not enough to go round except in 
 very minute portions. And since, until we become Socialists at 
 heart, we shall all of us continue to desire for our share that 
 which is called the mess of Benjamin, and since all cannot get 
 that mess — which Mr. Bering had enjoyed for the whole of his 
 life — or anything like that desirable portion, most young solici- 
 tors go in great heaviness of spirit — hang their heads, corrugate 
 their foreheads, write despairing letters to the girls the}' left be- 
 hind them, and with grumbling gratitude take the hundred or 
 two hundred a year which is offered for their services as man- 
 aging clerks. Again, the legal mine seems of late years not to 
 
THE IVOUY GATE 86 
 
 yield anything like so much as formerly. There has been a cruel 
 shrinkage all over the country, and especially in country towns ; 
 the boom of building seems to have come to an end ; the agri- 
 cultural depression has dragged down with it an immense num- 
 ber of people who formerly Hourishcd with the lawyers, and, by 
 means of their savings, investments, leases, and partnerships and 
 quarrels, made many a solicitor fat and happy. That is all gone. 
 It used to be easy, if one had a little money, to buy a partner, 
 ship. Now it is no longer possible — or, at least, no longer easy. 
 Nobody has a business greater than he himself can manage ; 
 everybody has got a son coming in. 
 
 These considerations show why the question was difficult to 
 answer. 
 
 Said George in reply, but with some confusion, " \Ye arc pre- 
 pared to live on little; we are not in the least extravagant. Elsie 
 will rough it. Besides, she has her art — " 
 
 " Out of which she makes at present nothing a year." 
 
 " But she will get on — and I may hope, may reasonably hope, 
 some time to make an income larger than my present one." 
 
 " You may hope — you may liope. But the position is not 
 hopeful. In fact, George Austin, you must marry on ten times 
 your present income, or not at all." 
 
 " But, I assure you, sir, our ideas are truly modest, and we 
 have made up our minds how we can live and pay our wav." 
 
 " You think you liave. That is to say, yon have prepared a 
 table of expenses showing how, with twopence to spare, you can 
 live very well on two hundred pounds a year. Of course you 
 put down nothing for the thousand-and-onc little unexpected 
 things which everybody of your education and habits pays for 
 every day." 
 
 " We have provided as far as we can see." 
 
 " AYell, it won't do. Of course I can't forbid the girl to marry 
 you — she is of age. I can't forbid you — but I can make it im- 
 possible — impossible for you, Master Austin — impossible." 
 
 lie rapped the table. The words were stern, but the voice 
 was kindly, and he smiled again as he spoke. " You thouf^ht 
 you would do without mc, did yuu I ^Yell — you shall see — you 
 shall see." 
 
 George received this threat without words, but with a red face 
 and with rising indignation. Still when one is a servant, one 
 
8G THE IVORY GATE 
 
 must endure the reproofs of the master. He said nothing, there- 
 fore, but waited. 
 
 " I have considered for some time," Mr. Bering continued, 
 " how to meet tliis case in a satisfactory manner. At last I 
 made up my mind. And if you will read this document, young 
 gentleman, you will find that I have made your foolish proposal 
 to marry on love, and nothing else, quite impossible — quite im- 
 possible, sir." lie slapped the table with the paper, and tossed 
 it over to George. 
 
 George took the paper, and began to read it. Suddenly lie 
 jumped out of his chair. Jle sprang to his feet. " What P^ 
 he cried. 
 
 " Go on — go on," said Mr. Dering benevolently. 
 
 " Partnership ? Partnership ?" George gasped. " What does 
 it mean ?" 
 
 " It is, as you say, a deed of partnership between myself and 
 yourself. The conditions of the partnership are duly set forth — 
 I hope you will see your way to accepting them. A deed of 
 partnership. I do not know within a few hundreds what your 
 share may be, but I believe you may reckon on at least two thou- 
 sand for the first year, and more — much more — before long." 
 
 " More than a thousand ?" 
 
 " Yon have not read the deed through. Call yourself a law- 
 yer? Sit down, and read it word for word." 
 
 George obeyed, reading it as if it were a paper submitted to him 
 for consideration, a paper belonging to some one else. 
 
 "Well? You have read it?"^ 
 
 " Yes, I have read it througli." 
 
 "Observe that the partnership may be dissolved by death, 
 bankruptcy, or mutual consent. I receive two thirds of the pro- 
 ceeds for life. That — alas ! — will not be for long. Well, young 
 man, do you accept this offer ?" 
 
 "Accept? Oh! Accept? What can I do? What can I say — 
 but accept?" He walked to the window, and looked out. I sup- 
 pose he was admiring the trees in the square, which were cer- 
 tainly very beautiful in early July. Then he returned, his eyes 
 humid. 
 
 "Aha!" Mr. Dering chuckled, "I told you that I would 
 make it impossible for you to marry on two hundred pounds a 
 year. I waited till Elsie's birthday. "Well ? You will now be 
 
THE IVORY OATE 
 
 87 
 
 able to revise that little estimate of living on two hundred a 
 year. Eh ?'' 
 
 " Mr, Dering," said George, with breaking voice, " I cannot 
 believe it. I cannot understand it. I have not deserved it." 
 
 " Shake hands, my partner." 
 
 The two men shook hands. 
 
 " Now sit down, and let us talk a bit," said Mr. Bering. " I 
 am old. I am past seventy. I have tried to persuade myself 
 that I am still as lit for work as ever. But I have had warnings. 
 I now perceive that they must be taken as warnings. Sometimes 
 it is a little confusion of memory — I am not able to account for 
 little things — I forget what I did yesterday afternoon. I sup- 
 pose all old men get these reminders of coming decay. It means 
 that I must reduce work and responsibility. I might give up 
 business altogether, and retire — I have money enough and to 
 spare ; but this is the third generation of a successful house, 
 and I could not bear to close the doors, and to think that the 
 firm would altogether vanish. So I thought I would take a part- 
 ner, and I began to look about me. Well — in brief, I came to 
 the conclusion that I should find no young man better qualified 
 than yourself for ability, and for power of work, and for all the 
 qualities necessary for the successful conduct of such a house as 
 this. Especially, I considered the essential of good manners. I 
 was early taught by my father that the greatest aid to success is 
 good breeding. I trust that, in this respect, I have done justice 
 to the teaching of one who was the most courtly of his time. 
 You belong to an age of less ceremony and less respect to rank. 
 But we are not always in a barrack or in a club. We are not 
 all comrades or equals. There arc those below to consider as well 
 as those above. There are women ; there are old men. You, my 
 partner, have shown me that you can give to each the considera- 
 tion, the deference, the recognition, that he deserves. True breed- 
 ing is the recognition of the individual. You are careful of the 
 small things which smooth the asperities of business. In no pro- 
 fession, not even that of medicine, is a good manner more useful 
 than in ours, and this you possess. It also pleases me," he added, 
 after a pause, " to think that, in making you my partner, I am 
 also promoting the happiness of a young lady I have known all 
 her life." 
 
 George murmured something. He looked more like a guilty 
 
88 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 school-boy than a man just raised to a position most enviable. 
 His cheeks were flushed, and his hands trembled. Mr. Dering 
 touched his bell. 
 
 " Chcckley," he said, when that faithful retainer appeared, " I 
 have already told you of my intention to take a partner. This is 
 ray new partner." 
 
 Checkley changed color. His old eyes — or was George wrong? 
 — flashed with a light of malignity as he raised them. It made 
 him feel uncomfortable — but only for a moment. 
 
 " My partner, Checkley," repeated Mr. Dering. 
 
 " Oh !" His voice was dry and grating. " Since we couldn't 
 go on as before — "Well, I hope you won't repent it." 
 
 "You shall witness the signing of the deed, Checkley. Call 
 in a clerk. So — there wc have it, drawn, signed, and witnessed. 
 Once more, my partner, shake hands." 
 
 Elsie retired to lier own room after the snub administered to 
 licr rising spirits. She soon began to sing again, being much too 
 happy to be affected by anything so small. She went on with 
 her portrait, preserving some, but not all, of the softness and 
 benevolence which she had put into it, and thereby producing 
 what is allowed to be an excellent portrait but somewhat flatter- 
 ing. She herself knows very well that it is not flattering at all, 
 but even lower than the truth — only the other people have never 
 seen the lawyer in an expansive moment. 
 
 Now while she was thus engaged, her mind going back every 
 other minute to her newly acquired inheritance, a cab drove up to 
 the house, the door flow open, and her lover — her George — flew 
 into her arms. 
 
 " You here — George ! Actually in the house ? Oh ! but you 
 know — " 
 
 " I know — I know. But I could not possibly wait till this 
 evening. My dear child, the most wonderful — the most wonder- 
 ful thing — the most extraordinary thing — in the whole world has 
 happened — a thing wc could never hope and never ask — " 
 
 " Mr. Dering has told you, then ?" 
 
 " What ? i)o you know ?" 
 
 " Mr. Dering told me this morning. Ob, George ! isn't it won- 
 derful ?" 
 
 " Wonderful ? It is like the last chapter of a novel !" This he 
 
THE IVORY GATE 89 
 
 said speaking as a fool, because the only last chapter in life is 
 that in which Azrael crosses the threshold. 
 
 " Oh, George ! — I have been walking in the air — I have been 
 flying — I have been singing and dancing. I fool as if I had never 
 before known what it was to be happy, Mr. Dering said some- 
 thing about having it settled — mind — it's all yours, George — yours 
 as well as mine." 
 
 " Yes," said George, a little puzzled, " I suppose in tlie eyes 
 of the law it is mine, but then it is yours as well. All that is 
 mine is yours." 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Dering said it was mine in the eyes of the 
 law. What does it matter, George, what the stupid old law 
 says?" 
 
 " Nothing, my dear — nothing at all." 
 
 " It will be worth five hundred pounds a year very nearly. That, 
 with your two hundred pounds a year, will make us actually com- 
 fortable after all our anxieties." 
 
 " Five hundred a year ? It will be worth four times that, I 
 hope." 
 
 " Four tinies? Oh, no I — that is impossible. But Mr. Dering 
 told me that he could hardly get so much as four per cent., and 
 I liave made a sum and worked it out. Rule for simple interest 
 — multiply the principal by the rate per cent., and again by the 
 time, and divide by a hundred. It is quite simple. And what 
 makes the sum sim{)ler, you need only take one year." 
 
 "What principal, Elsie? by what interest? You are running 
 your little head against rules of arithmetic. Here there is no 
 principal and no interest. It is a case of proceeds, and then di- 
 vision." 
 
 " We will call it proceeds if you like, George, but he called it 
 interest. Anyhow, it comes to five hundred a year, very nearly ; 
 and with your two hundred — " 
 
 " I don't know wliat you mean by your five hundred a year. 
 As for my two hundred, unless I am very much mistaken, that 
 will very soon be two thousand." 
 
 " Your two hundred will become — ? George, wc arc talking 
 across each other." 
 
 " Yes. What money of yours do you mean ?" 
 
 " I mean the twelve thousand pounds tliat Mr. Dering holds 
 forme — with accumulations — accumulations" — she bc^an to sine: 
 
90 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 y^ the rhyme of the omnibus- wliccls — "accumulations — ations — 
 p,^ «c ations." 
 
 .A " Twelve thousand pounds? Is this Fairyland? Twelve tliou- 
 
 , sand ? ^ reel — I faint — I sink — I melt away. Take my bands 
 — both my bands, Elsie; kiss me kindly — it's better than brandy 
 — kindly kiss me. Twelve thousand pounds I with accumula- 
 tions—" 
 
 " — ations — ations — ations," she sang. "Never before, 
 George, have I understood the loveliness and the power of 
 money. They were given to Mr. Dering by an anonymous per- 
 son to be held for me — secretly. No one knows — not even, yet, 
 my mother." 
 
 "Oh! It is altogether loo much — too much; once there was 
 a poor but loving couple, and Fortune turned her wheel, and — 
 You <lon't know — you most unsuspecting ignorant thing — 
 you can't guess — Oh ! Elsie, I am a jiartiier — Mr. Bering's 
 partner." 
 
 They caught hands again — then they let go — then they sat 
 down and gazed upon each other. 
 
 " Elsie," said George. 
 
 " George," said Elsie. 
 
 " We can now marry like everybody else — but much better. 
 AYe shall have furniture now." 
 
 " All the furniture we shall want, and a house where we 
 please. No contriving now — no pinching." 
 
 " No self-denying for each other, my dear," 
 
 " That's a pity, isn't it ? But, George, don't repine. The ad- 
 vantages may counterbalance the drawbacks. I think I see the 
 cottage where we were going to live. It is in Islington, or near 
 it — Barnsbury, perhaps. There is a little garden in front and one 
 at the back. There is always washing hung out to dry — I don't 
 like the smell of suds. For dinner one has cold Australian tinned 
 meat for economy, not for choice. The rooms are very small, 
 and the furniture is shabby, because it was cheap and bad to be- 
 gin with. And when you come home — oh, George !" — she stuck 
 her forefinger in her chalk and drew two or three lines on his 
 face — " you look like that, so discontented, so grumpy, so gloomy. 
 Oh ! my dear, the advantages — they do so greatly outbalance 
 the drawbacks ; and George — you will love your wife all the 
 more — I am sure you will — because she can always dress properly, 
 
THE IVORY GATE 91 
 
 and look nice, and give you a dinner that will help to rest you 
 from the work of the day." 
 
 Once more this foolish couple fell into each other's arms, and 
 kissed again with tears and smiles and laughter. 
 
 " AVho," asked Mrs. Arundel, ringing the bell upstairs — " who 
 is with Miss Elsie below ?" 
 
 On hearing that it was Mr. George Austin, whose presence in 
 the house was forbidden, Mrs. Arundel rose solemnly and awfully, 
 and walked down the stairs. She had a clear duty before her. 
 When she threw open the door the lovers were hand in hand, 
 dancing round the room, laughing — but the tears were runnino- 
 down Elsie's cheeks. 
 
 " Elsie," said her mother, standing at the open door, "perhaps 
 you can explain this." 
 
 " Permit me to explain," said George. 
 
 " This gentleman, Elsie, has been forbidden the house." 
 
 " One moment — " he began. 
 
 " Go, sir." She pointed majestically to the window. 
 
 " Oh !" cried Elsie. " Tell her, George— tell her ; I cannot." 
 She fell to laughing and crying together, but still held her lover 
 by the hand. 
 
 " I will have no communication whatever with one who robs 
 me of a daughter," said tliis Roman matron. " Will you, once 
 more, leave the house, sir?" 
 
 " Mother, you must hear him." 
 
 " Nothing," said Mrs. Arundel, " will ever induce me to speak 
 to liim — nothing." 
 
 " Mother, don't be silly!" Elsie cried. " You don't know what 
 has happened. You must not say such things. You will only be 
 sorry for them afterwards." 
 
 " Never — never. One may forgive such a man, but one can 
 never speak to him ; never — whatever happens — never." The 
 lady looked almost heroic as she waved her right hand in the 
 direction of the man. 
 
 " I will go," said George, " but not till you have lieard me. 
 I am rich — Elsie is rich — we shall not marry into poverty. The 
 whole situation is entirely changed." 
 
 " Changed," Elsie repeated, taking George's arm. 
 
 " My dear George," said Mrs. Arundel, when she had heard the 
 
92 TUE IVORY GATE 
 
 whole story, and by cross-examination persuaded herself that it 
 was true, " you know on what a just basis my objections were 
 founded. Otherwise, I should have been delighted at the outset. 
 Kiss nie, Elsie. You have my full consent, children. These 
 remarkable events are providential. On Mr. Bering's death or 
 retirement you will step into an enormous practice. Follow his 
 example — take no partner till old age compels you ; keep all the 
 profits for yourself — all. My dear George, you should be a very 
 liappy man. Not so rich, perhaps, as my son-in-law, Sir Samuel, 
 but above the ordinary run of common happiness. As for the 
 past — Wo will now go down to lunch. There is the bell. 
 These emotions are fatiguing." 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 IN HONOR OF THE EVENT 
 
 May one dwell upon so simple a thing as a small family din- 
 ner-party ? It is generally undramatic and uneventful ; it is not 
 generally marked even by a new dish or a bottle of rare wine. 
 Yet there lingers in the mind of every man the recollection of 
 pleasant dinners. I should like to write a "Book of Dinners," not 
 a book for the gourmet, but a book of memories. It might be a 
 most delightful volume. There would be in it the school-boys' 
 dinner. I remember a certain dinner at eigh teen-pence a head, 
 at Richmond, before we had the row in the boat, when we quar- 
 relled, and broke the oars over each other's heads, and very nearly 
 capsized; a certain undergraduates' dinner, in which four men — 
 three of whom are now ghosts — joined; the Ramblers' dinner — of 
 lamb-chops and bottled ale, and mirth and merriment; the two- 
 by-two dinner in the private room — a dainty dinner of sweet lamb, 
 sweet bread, sweet pease, sweet looks, sweet Moselle, and sweet 
 words. Is it really true that one never — never — gets young again ? 
 Some people do, I am sure, but they are under promise to say 
 nothing about it. I shall — and then that dinner may perhaps — 
 one cannot say — one never knows — and I suppose, if one was 
 young again, that they would be found just as pretty as they 
 ever were. There is the official dinner, stately and cold ; the City 
 
THE IVOKY GATE 93 
 
 dinner, which generally comes to a man when his digestion is no 
 longer what it was; the family dinner, in which the intellect plays 
 so s^nall a part, because no one wastes his fine things on his broth- 
 ers and sisters; the dinner at which one has to make a speech. 
 Indeed, this " Book of Dinners" promises to be a most charming 
 volume. I should attempt it, however, with trembling, because, 
 to do it really well, one should be, first of all, a scholar, if only to 
 appreciate things said and spoken, and in order to connect the 
 illustrious past with food and drink. Next, he ought to be still 
 young; he certainly must have a proper feeling for wine, and 
 niust°certainly understand when and why one should be grateful 
 to good Master Cook ; he should be a past or present master in 
 the" art of love and a squire of dames; he should be good at 
 conversation ; he must, in the old language, be a worshipper of 
 Bacchus, Venus, Phoebus Apollo, the Muses nine, and the Graces 
 three. He must be no poor weakling, unable to enjoy the good 
 creatures of tlesh, fowl, fish, and wine; no boor; and no log, in- 
 sensible to loveliness. 
 
 Dinner, which should be a science, has long been treated as one 
 of the fine arts. Now every fine art, as we all know, has its 
 fashions and its caprices. Those who are old enough to re- 
 member the dinners of twenty, thirty, or forty years ago can re- 
 member many of their fashions and caprices. In the thirties, 
 for instance, everything was carved upon the table. It required 
 a strong man to give a dinner-party. Fortunately, a dinner then 
 consiste"d of few dishes. They drank sherry with dinner, and port 
 afterwards. The champagne, if there was any, was sweet. The 
 guests were bidden for half-past six; they sat down to dinner 
 before seven. At eight the ladies went upstairs ; at half-past ten 
 the men joined them. Their faces were flushed, their shoulders 
 were inclined to lurch, and their speech was the least bit thick. 
 Wonderful to relate, brandy-and-water used to be served to these 
 topers in the drawing-room itself. 
 
 Mr. Dering had altered little in his dinner customs. They 
 mostly belonged to the sixties, with a survival of some belong- 
 ing to the thirties. Things were carved upon the sideboard— 
 this was in deference to modern custom ; champagne formed an 
 integral part of the meal, but the dinner itself was solid ; the 
 clotii after dinner was removed, leaving the dark, polished ma- 
 hogany, after the old fashion ; the furniture of the room was also 
 
94 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 in the old style — the chairs wore heavy and solid; the walls were 
 hung with a dark crimson paper of velvety texture; the curtains 
 and the carpets were red; there were pictures of game and fruit; 
 the sideboard was as solid as the table. 
 
 Checkley, the clerk, who was invited, as a faithful servant of 
 the liouse, to the celebration of the new partnership, was the first 
 to arrive. ])ressed in a hired suit, he looked like an undertaker's 
 assistant; the gloom upon his face heightened the resemblance. 
 Why the partnersliip caused this appearance of gloom 1 know 
 not. Certainly he could never expect to be made a partner him- 
 self. It was perhaps a species of jealousy which filled his soul. 
 He would no longer know so much of the business. 
 
 George came with the mother-in-law elect and the fiancee. 
 Forgiveness, peace, amnesty, and charity sat all together upon 
 the brow of the elder lady. She was magnificent in a dark crim- 
 son velvet, and she had a good deal of gold about lier arms and 
 neck. Jewish ladies arc said to show, by the magnificence of their 
 attire, the prosperity of the business. Why not? It is a form 
 of enjoying success. There are many forms. One man buys 
 books — let him buy books; another collects pictures. Why not? 
 One woman wears crimson velvet. Why not? In this way she 
 enjoys her wealth and proclaims it. Again, why not? It seems 
 to the philosopher a fond and a vain thing to deck the person at 
 all times, and especially fond when the person is middle-aged and 
 no longer beautiful. We are not all philosophers. There are 
 many middle-aged men who are extremely liappy to put on their 
 uniforms and their medals and their glittering helmets. Mrs. Arun- 
 del wore her velvet as if she enjoyed the color of it, the richness 
 of it, the light and shade that lay in its folds, and the soft feel of 
 it. She wore it, too, as an outward sign that this was a great 
 occasion. Iler daughter. Lady Dering, came also arrayed in a 
 queenly dress of amber silk, with an aigrette of feathers in her 
 hair. To be sure, she was going on somewhere after the dinner. 
 Elsie, for her part, came in a creamy white almost like a bride, 
 but she looked much happier than most brides. Hilda's hus- 
 band, Sir Samuel, who was some fourteen years younger than his 
 brother, was in appearance a typical man of wealth. The rich 
 man can no longer, as in the days of good old Sir Thomas Gres- 
 ham, illustrate his riches by costly furs, embroidered doublets, 
 and heavy chains. He has to wear broadcloth and black. Yet 
 
THE IVORY GATE 95 
 
 there is an air, a carriage, wliich belongs to the rich man. In 
 appearance Sir Samuel was tail, like his brother, but not thin like 
 him ; he was corpulent ; his face was red ; he was bald ; and he 
 wore large whiskers, dyed black. The late dissensions were com- 
 pletely forgotten. Hilda embraced her sister fondly. "My dear," 
 she whispered, " we have heard all. Everything — everything is 
 changed by these fortunate events. They do you the greatest 
 credit. George" — she took his hand and held it tenderly — "I 
 cannot tell you how happy this news has made us all. You will 
 be rich in the course of years. Sir Samuel was only saying, as 
 we came along — " 
 
 " I was saying, young gentleman," the knight interrupted, 
 "that the most beautiful thing about money is the way it de- 
 velops character. We do not ask for many virtues — only hon- 
 esty and diligence — from the poor. When a man acquires wealth 
 we look for his better (jualitics." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," Hilda murmured, " his better qualities begin 
 to show, Elsie, dear, that is a very pretty frock — I don't think 
 I have seen it before. How do you like ray dress?" 
 
 George accepted this sudden turn in opinion with smiles. He 
 laughed at it afterwards. For the moment it made him feel almost 
 as if he was being rewarded for some virtuous action. 
 
 Dinner was announced at seven — such were the old-fashioned 
 manners of this old gentleman. He led in Mrs. Arundel, and 
 placed Elsie on his left. At first the dinner promised to be a 
 silent feast. The two lovers were not disposed to talk much — 
 they had not yet recovered from the overwhelming and astonish- 
 ing events of the day. Sir Samuel never talked at the beginning 
 of dinner; besides, there was turtle soup and red mullet and 
 whitebait — it is sinful to divert your attention from these good 
 creatures. His wife never talked at dinner or at any other time 
 more than she could help. Your statuesque beauty seldom does. 
 Talking much involves smiling and even laughing, which distorts 
 the face. A woman must encourage men to talk; this she can do 
 without saying much herself. 
 
 Presently Mr. Bering roused himself, and began to talk, with 
 a visible effort, first to Mrs. Arundel of things casual ; then to 
 Elsie; and then to his brother, but always with an effort, as if 
 he were thinking of other things. And a constraint fell upon the 
 party. 
 
96 THE IVORV GATE 
 
 "When tbc cloth was removed, and the wine and fruit were 
 placed upon the dark and lustrous board, he filled a glass and 
 made a kind little speech. 
 
 " My partner," he said, " I drink to yon. May your connec- 
 tion with the house be prosperous! It is a very great good-fort- 
 une for me to have found such a partner. Elsie, I join you with 
 my partner. I wish you both every happiness," 
 
 He ihained the bumper, and sent round the decanters. 
 
 Then he began to talk, and his discourse was most strange. 
 " Uad it been,'' said his brother afterwards, " the idle fancies of 
 some crack-brained writing fellow, I could have understood it; 
 but from him — from a steady old solicitor — a man who has never 
 countcnajiced any kind of nonsense — To be sure lie said it was 
 only an illusion. I hope it isn't a softening. Who ever heard 
 of such a man as that liaving dreams and illusions?" 
 
 Certainly no one had ever before heard Mr. Dering talk in this 
 new manner. As a rule he was silent and grave, even at the head 
 of his own table, lie spoke little, and then gravely. To-night 
 Ills talk as well as his face was changed. Who would have 
 thought that Mr. Bering should confess to illusions, and should 
 relate dreams, and should be visited by such dreams ? Remem- 
 ber that the speaker was seventy-five years of age, and that he 
 had never before been known so much as to speak of benevo- 
 lence. Then you will understand something of the bewilderment 
 which fell upon the whole company. 
 
 lie began by raising his head, and smiling with a strange and 
 new benignity — but Elsie thought of her portrait. " We are all 
 one family here," he said, "and I may talk. I want to tell you 
 of a very remarkable thing that has recently happened to me. It 
 has been growing, I now perceive, for some years. But it now 
 holds me strongly, and it is one reason why I am anxious to have 
 the affairs of the house in the hands of a younger man. For it 
 may be a sign of the end. At seventy-five anything uncommon 
 may be a sign." 
 
 " You look well, Mr. Dering, and as strong as most men of six- 
 ty," said Mrs. Arundel. 
 
 " Perhaps. I feel well and strong. The fact is that I am 
 troubled — or pleased — or possessed — by an illusion." 
 
 " You with an illusion ?" said his brother. 
 
 "I myself. An illusion possesses me. It whispers me from 
 
THE IVORY GATE 97 
 
 time to time tliat my life is wholly spent in promoting the hap- 
 piness of other people." 
 
 "Well," said his brother, "since you arc a first-class solicitor, 
 and manage the affairs of many people very much to their ad- 
 vantage, you certainly do promote their happiness." 
 
 "Yes, yes — I suppose so. My illusion further is that it is 
 done outside my business — without any bill afterwards" — Clieck- 
 ley looked up with eyes wide open. " I ara made to believe that 
 I am working and living for the good of others. A curious illu- 
 sion, is it not?" 
 
 The City man shook his head. " That any man can possibly 
 live for the good of others is, I take it, always and under all cir- 
 cumstances an illusion. In the present state of society — and a 
 very admirable state it is" — he rolled his bald head as he spoke, 
 and his voice had a rich roll in it — " a man's first duty — his sec- 
 ond duty — his third duty — his hundredth duty — is to himself. 
 In the City it is his business to amass wealth — to roll it up — roll 
 it up " — he expressed the words with feeling — " to invest it prof- 
 itably — to watch it, and to nurse it as it fructifies — fructifies. 
 Afterwards, when he is rich enough, if ever a man can be rich 
 enough, he may exercise as much charity as he pleases — as he 
 pleases. Charity seems to please some people as a glass of fine 
 wine" — he illustrated the comparison — "pleases the palate — 
 pleases the palate." 
 
 The lawyer listened politely, and inclined his head. 
 
 "There is at least some method in my illusion," he went on. 
 "You mentioned it. The solicitor is always occupied with the 
 conduct of other people's affairs. That must be admitted. He 
 is always engaged in considering liow best to guide his fcllow- 
 inan through the labyrinthine world. He receives his fellow-man 
 nt his entrance into the world, as a ward; he receives him grown 
 up, as a client; he advises him all his life at every step and in 
 every emergency. If the client goes into partnership, or marries, 
 or buys a house or builds one, or gets into trouble, the solicitor 
 assists and advises him. When the client grows old, the solicitor 
 makes his will. When the client dies, the solicitor becomes his 
 executor and his trustee, and administers his estate for him. It 
 is thus a life, as I said, entirely spent for other people. I know 
 not of any other, unless it be of medicine, that so much can be 
 said. And think what terrors, what anxieties, what disappoiut- 
 5 
 
98 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 nicnts, the solicitor witnesses and alleviates! Think of the fami- 
 ly scandals he hushes up and keeps secret ! Good heavens ! if a 
 solicitor in large practice were to tell what he knows, think of the 
 terrible disclosures ! lie knows everything. lie knows more than 
 a Iloman Catholic priest, because his penitents not only reveal 
 their own sins, but also those of their wives and sons and friends 
 and partners. And anxiety, I may tell you, makes a man better 
 at confessing than penitence. Sometimes we bring actions at law, 
 and issue writs, and so forth. Weil now, this part of our business, 
 which is disagreeable to us, is actually the most beneficent of any. 
 Because, by means of the cases brought before the High Court of 
 Justice, we remind the world that it must be law-abiding as well as 
 law-worthy. The law, in order to win respect, must first win fear. 
 Force comes before order. The memory of force must be kept 
 lip. The presence of force must be felt. For instance, I have a 
 libel case just begun. It is rather a bad libel. My libeller will 
 suffer; he will bleed; but he will bleed for the public good, be- 
 cause thousands who are only anxious to libel and slander, to 
 calumniate and defame their neighbors, will be deterred. Oh ! it 
 will be a most beneficent case — far-reaching — striking terror into 
 the hearts of ill-doers. Well — this, my friends, is my illusion. It 
 is, I suppose, one of the many illusions with which we cheat old 
 age and rob it of its terrors. To anybody else I am a hard-fisted 
 lawyer, exacting his pound of flesh from the unfortunate debtor, 
 and making myself rich at the expense of the creditor." 
 
 " Nonsense about how a man gets rich," said the man of busi- 
 ness. " He can only get rich if he is capable. Quite right. Let 
 the weak go under. Let the careless and the lazy starve." 
 
 " At the same time," said Elsie softly, " it is not all illusion. 
 There are others besides the careless and the lazy — " 
 
 "Sometimes," the old lawyer went on, " this illusion of mine — 
 oh ! I know it is only illusion — takes the form of a dream, so 
 vivid that it comes back to me afterwards as a reality. In this 
 dream, which is always the same, I seem to have been engaged in 
 some great scheme of practical benevolence." 
 
 "Practical — What? You engaged in practical benevolence ?" 
 the City man asked, in profound astonishment. The illusion was 
 astonishing enough ; but to have his brother talk of practical 
 benevolence was amazing indeed. 
 
 "Practical benevolence," repeated Mr. Bering. Ilis voice 
 
THE IVORY GATE 99 
 
 dropped. His eyes looked out into space ; lie seemed as one 
 who narrates a story. " It is a curiously persistent dream. It 
 comes at irregular intervals; it pleases me while it lasts. Oh ! in 
 the evening, after dinner — while one takes a nap in the easy-chair, 
 perhaps — it is, as I said, quite vivid. The action of this dream 
 always takes place in the same room — a large room, plainly fur- 
 nished, and looking out upon an open space — I should know it if 
 I saw it; and it fills me with pleasure — in ray dream — just to feel 
 that I am — there is no other word for it — diffusing happiness. 
 IIow I manage this diffusion I can never remember ; but there it 
 is — good, solid happiness, such as, in waking moments, one feels 
 to be impossible." 
 
 "Diffusing happiness — you !" said his brother. 
 
 *' A very beautiful dream," said Elsie. But no one dared to 
 look in each other's face. 
 
 " This strange dream of niiiie," continued Mr. Bering, " does not 
 form part of that little illusion, though it seems connected with it. 
 And, as I said, mostly it comes in the evening. The other day, 
 however, I had it in the afternoon — went to sleep in my office, I 
 suppose. Did you find mc asleep, Checkley ? It was on Friday." 
 
 "No. On Friday afternoon you wont out." 
 
 '* Ah ! When I came back, then — I had forgotten that I went 
 out. Did I go out? Strange! Never mind. This continuous 
 dream opens up a world of new ideas and things which arc, I 
 perceive, when I am awake, quite unreal and illusory. Yet they 
 please. I see myself, as I said, diffusing happiness with open 
 bands. The world which is thus made happier consists entirely 
 of poor people. I move among them unseen ; I listen to them ; 
 I see what they do, and I hear what they say. Mind — all this is 
 as real and true to me as if it actually happened. And it fills me 
 with admiration of the blessed state of poverty. In my dream I 
 pity the rich with all my heart. To get rich, I think — in this 
 dream — they must have practised so many deceptions — " 
 
 "Brother! brother!" Sir Samuel held up both hands. 
 
 "In my dream — only in my dream. Those who inherit riches 
 are burdened with the weight of their wealth, which will not suf- 
 fer them to enter into the arena; will not allow them to develop 
 and to exercise their talents; and affiicts them with the mental and 
 bodily diseases that belong to indolence. The poor, on the other 
 hand, who live from day to day, sometimes out of work for weeks 
 
100 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 together, practise easily the simple virtues of brotherly love, char- 
 ity, and mutual helpfulness. They have learned to combine for 
 the good of all, rather than to fight, one against another, for self- 
 ish gain. It is the only world where all are borrowing and lend- 
 ing, giving and helping." 
 
 " Brother, this dream of yours is like a Socialist tract." 
 " It may be. Yet you see how strongly it takes hold of me 
 — that, while I see the absurdity of the whole thing, it is not un- 
 pleasing to recall the recollection of it. Well — I do not know 
 what set me talking about this dream." 
 
 The smiles left his face ; he became grave again ; he ceased to 
 talk ; for the rest of the evening he was once more the old solic- 
 itor, weighed down with the affairs of other people. 
 
 "Chcckley" — it was on the door-step, and Sir Samuel waited 
 while his wife said a few fond things to her sister — " what the 
 devil came over my brother to-night?" 
 
 " I don't know indeed, Sir Samuel. I never heard him talk 
 like that before. Doin' good to 'cm ? — servin' a writ upon 'em 
 is more our line. I think he must be upset somewhere in his in- 
 side, and it's gone to his head." 
 
 " Practical benevolence ? Living for other people? Have you 
 heard him complain of anything?" 
 
 " No, Sir Samuel. He never complains. Eats hearty ; walks 
 upright and strong; works like he always has worked. Doin' 
 good ! And the blessedness of being pore ! Seems most won- 
 derful. Blessedness of being pore ! Well, Sir Samuel, I've en- 
 joyed that blessedness myself, and I know what it's like. Any 
 or'nary preachin' chap might talk that nonsense ; but for your 
 eminent brother, Sir Samuel, such a lawyer as him — tp be talking 
 such stuff — if I may humbly so speak of my learned master's 
 words — it is. Sir Samuel, it really is !" 
 
 "He said it was a dream, remember. Cut I agree with you, 
 Checkley. It is amazing." 
 
 "Humph! The blessedness of being pore! And over such a 
 glass of port, too ! I thought I should ha' rolled off my chair — I 
 did, indeed. Here's your good lady, Sir Samuel." 
 
 "Elsie," said Mrs. Arundel in the carriage, "I think it was 
 high time that Mr. Bering should take a partner. He to dream 
 
THE IVOHY GATE 101 
 
 of practical benevolence ? He to be diffusing happiness with open 
 hands ? Oh ! most lamentable — I call it. However, the deeds 
 are signed, and we are all right. In case of anything happening, 
 it is a comfort to think that George's position would be only im- 
 proved." 
 
 CIIxVPTER IX 
 
 AT THE GATES OF PARADISE 
 
 Many women have advanced the doctrine that the happiest 
 time of life is that of their engagement. Of course no man can 
 possibly understand this theory ; but from a woman's point of 
 view it can be defended because it is, for some girls, the most de- 
 lightful thing in the world to be wooed; and until the church 
 service is actually said, and the ring is on the finger, the bride is 
 queen and mistress; afterwards — not always. But the happiness 
 of it depends upon its being a courtship without obstacles. Now 
 in the case of the young couple whose fortunes we are following 
 there was plenty of love, with excellent wooing; but the engage- 
 ment had been opposed by the whole tribe of Arundels, so that 
 every time she met her lover it was in open rebellion against her 
 mother. To go home from a walk with him only to find the 
 silence of resentment at home is not pleasant. Again, we have 
 seen liow they were looking forward to a life of poverty — even of 
 privation. Dame Penury, with her pinching ways and shrewish 
 tongue, was going to be their constant lodger. Then the young 
 man could not choose but ask himself whether he was not a self- 
 ish beast to take a girl out of plenty into privation. And the 
 girl could not choose but ask herself whether she was not selfish 
 in laying this great burden upon the back of her lover. No one 
 can bo indifferent to such a prospect ; no one can contemplate 
 with pleasure the cheese-parings, the savings, the management, of 
 such a life ; no one can like having to make a penny do the work 
 of sixpence; no one can rejoice as one stops down, down, down 
 the social ladder; no one can antici{)ate with satisfaction the loss 
 of gentlehood for the daughters, and the loss of an adequate edu- 
 cation for the sons. 
 
102 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 " You will make mc liappy," said tlic lover, " at the cost of ev- 
 erything that makes life happy for yourself." 
 
 " If I make yon happy," said the girl, " I ask for nothing more. 
 But oh ! I am laying a heavy hurden upon you. Can you bear 
 it? Will you never blame mc if the burden is greater than you 
 can bear?" 
 
 And now all the trouble vanished like a cloud from tlie morn- 
 ing sky — vanished so completely that there was not a trace of it 
 left anywhere. The accusing figure of her mother was changed 
 into a smiling face of pleased and satisfied maternity ; reproaches 
 were turned into words of endearment, angry looks to presents 
 and caresses. And as for her sister, you might have thought that 
 all this good fortune was actually achieved and conquered by Elsie 
 — otherwise, how could one justify the praise and flattery that 
 Hilda now lavished upon her? She gave a great dinner as a kind 
 of official reception of the bridegroom into the family ; she also 
 gave a dance, at which she herself was the most beautiful woman 
 — she stood in a conspicuous place all the evening, magnificently 
 dressed, statuesque, wonderful ! and Elsie was the prettiest girl at 
 the party ; but between the most beautiful woman and the pret- 
 tiest girl was a difference! There is nothing like good fortune 
 to bring out a girl's good qualities ; Elsie had always had friends ; 
 now she might have numbered them by hundreds. Good fortune 
 breeds friends as the sunshine creates the flowers. She was con- 
 gratulated, caressed, and flattered enough to turn her head. Now, 
 girls are so constituted that tliey love admiration, whicli is a kind 
 of affection, even when it takes the form of flattery ; and their 
 heads may be easily turned ; but they are as easily turned back 
 again. And the house — the widow's house — which for so many 
 years had been so dull and quiet a place, was transformed into a 
 place of entertainment. It only wanted colored lamps to make it 
 another Vauxhall ; it was crowded every night with the younger 
 friends of bride and bridegroom. George had many friends, lie 
 was gregarious by nature ; he was a rowing man on the athletic 
 side ; he had a healthy love and a light hand for things like bill- 
 iards, shooting, and fishing; they are tastes which assist in the 
 creation of friendships. 
 
 These friends — young fellows of like mind — came to the house 
 in multitudes to rally round the man about to desert their ranks. 
 Young men are forgiving. George would row no more among 
 
THE IVORY GATE 
 
 103 
 
 them ; he would be lost to the billiard-table, and to the club itself; 
 yet they forgave him, and accepted his invitation, and went to 
 see the bride: They found her with the friends of her own age. 
 Heavens ! bow the daring of one man in taking away a maiden 
 from the band encourages others ! There are six love-stories, at 
 least, all rising out of these evenings, and all of surpassing inter- 
 est, had one the time to write them. They are both grave and 
 gay ; there are tears in every one ; the course of true love in no 
 case ran smooth except in the story of the Two Stupids. Love's 
 enemies can never effect aught against a stupid, and so these Two 
 Stupids became engaged without opposition, and were married 
 with acclamations; but they are too stupid— perhaps— to know 
 their own happiness. 
 
 All this went on for three weeks. It was arranged that the 
 happy pair should be married in the middle of August; they had 
 resolved to spend their honeymoon in France, staying a few days 
 in Paris, and then going on to see the towns and the country along 
 the Loire, with the old city of Tours for their centre. They pro- 
 posed to live entirely upon fruit and wine and kisses. No place 
 in the world like Touraine for those who are so young, and so 
 much in love, and so perfectly satisfied with so simple a diet. 
 Even for those who take a cutlet with the fruit and the wine, 
 there is no place equal to Touraine. Meantime, against the 
 home-coming, a desirable tiat was secured — not one of your little 
 economical flats, all drawing-room, with two or three rabbit-hutches 
 for bedrooms, but a large and highly decorated flat, with all the 
 newest appliances, large rooms, and a lift and plenty of space for 
 the dinner-parties and receptions which Elsie would have to give. 
 The servants were engaged. The furniture was ordered, all in 
 the advanced taste of the day — carpets, curtains, pictures, over- 
 mantels, cabinets, screens. Elsie went every day to her new home, 
 and found something omitted, and sat down in it to wonder what 
 it would be like— tliis new life she was entering upon. Oh ! it 
 was a busy time. Then there was her trousseau — everybody 
 knows the amount of thought and care required for a trousseau ; 
 this was approaching completion — everybody knows the happi- 
 ness, peculiar and unlike any other kind of happiness, with which 
 a girl contemplates a heap of " things" all her own. I suppose 
 that it is only at her wedding that she can enjoy this happiness, 
 for afterwards the "things" ore not her own, but the things of 
 
104 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 the family. The bride's dress, another thing of supreme impor- 
 tance, had been tried on, though as yet it was very, very far from 
 being finished. The bridesmaids, two of George's sisters, liad 
 also already tried on their dresses. They came every day — two 
 very sweet girls, who have both to do with those six love-stories 
 which will never, I fear, be told — to talk over the events and to 
 see the presents. These came in daily, and were laid out in a 
 room by themselves, looking very splendid ; their splendor proved 
 the wealth and the position of the pair, because rich presents are 
 only given to rich people. 
 
 In a word, everybody was heartily, loyally sympathetic, as if 
 to make up for the previous harshness and coldness. For three 
 weeks this happiness lasted! It was on Monday, June 29th, 
 that the golden shower descended upon them ; it was on Monday, 
 July 20th, that the rain of gold ceased, and another kind of 
 cloud came up which speedily changed into a driving storm of 
 rain and sleet,and hail and ice and snow. 
 
 Look at them on Sunday, Before the storm there is generally 
 a brief time of sunshine, warm and fine; after the storm, the calm 
 that follows is a time of dismay, speechless and tearless. Sun- 
 day was the day before the storm ; it was a day of sunshine with- 
 out and within. The lovers spent the whole day together, hand 
 in hand. They went to church together, tliey sat side by side, 
 they warbled off the same hymn-book. The service proved, as 
 the preacher used to say, a season of refreshment, for never doth 
 religion so uplift the soul as when it is entirely happy ; the voices 
 of the choir chanting the psalms filled them with joy, and would 
 have done so even if they had been penitential minors and the 
 lamentation of a sinner. Their hearts rose higher and higher as 
 the preacher exhorted, and would have flown upwards just a» 
 much whether he had brandished the terrors of the law or held 
 out the gracious promise of the Gospel. For, you see, at such a 
 time as this, whatever was said or done only led this faithful pair 
 farther and deeper into the shady glades and fragrant lawns and 
 flowery dells of Love's Paradise. 
 
 Every church, at every service, and especially in the evening, 
 contains many such lovers. You may know them by certain in- 
 fallible signs. They sit very close together; they sing off the 
 same book; their faces betray by the rigidity of their attitude, 
 which is that of pretended attention, the far-away expression of 
 
THE IVORY GATE 105 
 
 their eyes, and the absence of any external sign of emotion or 
 sympathy with the preacher, that their hands, beneath some folds 
 of tlie feminine gabardine, are closely clasped. It has sometimes 
 pleased the philosopher, and relieved tlie tedium of a dull sermon, 
 to look round the congregation, and to pick out the lovers — here 
 a pair and there a pair. Even in the church, you see, Love is 
 conqueror and king. 
 
 These lovers, therefore, went to church in a frame of mind 
 truly heavenly ; nobody in the whole congregation felt more 
 deeply pious; every response was an act of praise; every prayer 
 an act of gratitude; every hymn £f personal thank-offering. Be- 
 neath those calm faces was flying and rushing a whirlwind and 
 confusion of hopes, memories, plans, projects, and gratitudes. 
 lie who looks back upon the days immediately before his wed- 
 ding-day — most men no more remember their own emotions 
 than a child remembers yesterday's ear-ache — will wonder how 
 he lived through that time of change, when all that he prayed 
 for was granted, but on the condition of a turning upside down 
 of all his habits, customs, and petted ways. 
 
 All round them sat the people, no doubt with minds wholly 
 attuned to the service of prayer and praise. Well, the sheep in 
 a flock to outward seeming are all alike, yet every animal has his 
 own desires and small ambitions for himself. So, I suppose, with 
 the congregation. As every man shuts the street-door behind 
 him, and trudges along the way to church — the Via Sacra — with 
 wife and children, he carries in his waistcoat pocket, close to his 
 heart, a little packet of business cares to think upon during the 
 sermon. And if all the thoughts of all the people could be col- 
 lected after the sermon, instead of the offertory, they would make 
 a salutary oblation indeed. 
 
 "George," said Elsie, as they came out, "let us go into the 
 Gardens, and sit under a tree, and talk. Let us get away from 
 everybody for half an hour." 
 
 Kensington Gardens were filled with the customary throng of 
 those who, like themselves, had been to church. The carping 
 philosopher says unkind things about church, and gardens, and 
 fashion. As if church would ever keep like from congregating 
 with like ! There were shoals of beautiful girls, dressed as well 
 as they knew or could afford ; dozens of young fellows, and with 
 them the no-longer-quite-so-young, the no-longer-young, the no- 
 5* 
 
106 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 longcr-young-at-al], the middle-aged, the elderly, and the old, not 
 to speak of the children. Elsie looked up and down the walk. 
 " We are never so niiioh alone as in a crowd," she said, with the 
 air that some girls assume of saying an original thing — which no 
 woman ever did say yet, unless by accident. 
 
 They joined the stream ; presently George led the girl out of 
 the road and across the grass to a place where two or three chairs 
 were set under the trees. They sat down. Then occurred the 
 miracle Avrought in these gardens every day and all day long. 
 Out of the ground sprang a man — for such ho seemed, though 
 doubtless a sjiirit-messcngcr — who demanded twopence. This 
 paid, he vanished straightway. After the ceremony they talked. 
 
 " George," said the girl, " every day now, wherever I am, even 
 at church, I feel as if I should like to jump up and to sing and 
 dance. This morning I should have liked a service all to our- 
 selves — you to reail, and I to sing; you to pray, and I to praise. 
 I kept wondering if there was any girl in the place so happy as 
 myself — or so unhappy as I was three short weeks ago." 
 
 "Elsie," said George — a simple thing to say, but it had a 
 thousand meanings. 
 
 " We have not deserved it; indeed, indeed, we have not. Why 
 are we singled out for such joy? We already had the greatest 
 tiling of all — we had love. That is happiness enough for some 
 women. Wx only wanted a little more money, and now we liavc 
 all this great fortune." 
 
 " It is wonderful, Elsie." 
 
 She laid her hand on his, and spoke, in her sweet, low voice, 
 gazing upwards. " George ! I am so happy that I want everybody 
 else to be happy as well. The angels, I am sure, must lose some 
 of their joy in wishing that all were with them. I pity all 
 those poor girls who have no lovers; all those poor married 
 people who are lying in poverty; all those poor creatures who are 
 trying for what they cannot get; all those who are weeping out- 
 side the gates of Heaven. George, it is a beautiful world, and 
 it should be such a happy world ; there should be nothing but 
 joy all through life. There is such an abundance of happiness 
 possible in it. Sadness is only a passing cloud ; anxiety is only 
 a touch of east wind; evil and pain are only fleeting shadows." 
 
 ^le sighed, and clasped lier hands, and the tears rose to her 
 eyes. 
 
lOY 
 
 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 " Wc shall crow old toc^ether, George," she went on murmur- 
 • .tLV nn spcakin^-I omit her lover's interruptions and 
 
 -■;."•; j='r;sr =.;:?. -;..s :^..; 
 
 r : .. Afr n^rincr imacrined— tlircc weeks ago. Evcrv- 
 T" "T i rilt: • Ev' y i.all co™e laJon with its o.n 
 
 :r:: tit 'lid „:. Yf ^e couw ...p it, suaor u to go 
 
 joy, SO tlial 1^^^ ^^.^^ trembled and 
 
 :2'\.dt OS filled «m. tears.' " Life shall be all happiness 
 rood inlnde'd for us. Even death „HI be litt e so™» for e 
 Laration »ill be so short." Once more she laid her hand on li.s. 
 E "n to the most frivolous the prospeet of the wedded ,0 
 a«k nsVrave and solemn thoughts; tor those .ho have eyes to 
 s c and ears to hear and brains to understand, there >s no pros- 
 peet so eharged with ehanees and possibilit.es, where even hfo 
 itself may become a death in life. 
 
 AVhen Geor-e left her in the evening he drove to see Athelstan. 
 
 'so" he said, "you have been courting all day, I suppose. 
 
 You o^ght to haJe had enough of it. Sit down, and have some- 
 
 thin.-a pipe-a cigar. ^Vell-you are going to bo very pll>. 
 
 I su;pose Elsie's little fortune will help a bit, won t it? 
 
 "I should think so, indeed." , n ,„, tl.at the 
 
 "Yes-I'vc been very glad ever since you told me that he 
 child had had this stroke of luck. I wonder who gav. her the 
 ^ oney» To be sure there is plenty of money knocking about 
 rr. the Arundels. Most of us have had ^ -t f >nsUnc. f 
 makincr money. Put us down anywhere among a lot of men n 
 a cit3-"and wJ begin to transfer the contents of their pockets to 
 
 our own. 
 
108 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 "Meanwliilc, give up this old resentment. Come back to your 
 own people. Come to our wedding." 
 
 "I cannot possibly, unless you will tell me who forged that 
 check. How could I go back to people who still believe jne 
 guilty ? When you are married, I will go and see Elsie, which I 
 can do with a light heart. You have not told any one about my 
 return ?" 
 
 " Certainly not. No one suspects, and no one talks or thinks 
 about you." 
 
 Athelstan laughed a little. "That is a doubtful piece of in- 
 formation. Am I to rejoice or to weep because I am completely 
 forgutten and out of mind ? It is rather humiliating, isn't it?" 
 
 " You are not forgotten at all. That is a different thing. 
 Only tiiey do not speak of you." 
 
 " Well, George, never mind that now. I am glad you came 
 to-night, because I have some news for you. I have found the 
 commissionnaire who took the check to the bank — actually found 
 the man." 
 
 " No ! After all these years ?" 
 
 "I wrote out the particulars of the case — briefly. Yesterday 
 I took the paper to the commissioiinaircs' barrack in the Strand, 
 and offered a reward for the recovery of the man who had cashed 
 the check. That same evening the man presented himself, and 
 claimed the reward, lie remembered the thing very well — for 
 this reason : the gentleman who employed him first sent him with 
 a bag to a parcel-delivery oflQce ; he did not look at the address. 
 The gentleman was staying at the Cecil Hotel. Now, the com- 
 missionnaire was a one-armed man. Because be had only one arm, 
 the gentleman — who was a pleasant-spoken gentleman — gave him 
 ten shillings for his trouble, which was nine shillings more than 
 his proper pay. The gentleman sent him to the bank with this 
 check to cash, and he returned with seven hundred and twenty 
 pounds in ten-pound notes. Then it was that the gentleman — 
 who seems to have been a free-handed gentleman — gave him ten 
 shillings. The man says that he would know that gentleman 
 anywhere. He was old, and had gray hair. He says that be 
 should know him wherever be saw him. What do you think of 
 that?" 
 
 " Well — it is something, if you could find that old man." 
 
 *' Why, of course it was Checkley — gray-haired Checkley. 
 
THE IVORY GATE 109 
 
 We'll catch that old fox yet. Beware of Chccklcy. lie's a fox. 
 He's a worm. He's a creeping centipede. When the old man 
 goes you must make Checkley pack." 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 A MYSTERIOUS DISCOVERY 
 
 On Monday morning the unexpected liappcned. It came with 
 more than common malignity. In fact, nothing more threaten- 
 ing to the persons chiefly concerned in the calamity could have 
 happened, though at first they were happily spared the com- 
 prehension of its full significance. 
 
 There is a wide-spread superstition — so wide that it must be 
 true — that at those rare moments when one feels foolishly happy, 
 at peace with all the world, at peace with one's own conscience, 
 all injuries forgiven, the future stretched out before like a sunlit 
 peaceful lake, some disaster, great or small, is certainly imminent. 
 " Don't feel too happy," says Experience Universal. " The gods 
 resent the happiness of man. Affect a little anxiety. Assume a 
 certain sadness. Restrain that dancing leg. If you must shake 
 it, do so as if by accident, or as if in terror — for choice, sliakc it 
 over an open grave in the church-yard. Stop singing that song 
 of joy ; try the lamentation of a sinner instead. So will the 
 gods be deceived. Above all, never allow yourself to believe 
 that the devil is dead. He is not even asleep. By carefully 
 observing these precautions, a great many misfortunes may be 
 averted. If, for instance, George had gone home soberly on Sun- 
 day night, instead of carrying on like a school-boy in play-time, 
 obviously happy, and so inviting calamity, perhaps he would never 
 have been connected — as lie afterwards became — with thisdisaster. 
 
 You have heard that Mr. Dering was a man of method. Every 
 morning he arrived at his oifice at a quarter before ten ; he bung 
 up his coat and hat in a recess behind the door; he then opened 
 his safe with his own hand. Checkley had already laid out the 
 table with a clean blotting-pad, pens, and letter-paper ; he liad 
 also placed the letters of the day upon the pad. The reading of 
 
110 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 the letters began the day's work. Tlic lawyer read them, made 
 notes upon tliem, rang for his shorthand clerk, and dictated an- 
 swers. These despatched, he turned to the standing business. 
 This morning, with the usual routine, he was plodding through 
 the letters of the day, taking up one after the other and reading 
 half mechanically. Presently he opened one, and looked at the 
 heading. " Ellis <fc Northcote," he said. " What do they 
 want?'' Then he suddenly stopped short, and started. Then he 
 bcfjan the letter again, and again he stop])ed short. It was from 
 his brokers in the City, and it recommended a certain advantageous 
 investment. That was not in itself very extraordinary. But it 
 contained the following remarkable passage: "You have made 
 such great transfers and so many sales during the last few 
 months that you have probably more profitable uses for money in 
 your own business. But if you should have a few thousands avail- 
 able at the present moment it is a most favorable opportunity—" 
 
 "Great transfers and many sales?" asked Mr. Dering, bewilder- 
 ed. " What transfers? AVhat sales does he mean?'' 
 
 lie turned over the pages of his diary, lie could find no 
 transactions of the kind at all. Then he reflected again. "I can 
 remember no transfers," he murmured. " Is this another trick of 
 memory ?" 
 
 Finally he touched the bell upon his table. 
 
 " Checkley," said Mr. Dering, on the appearance of the ancient 
 clerk, " I have got a letter that I don't understand at all. I told 
 you that my memory was going. Now you see. Here is a letter 
 about transfers and sales of stock. AVhat transfers? I don't 
 understand one word of it. My memory is not only going — it 
 is gone." 
 
 " Memory going ? Nonsense !" the old man shook liis head. 
 " No, no ; your memory is all right. Mine is as clear as a bell 
 — so's yours. You eat hearty — so do I. You sleep well — so do 
 I. We're both as hale and hearty as ever." 
 
 " No, no ; my memory is not what it was. I've told you so 
 a dozen times. I lose myself sometimes. Yesterday, when the 
 clock struck twelve, I thought it was only ten. I had lost two 
 hours. And sometimes, when I walk home, I lose recollection of 
 the walk afterwards." 
 
 " Tut, tut ! nobody of your age is such a young man as you. 
 Why, you walk like five-and-twenty. And you eat hearty — you 
 
THE IVORY GATE 
 
 111 
 
 eat very licarty." His words were encouraging, but lie looked 
 anxiously at his master. Truly, there was no apparent decay in 
 Mr. Dering. lie sat as upright, he looked as keen, he spoke as 
 
 clearly as ever. 
 
 u Well— about this letter. My friend P^llis, of Ellis k North- 
 cote, writes to me about something or other, and speaks of my 
 effecting great transfers and sales of stock lately. What does 
 
 he mean ?" 
 
 " You haven't bought or sold any stock lately that I know of." 
 
 " Well, you would have known. Have we had to make any 
 investments for clients of late? There was the Dalton- Smith 
 estate." 
 
 " That was eleven months ago." 
 
 " I suppose he must mean that— he can't mean anything else. 
 Yes, that is it. Well, I've got a partner now, so that it matters 
 less 'than it would have done— had my memory played me tricks 
 with no other responsible man in the place." 
 
 " You didn't want a partner," said Checkley jealously. " You 
 
 had me." 
 
 " He must mean that," Mr. Bering repeated. " lie can't mean 
 anything else. However— Has my bank-book been made up 
 
 lately «" 
 
 " Here it is. Made up last Friday— nothing been m or out smce. 
 
 Mr. Dering had not looked at his book for three or four 
 months. He was well served ; his people took care of his bank- 
 book. Now he opened it, and began to run his finger up and 
 down the pages. 
 
 " Checkley," he said, " what has happened to Newcastle Cor- 
 poration Stock ? The dividends were due some weeks ago— they 
 are not paid yet. Is the town gone bankrupt? xVnd — eh? 
 Where is Wolverhampton ? And— and— " He turned over the 
 pages quickly. " Checkley, there is something wrong with the 
 book. Not a single dividend of anything entered for the last four 
 months. There ought to have been about six hundred pounds 
 
 in that time." 
 
 " Queer mistake," said Checkley. " I'll take the book round 
 to the bank, and have it corrected." 
 
 " A very gross and careless mistake, I call it. Tell the man- 
 ao-er I said so. Let it be set right at once, Checkley— at once— 
 and while you wait. And bring it back to me." 
 
112 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 The bank was in Chancery Lane, close to the office. The old 
 clerk went off on his errand. 
 
 " A very careless mistake," the lawyer repeated ; " any clerk 
 of mine who committed such a mistake should be dismissed at 
 once." In fact, the certainty of full and speedy justice kept Mr. 
 Dering's clerks always at a high level of efficiency. 
 
 lie returned to the letters, apparently with no further uneasi- 
 ness. 
 
 After ten minutes, Checkley taking longer than he expected, 
 Mr. Dering became aware that his attention was wandering. 
 "Great transfers and many sales," he repeated. " After all, he 
 must mean the investn)ent of that Dalton-Smith money. Yet 
 that was only a single transaction. What can he mean ? lie 
 must have made a mistake, lie must be thinking of another 
 client. It's his memory, not mine, that is confused. That's it 
 — his memory." 
 
 The large open safe in the corner was filled with stacks of 
 paper tied uj) and endorsed. These papers contained, among 
 other things, the securities for the whole of Mr. Dering's private 
 fortune, which was now very considerable. Even the greatest 
 City magnate would feel for Mr. Dering the respect due to wealth 
 if he knew the amount represented by the contents of that safe. 
 There they were — the leases, agreements, mortgages, deeds, bonds, 
 conveyances, shares — all the legal documents by which the wicked 
 man is prevented from seizing and appropriating the rich man's 
 savings. Formerly the rich man kept his money in a box with 
 iron bands, lie locked up the box, and put it in a recess in the 
 cellar contrived in the stone wall. If he was only a bourgeois it 
 was but a little box, and he put it in a secret place (but everybody 
 knew the secret) at the head of his bed. If he were a peasant 
 he tied his money up in a clout, and put it under the hearth-stone. 
 In any case thieves broke in, and stole those riches. Now, grown 
 wiser, he has no box of treasures at all ; he lends it all in various 
 directions and to various associations and companies. Every rich 
 man is a money-lender ; he is either Shylock the Great or Shylock 
 the Less, according to the amount he lends. Thieves can steal 
 nothing but paper, which is no use to them. As we grow wiser 
 still we shall have nothing at all in any house that can be of any 
 use to any thief, because every tiling in the least valuable will have 
 its papers, without the production of which nothing of value will 
 
THE IVORY GATE 113 
 
 be bought or sold. And all the gold and silver, whether forlcs or 
 mugs, will be lodged in the bank. Then everybody will become 
 honest, and the eighth commandment will be forgotten. 
 
 Among Mr. Dering's papers were share certificates, bonds, and 
 scrip of various kinds, amounting in all to a great many thou- 
 sands. Of this money a sum of nearly thirteen thousand pounds 
 belonged to Elsie, but was still in her guardian's name. Tiiis, of 
 course, was the fortune which had fallen so unexpectedly into 
 the girl's hands. The rest, amounting to about twenty-five thou- 
 sand pounds, was his own money. It represented, of course, only 
 a part — only a small part — of his very respectable fortune. 
 
 Mr. Dering, whose memory, if it were decaying, was certainly 
 clear on some points, looked across the room at the open safe, 
 and began to think of the papers representing their investments, 
 lie remembered perfectly all the different corporation stock. JiW 
 the water, gas, railway shares; the Indian stock and the Colonial 
 stock; the debenture companies and the trading companies. He 
 was foolish, he thought, to be disturbed by a mere mistake of the 
 broker; his recent lapses of memory had made him nervous; there 
 could be nothing wrong, but that clerk at the bank ought to be 
 dismissed for carelessness. There could be nothing wrong ; for 
 the sake of assurance he would turn out the papers, but there 
 could be nothing wrong. 
 
 He knew very well where they were; everything in his office 
 had its place ; they were all tied up together in a bulky parcel, 
 bestowed upon a certain shelf or compartment of the safe. lie 
 pushed back his chair, got up, and walked over to the safe. 
 
 Strange ! The papers were not in their place. Again he felt 
 the former irritation at having forgotten something. It was al- 
 ways returning — every day he seemed to be forgetting something. 
 But the certificates must be in the safe. He stood irresolutely 
 looking at the piles of papers, trying to think how they could 
 have been displaced. While he was thus wondering and gazinn- 
 Checkley came back, bank-book in hand. 
 
 "There is something wrong," he said. "No dividends at all 
 have been paid to your account for the last three months. There 
 is no mistake at the bank. I've seen the manager; and he's 
 looked into it, and says there can't be any mistake about the 
 entries." 
 
 " No dividends? What is the meaning of it, Checkley ? No 
 
114 THE IVORV GATE 
 
 dividends? "Why, there's thirty- eight tliousand pounds worth 
 of stock. The certificates arc kept here in the safe ; only, for 
 some reason or other, I can't find them at the moment. They 
 must be in the safe somewhere. Just help mc to find them, 
 will you ?" 
 
 lie began to search among the papers — at first a little anx- 
 iously, then nervously, then feverishly. 
 
 " Where are they ?" he cried, tossing over the bundles. " They 
 must be here. They must be here. Let us turn out the whole 
 contents of the safe. We must find them. They have never 
 been kept in any other place. Nobody has touched them or seen 
 them except myself." 
 
 The old clerk pulled out all the papers in the safe, and laid 
 them in a great pile on the table. ^Vhcn there was nothing left 
 in the safe, they began systematically to go through the whole. 
 When they had finished they looked at each other blankly. 
 
 Everything was there except the certificates and scrip repre- 
 senting the investment of thirty-eight thousand pounds. These 
 alone could not be found. They examined every packet ; they 
 opened every bundle of papers; they looked into every folded 
 sheet of parchment or foolscap. The certificates were not in the 
 safe. " Well," said the clerk at last, " they're not here, you see. 
 Now then !" 
 
 In the midst of their perplexity happened a thing almost as 
 surprising, and quite as unexpected, as the loss of the certificates. 
 Among the papers was a small round parcel tied up with red 
 tape. Checkley opened it. " Bank-notes," he said, and laid it 
 aside. They were not at the mon)ent looking for bank-notes, but 
 for certificates. When he was satisfied that these were not in the 
 safe, and had thrown, so to speak, the responsibility of finding 
 out the cause of their absence upon his master, he took up once 
 more this bundle. It was, as he had said, a bundle of bank-notes 
 rolled up and tied round. He untied the knot and laid them flat, 
 turning up the corners, and counting. " Curious," he said ; 
 "they're all ten-pound notes — all ten-pound notes; there must 
 be more than fifty of them. And the outside one is covered with 
 dust. What are they ?" 
 
 " How should I know ?" said Mr. Bering irritably. " Give 
 them to me. Bank-notes? There are no bank-notes in my 
 safe." 
 
THE IVORY GATE 115 
 
 " Forgotten !" the clerk murmured. " Client's money, perhaps. 
 But the client would have asked for it. Five or six Imndred 
 pounds. IIow can five liundred pounds be forgotten? Even a 
 Rothschild would remember five hundred pounds. Forgotten !" 
 lie glanced suspiciously at his master, and shook his head, fum- 
 bling among the papers. 
 
 Mr. Dcring snatched the bundle from his clerk. Truly, they 
 were bank-notes — ten-pound bank-notes — and they had been for- 
 gotten. The clerk was right. There is no firm in the world 
 where a bundle worth five liundred pounds could be forgotten and 
 no inquiry made after it. Mr. Dering stared blankly at them. 
 "Notes!" he cried — "notes! Ten-pound notes! What notes? 
 Checkley, how did these notes come here ?" 
 
 " If you don't know," the clerk replied, " nobody knows. 
 You've got the key of the safe." 
 
 "Good heavens!" If Mr. Dering had been twenty years 
 younger, he would liave jumped. Men of seventy-five are not 
 allowed to jump. The dignity of age does not allow of jumping. 
 "This is most wonderful ! Checkley, this is most mysterious !" 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "These notes — the devil is in the safe to-day, I do believe. 
 First, the certificates are lost — that is, they can't be found ; and 
 next, these notes turn up." 
 
 " What notes are they, then ?" 
 
 "They are nothing else than the bank-notes paid across the 
 counter for that forged check of eight years ago. Oh ! there is 
 no doubt of it — none whatever. I remember the numbers — the 
 consecutive numbers — seventy-two of them — seven hundred and 
 twenty pounds. IIow did they get here? Who put them in? 
 Checkley, I say, how did these notes get here?" 
 
 He held the notes in his hand, and asked these questions in 
 pure bewilderment and not in the expectation of receiving any 
 reply. 
 
 " Tlie notes paid to that young gentleman when he forged the 
 check," said Checkley, "must have been put back in the safe by 
 him. There's no other way to account for it. lie was afraid to 
 present them. He heard you say they were stopped, and he put 
 them back. I think I see him doing it. While he was flaring 
 out he done it — I'm sure I see him doing it." 
 
 Mr. Dering received this suggestion without remark. He laid 
 
116 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 down the notes, and stared at his clerk. Tlic two old men stared 
 blankly at each other. l*erhaps Checkley's countenance, of the 
 two, expressed the greater astonishment. 
 
 " How did those notes get into the safe ?" tlie lawyer repeated. 
 "This is even a more wonderful thing than the mislaying of the 
 certificates. You took them out. Show me exactly where they 
 were lying." 
 
 "They were behind these books. See I the outside note is 
 covered with dust." 
 
 "Tlioy must have been lying there all these years. In my 
 safe ! The very notes paid across the counter to the forger's 
 messenger! In my safe! What does this mean? I feel as if I 
 were going mad. I say — What docs all this mean, Chcckley ?" 
 
 The clerk made answer slowly, repeating his former suggestion, 
 
 " Since young Arundel forged the check, young Arundel got 
 the notes. Sinoe young Arundel got the notes, young Arundel 
 must have put them back. No one else could. When young 
 Arundt'l put them back, he done it because lie was afraid of your 
 finding out. lie put them back unseen by you that day when 
 you charged him with the crime." 
 
 " I did not charge him. I have charged no one." 
 
 " I charged him, then, and you did not contradict. I'd cliarge 
 liim again if he was here." 
 
 "Any man may charge anything upon any other man. There 
 was no proof whatever, and none has ever come to light." 
 
 "You're always for proofs that will convict a man. I only 
 said that nobody else could do the thing. As for putting the 
 notes back again in the safe, now I come to think of it" — his 
 face became cunning and malignant — " I do remember — yes — oh ! 
 yes — I clearly remember — I quite clearly remember — I see it as 
 plain as if it was before me. He got sidling nearer and nearer 
 the safe while we were talking; he got quite close — so; he 
 chucked a bundle in when he thought I wasn't looking. I think 
 — I almost think — I could swear to it." 
 
 " Nonsense," said the lawyer. " Your memory is too clear. 
 Tie up the notes, Checkley, and put them back. They may help, 
 perhaps, some time, to find out the man. Meantime, let us go 
 back to our search. Let us find those certificates." 
 
 They had now examined every packet in the safe ; they had 
 
THE IVORY GATE llV 
 
 looked at every paper ; they had opened every book and searched 
 throuo-h all the leaves. There was no doubt left — the certificates 
 were not there. 
 
 Checkley began to tic up the bundles again. Ilis master sat 
 down, trying to remember something — everything — that could 
 account for their disappearance. 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 A MYSTERIOUS DISCOVERY— (Coniinwrf) 
 
 The safe disposed of, there remained a cupboard, two tables 
 full of drawers, twenty or thirty tin boxes. Checkley examined 
 every one of these receptacles. In vain. There was not anywhere 
 any trace of the certificates. 
 
 "Yet," said Mr. Bering, "they must be somewhere. We have 
 been hunting all the morning, and we have not found them. 
 Tliey are not in this room ; yet they must be somewhere. Cer- 
 tificates and such things don't fly away. They are of no use to 
 any one. People don't steal certificates. I must have done sorae- 
 tliing with them." 
 
 '' Did you take them home with you ?" 
 
 "Why should I do that? I have no safe or strong-room at 
 borne." 
 
 " Did you send them to the bank for greater safety ? To bo 
 sure, they would be no more safe there than here." 
 
 "Go, and ask. Sec the manager. xVsk him if he holds any 
 certificates of mine." 
 
 The clerk turned to obey. 
 
 " No." Mr. Dering stopped him. " What's the. good ? If he 
 held the things there would have been dividends. Yet what can 
 I do?" For the first time in his life the lawyer felt the emotion 
 that he had often observed in clients at times of real disaster. He 
 felt as if there was nothing certain — not even property ; as if the 
 law itself — actually the law — was of no use. His brain reeled, 
 the ground was slipping under hi^ feet, and he was falling 
 forward through the table, and the tloor, and the foundation — 
 
118 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 forward and down — down — down. "What can I do?" ho re- 
 peated. " Checkley, go. See the manager. There may be 
 something to find out. I can't think properly. Go !" 
 
 When the clerk left liim he laid his head upon his hands, and 
 tried to put things quite clearly before himself. " Where can 
 the certificates be?" he asked himself, repeating this question 
 twenty times. He was quite conscious that if he had been con- 
 sulted on such a point by a client he would have replied with the 
 greatest readiness, suggesting the one really practical thing to do. 
 For iiimself he could advise nothing. " Where can the certifi- 
 cates be? Nobody steals corporation stock and gas companies' 
 shares. They are no good if you do steal them. They can't be 
 sold without tiie authority of the owner; he has got to sign trans- 
 fer-papers; if they were stolen the dividends would go on being 
 paid to tlie owner just the same. Besides — " Somewliere about 
 this point he bethought him of the bank-book. If tiie stock had 
 been sold tlie money would appear to his credit. lie snatelied 
 the book, and looked at it. No ; there was no entry which could 
 possibly represent the sale of stock. lie knew what every entry 
 meant, and when the amount was paid in ; his memory was per- 
 fectly clear upon this point. 
 
 Chcckley's suggestion occurred to him. Had he taken the 
 certificates home with him ? lie might liave done, for some 
 reason which he had now forgotten. Yes; that was the one 
 possible explanation. lie must have done. For a moment lie 
 breathed again — only for a moment, because he immediately 
 reflected that he could not possibly do such a thing as take those 
 securities to a house where he never transacted any business at 
 all. Then he returned to his former bewilderment and terror. 
 What had become of them ? Wiiy had he taken them out of 
 the safe? Where had he bestowed them? 
 
 And why were there no dividends paid to him on these stocks? 
 Why? lie turned white with terror when he realized that if ho 
 got no more dividends he could have no more stocks. 
 
 During a long professional career of fifty years Mr. Bering had 
 never made a mistake — at least he thought so. If lie had not 
 always invested his money to the greatest profit, he had invested 
 it safely. He did not get the interest that some City men 
 expect, but he made no losses. He looked upon himself, there- 
 fore, as a man uf great sagacity, whereas in such matters lie was 
 
THE IVOKY GATE 119 
 
 only a man of great pradencc. Also, during this long period he 
 was always in the enjoyment of a considerable income. There- 
 fore, he had never known the least anxiety about money. Yet all 
 his life he bad been counselling other people in their anxieties. 
 It was exactly as if a specialist in some mortal disease should be 
 himself attacked by it. Or it was as if the bo'sun, whose duty it 
 is to superintend the flogging, should be himself tied np. 
 
 Nothing came to him ; no glimmer of light; not the least rec- 
 ollection of anything. Then he thought, desperately, that per- 
 haps if he were to imagine how it would be if somebody else, not 
 himself at all, were to come to himself, and lay the story before 
 hira, as a solicitor, for advice. Or how it would be if he himself 
 were to go to himself, as a solicitor, and put the case. 
 
 When Checkloy came back he found his master leaning back 
 in his chair, his eyes wide open and staring at him as he opened 
 the door — yet they saw nothing. Checkley stood under the gaze 
 of those eyes, which saw him not. "Good Lord !" he murmured. 
 " Is the time come ? Is he going to die ?'' 
 
 Ilis face was white. lie seemed to be listening anxiously; his 
 lips were parted. " lie's in a fit of some kind," thought the old 
 clerk. 
 
 lie stood watching. lie ought, perhaps, to have called for 
 assistance. He did not think of it. He stood and watched, his 
 face as pale as his master's. "Was it the end ? If so — we all 
 think of ourselves first — what about his berth and salary ? 
 
 Suddenly his master's eyes closed; he dropped his head; he 
 heaved a deep sigh ; he moved his head, and opened his eyes. 
 lie was restored to himself. The fit, whatever it was, had passed. 
 
 " Checkley," he said, " I've been trying to put the thing to 
 myself as if some other man — a client — was putting his case to 
 me. I began very well. The other man came — that is, I myself 
 called upon myself. I sat and heard my own story. I forget, 
 somehow, what the story was" — he shook his head impatiently. 
 "Forget — forget — I always forget. But I remember that it 
 wasn't the story I wanted him to tell. It was another story alto- 
 gether. He didn't tell me what I wanted to know — that is, what 
 has become of the certificates? I'm no nearer than I was. He 
 made out that I was actually selling the certificates myself." 
 
 "You're wandcrino: ^ bit," said Checkley, anxiously watching 
 him ; " that's all. You'll be all right presently. You've bin 
 
120 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 shook up a bit, witli tlic certificates and tlic notes and all. If I 
 were you Fd have a glass of something stilf." 
 
 " No, no; 1 shall come round presently. Yes — that's it. I'm 
 a good deal upset by this business. Somehow, I don't seem able 
 to think clearly about it. Let mo see" — he sighed heavily — "I 
 think you wont somewhere — somewhere — for me, before — before 
 the other man came." 
 
 " For Lord's sake, don't talk about the other man. There's no 
 such person. Yes, I did go for you — I went to ask the manager 
 of the bank whether he held any stock for you," 
 
 "The manager of the bank? True. Well, and docs he hold 
 anything?" 
 
 " Not a scrap. Never had any." 
 
 "Then Checkloy '' — Mr. Dering dropped his hands liclplcssly 
 — " what is to be done ?" 
 
 " I don't know, I'm sure," the clerk replied, with equal help- 
 lessness, " I never heard of such a thing before in all my life. 
 Thirty-eight thousand pounds! It can't be. Nobody ever heard 
 of such a thing before, I'orliaps they arc about the i)lacc some- 
 where. Let's have another search." 
 
 " No, no. It is useless. Why — I have had no dividends. The 
 shares were all transferred, and nothing has been paid for them. 
 The shares have been stolen. Chcckley, I can't think. For the 
 first time in my life I can't think. I want some one to advise me. 
 I must put the case in somebody's hands." 
 
 " There's your young partner — a chance for him to show that 
 he's worth his pay. Why don't you consult him, and then come 
 back to the old plan of yon and me ? We're knocked a bit silly 
 just at first, but the case'll come to us in the long run. You 
 would have a partner — nothing would do but a partner. The 
 boy's in his own room now, I suppose, with a crown upon his 
 head and the clerks kneelin' around — as grand as you please. 
 Send for ^^??^." 
 
 Mr. Bering nodded. 
 
 The ])artner, when he arrived a few minutes later, found the 
 chief walking about the room in uncontrollable agitation. On 
 the table lay piled the whole contents of the safe. In front of it 
 stood the ancient clerk, trembling and shaking — head, hands, knees, 
 and shoulders — following the movements of his master with eyes 
 full of anxiety and terror. This strange fit, this forgetfulness, 
 
THE IVORY GATE 121 
 
 this rambling talk about another man, this new restlessness, 
 frightened him. 
 
 "You are come at last." Mr. Bering stopped, and threw him- 
 self into his chair. " Now, my partner, hear the case, and resolve 
 the difficulty for us if yon can. Tell him, Checkley — or — stay ; 
 no, I will tell it myself. Either I have lost my reason and iny 
 memory, or I have been robbed." 
 
 George stood at the table and listened. Something of the ut- 
 most gravity had happened. Never before had he seen his chief 
 in the least degree shaken out of his accustomed frigidity of calra. 
 Now he was excited ; his eyes were restless; he talked fast; he 
 talked badly, lie made half a dozen attempts to begin ; he mar- 
 shalled his facts in a slovenly and disorderly manner, quite un- 
 like his usual clear arrangement ; for fifty years he had been mar- 
 shalling facts and drawing up cases, and at his own he broke 
 down. 
 
 "I think I understand the whole," said George, when his chief 
 paused and Checkley ceased to correct and to add. " You had 
 certificates representing investments to the amount of thirty-eight 
 thousand pounds; these arc gone, unaccountably gone; no divi- 
 dends have been paid for some months, and your broker speaks 
 of large transfers." 
 
 "That's not all," said Checkley. "Tell him about the notes." 
 
 "Yes. The fact may have some bearing upon ihe case. While 
 we were looking for the certificates, and in order, I suppose, to 
 complicate things and to bewilder me the more, we found in the 
 safe the very notes — give me the bundle, Checkley — there they 
 are — that were paid over the bank counter to the man who forged 
 my name eight years ago." 
 
 " What? The case in which Athelstan Arundel was accused?" 
 
 "The same. There they arc — you hold them in your hand — 
 the very notes ! Strange I on the very day when I am threat- 
 ened with another and a worse robbery! Yes — yes; the very 
 notes ! — the very notes ! This is wonderful. Who put them 
 there?" 
 
 " How can I know ?" 
 
 " Well — But in any case one thing is certain — Athelstan's 
 name is cleared at last. You will tell liis mother that." 
 
 " Not at all," said Checkley. " Why shouldn't he put 'em in 
 himself ? I saw him edging up towards the safe — " 
 6 
 
122 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 " Saw him edging — stuff and nonsense! Tlis name is cleared. 
 This will be joyful news to his mother and sisters." 
 
 " Austin, get me back my certificates," said Mr. Bering, " Nev- 
 er mind those notes now. Never mind the joyful news. Never 
 mind Athelstan's name — that can wait. The thought of him and 
 the old forgery only bewilders my brain at this juncture. I can- 
 not act. I cannot think. I feel as if I were blinded and stupe- 
 fied. Act for me — think for mc — work for me. Bo my solic- 
 itor, George, as well as my partner." 
 
 " I will do my best. It is diliicult at first to understand — for 
 what has happened ? You cannot find — you have mislaid — cer- 
 tain papers; certain dividends which were due do not appear to 
 have been paid ; and your brokers, lilllis S: Northcotc, have used 
 a phrase in a letter which you do not understand. Would it not 
 be well to get them here; or shall I go into the City and ask them 
 exactly what they meant and what has been done ?" 
 
 " If I could remember any transactions with them during the 
 last six months. But I cannot, except a small purchase of corpo- 
 ration stock last month — a few hundreds ! And here arc the pa- 
 pers belonging to that." 
 
 " Which of the partners do you deal with ?" 
 
 " The old man, Ellis — he's always acted for me. He has been 
 my friend for close on fifty years." 
 
 " Well, I will send for him, and tell him to come as soon as 
 possible, and to bring along with him all the letters and papers 
 he has." 
 
 " Good, good," said Mr. Bering, more cheerfully. " That is 
 practical. I ought to have thought of that at the very outset. 
 Now we shall get along. The first thing is to arrive at the facts 
 — then we can act. If it was another man's case I should have 
 known what to do. But when it is your own — and to lose the 
 certificates, and when a sum of nearly forty thousand pounds is at 
 stake — it looks like losing the money itself — and the feeling of 
 uncertainty — " 
 
 " All taken together, becomes rather overwhelming. Of course 
 I should like to see the letter-book, and we must run through 
 the letters to see if they throw any light upon the business. Per- 
 haps the papers themselves may be found among them." 
 
 The presence of this young man, cheerful, decided, taking prac- 
 tical measures at once — cheered up the lawyer, and steadied his 
 
THE IVOKY GATE 123 
 
 shattered nerves. But Checklcy, the clerk, looked on gloomily, 
 lie replaced the papers in the safe, and stood beside it, as if to 
 guard it ; he followed the movements of the new partner with 
 watchful, suspicious eyes ; and he muttered sullenly between his 
 teeth. 
 
 First George sent a telegram to the City for the broker. Then, 
 while the old clerk still stood beside the safe, and Mr. Bering con- 
 tinued to show signs of agitation uncontrollable, sometimes walk- 
 ing about the room and sometimes sitting at his table, sometimes 
 looking into the empty shelves of the safe, he began to look 
 through the copied letters — those, that is, which had gone out of 
 Mr. Bering's office. He searched for six months, working back- 
 wards. 
 
 " Nothing for six months," he said. " Cbcckley, give me the 
 letters." He went through these. They were the letters received 
 at the office, all filed, endorsed, and dated. There was not one 
 during the letters of six months which he examined which had 
 anything to do with the sales of stocks and shares. 
 
 " If," he said, " you had written to EHis S: Xorthcote a copy 
 of your letter would be here in this book. If they had written 
 to you, their letters would be among these bundles. Very well. 
 Since no such letters are here, it is clear that no such letters were 
 written. Therefore, no sales." 
 
 "Then," said Mr. Bering, " where arc my certificates? "Where 
 are my dividends?" 
 
 "Tliat we shall see. At present we are only getting at the 
 facts." 
 
 Then Mr. Ellis, senior partner of Ellis it Northcote, arrived, 
 bearing a small packet of papers. Everybody knew Mr. Ellis, of 
 Ellis 6: Northcote, one of the most respectable stock-brokers in 
 London — citizen and Loriner. He belongs eminently to the class 
 called worthy — an old gentleman, carefully dressed, of smooth 
 and polished appearance, pleasing manners, and great integrity. ^^^^^ 
 Nobody could look more truly integer valic than Mr. Ellis. Nor 
 does his private practice belie his reputation and his appearance. 
 His chin and lips looked as if they could not possibly endure the 
 burden of beard or moustache ; his sentiments, one observed at a 
 glance, would certainly be such as one expects from a citizen of 
 his respectability. 
 
 " Here I am, dear sir," he said cheerfully — " here I am, iu im- 
 
124 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 mediate obedience to your summons. I ho[)e that there is noth- 
 ing wrong, though your request that I should bring with me cer- 
 tain papers certainly made me a little apprehensive." 
 
 " There is, I fear, a good deal wrong," said Mr. Dering. " Sit 
 down, my old friend. Give Mr. Ellis a chair, Checkley. Austin, 
 you will tell him what he wants to know." 
 
 "You wrote to Mr. Dering yesterday, recommending a certain 
 investment?" 
 
 "I certainly did. A very favorable opportunity it is, and a 
 capital thing it will prove." 
 
 "You mentioned in your letter certain transfers and sales 
 which, according to your letter, he had recently effected ?" 
 
 "Certainly."' 
 
 " What sales were they ?" 
 
 Mr. Ellis looked at his papers. " February last, sale of various 
 stock, all duly enumerated here, to the value of £6500. March 
 last, sale of various stock, also all duly enumerated, to the value 
 of £12,000 odd. April last, sale of stock to the value of £20,000 
 — more or less — realizing — " 
 
 " You note the dates and amounts, Austin ?" said Mr. Dering. 
 
 "Certainly. We will, however, get the dates and the amounts 
 more exactly in a moment. Now, Mr. Ellis, of course you ro- 
 ceived instructions with the papers themselves. Were they in 
 writing or by word of mouth ?" 
 
 "In writing. By letters written by Mr. Dering himself." 
 
 "llavc you got those letters with you?" 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 A MYSTERIOUS I>lSCOyERY— (Concluded) 
 
 " Everything is here, and in proper order." He laid his hand 
 upon the papers. " Here, for instance, is the first letter, dated 
 February 14th, relating to these transactions. You will, no doubt, 
 remember it, Mr. Dering." He took up a letter, and read it aloud: 
 
 '"My dear Ellis, — I enclose a bundle of certificates and sliares. They 
 amount to somewhere about £6500 at current price. Will you have these 
 
THE IVORY GATE 125 
 
 transferred to the name of Edmund Gray, gentleman, of 22 South Square, 
 Gray's Inn? Mr. P^dinund Gray is a client, and I will have the amount paid 
 to my account by him. Send mc, therefore, the transfer papers and the ac- 
 count showing the amount due to me by him, together with your commission. 
 
 "'Very sincerely yours, 
 
 " ' Edward Dering.' 
 
 " That is the letter. The proceeding is not usual, yet not ir- 
 regular. If, for instance, we had been instructed to buy stock 
 for Mr. Dering — But, of course, you know.'' 
 
 "Pardon nie," said George. "I am not so much accustomed 
 to buy stock as my partner. Will you go on ?" 
 
 "We should have done so, and sent our client the bill for the 
 amount, with our commission. If we had been instructed to sell 
 we should have paid in to Mr. Bering's bank the amount realized, 
 less our commission. A transfer is another kind of work. Mr. 
 Dering transferred this stock to Edmund Graj', his client. It 
 was, therefore, for him to settle with his client the charges for 
 the transfer and the value of the stock. We, therefore, sent a 
 bill for these charges. It was sent by Laud, and a check was 
 received by return of the messenger." 
 
 George received the letter from him, examined it, and laid it 
 before his partner. 
 
 Mr. Dering read the letter, held it to the light, examined it 
 very carefully, and then tossed it to Checkley. 
 
 " If anybody knows my handwriting," he said, "it ought to be 
 you. Whose writing is that?" 
 
 " It looks like yours. But there is a trembling in the letters. 
 It is not so firm as the most of your work. I should call it yours, 
 but I see by your face that it is not." 
 
 " No ; it is not my writing. I did not write that letter. This 
 is the first I have heard of the contents of that letter. Look at 
 the signature, Checkley. Two dots are wanting after the word 
 'Dering,' and the flourish after the last ' n' is curtailed of half its 
 usual dimensions. Did you ever know me to alter my signature 
 by a single curve T' 
 
 "Never," Checkley replied. "Two dots wanting and half a 
 flourish. Go on, sir ; I've just thought of something — but go on." 
 
 " You don't mean to say that this letter is a forgery ?" asked 
 Mr. Ellis. " Why — then — Oh ! it is impossible. It must, then, 
 
126 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 be the beginning of a whole scries of forgeries. It's quite im- 
 possible to credit it. The letter came from this office ; the post- 
 mark shows it was posted in this district; the answer was sent 
 here. The transfers — consider — the transfers were posted to this 
 office ; they came back, duly signed and witnessed, from this 
 office. I forwarded the certificate made out in the name of 
 Edmund Gray to this office, and I got an acknowledgment from 
 this office. I sent the account of the transaction, with my com- 
 mission charges, to this office, and got a check for the latter, from 
 this office. How can such a complicated business as this — only 
 the first of these transactions — be a forgery ? Why, you want a 
 dozen confederates, at least, for such a job as this." 
 
 " I do not quite understand yet," said George, inexperienced in 
 the transfer of stocks and shares. 
 
 " Well, I cannot sell stock without the owner's authority ; he 
 raust sign a transfer. But if I receive a commission from a law- 
 yer to transfer liis stock to a client, it is not my business to ask 
 whether he receives the money or not." 
 
 " Yes, yes. And is there nothing to show for the sale of this 
 six thousand pounds' worth of paper ?" George asked Mr. Dcring. 
 
 •' Nothing at all. The letters and everything are a forgery." 
 
 "And you, Mr. Ellis, received a check for your commission?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 " Get mc the old checks and the check-book," said Mr. Dering. 
 The check was drawn, as the letter was written, in Mr. Bering's 
 handwriting, but with the slight difference he had pointed out in 
 the signature. 
 
 *' You are quite sure," asked George, " that you did not sign 
 that check ?" 
 
 " I am perfectly certain that I did not." 
 
 "Then as for this Edmund Gray, of 22 South Square, Gray's 
 Inn — what do you know about him ?" 
 
 " Nothing at all — absolutely nothing." 
 
 " I know something," said Checkley. " But go on — go on." 
 
 " He may be a non-existent person, for what you know." 
 
 "Certainly. I know nothing about any Edmund Gray." 
 
 "Wait a bit," murmured Checkley. 
 
 "Well, but," Mr. Ellis went on, "this was only a beginning. 
 In March you wrote to me again ; that is to say, I received a 
 letter purporting to be from you. In this letter — here it is — you 
 
THE IVORY GATE 127 
 
 instructed mc to transfer certain stock — the papers of which 
 you enclosed — amounting to about twelve thousand pounds — to 
 Edmund Gray aforesaid. In the same way as before the transfer 
 papers were sent to you for signature ; in the same way as before 
 they were signed and returned ; and in the same way as before 
 the commission was charged to you and paid by you. It was 
 exactly the same transaction as before — only for double the sura 
 involved in the February business." 
 
 Mr. Dering took the second letter, and looked at it with a kind 
 of patient resignation. " I know nothing about it," he said — 
 " nothing at all." 
 
 "There was a third and last transaction," said the broker — 
 "this time in April. Here is the letter written by you, with 
 instructions exactly the same as in the previous cases, but dealing 
 with stock to the amount of nineteen thousand pounds, which we 
 duly carried out, and for which we received your check — for 
 commission." 
 
 "Every one of these letters — every signature of mine to trans- 
 fer-papers and to checks — was a forgery," said Mr. Dering slowly. 
 "I have no client named Edmund Gray; I know no one of the 
 name ; I never received any money from the transfers ; these in- 
 vestments are stolen." 
 
 " Let me look at the letters again," said George. lie examined 
 them carefully, comparing them with each other. "They are so 
 wonderfully forged that they would deceive the most careful. I 
 should not hesitate, myself, to swear to the handwriting." 
 
 It has already been explained that Mr. Bering's handwriting 
 was of a kind that is not uncommon with those who write a 
 great deal. The unimportant words were conveyed by a curve, 
 with or without a tail, while the really important words were 
 clearly written. The signature, liowevcr, was large, distinct, and 
 Horid — the signature of the house, which had been flourishing 
 for a hundred years and more, a signature which had never varied. 
 
 "Look at it," said George again. "Who would not swear to 
 this writing?" 
 
 "I would for one," said Mr. Ellis, "and I have known it for 
 forty years and more. If that is not your own writing, Dering, 
 it is the very finest imitation ever made." 
 
 " I don't think my memory can be quite gone. Checkley, have 
 we ever had a client named Edmund Gray?" 
 
128 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 "No, never. But you've forgotten one thing. That forgery 
 eight years ago — the chock of seven hundred and twenty pounds 
 — was payable to the order of Edmund Gray." 
 
 "Ah ! So it was. This seems important." 
 
 "Most important," said George. "The forger could not pos- 
 sibly by accident choose the satne name. This cannot be coinci- 
 dence. Have you the forged check ?" 
 
 "I have always kept it," Mr. Dering replied, "on the chance 
 of using it to prove the crime and convict the criminal. You will 
 find it, Checkloy, in the right-hand drawer of the safe. Tiiank 
 you. Here it is — 'Pay to the order of Edmund Gray'; and 
 here is his endorsement. So we have his handwriting, at any rate." 
 
 George took it. "Strange," he said. "I should, without 
 any hesitation, swear to your handwriting liere as well. And 
 look, the signature to the check is exactly the same as that of 
 these letters — the two dots missing after the name, and the nour- 
 ish after the last ' n ' curtailed." 
 
 It was so. The handwriting of the check and of the letters 
 was the same; the signatures were slightly, but systematically, 
 altered in exactly the same way in both letters and check. 
 
 "This again," said George, "can hardly be coincidence. It 
 seems to me that the man who wrote that check also wrote those 
 letters." 
 
 The endorsement was in a hand which might also be taken for 
 Mr. Dering's own. Nothing to be got out of the endorsement. 
 
 " But about the transfer-papers ?" said George. " They would 
 Lave to be witnessed as well as signed ?" 
 
 " They were witnessed," said the broker, " by a clerk named 
 Lorry." 
 
 " Yes, we have such a man in our office. Chcckley, send for 
 Lorry." 
 
 Lorry was a clerk employed in Mr. Dering's outer office. Being 
 interrogated, he said that he had no recollection of witnessing a 
 signature for a transfer-paper, lie had witnessed many signa- 
 tures, but was not informed what the papers were. Asked if he 
 remembered especially witnessing any signature in Februar}', 
 March, or April, he replied that he could not remember any, but 
 that he had witnessed a great many signatures; that sometimes 
 Mr. Dering wanted him to witness his own signature, sometimes 
 those of clients. If he were shown his si<rnaturc he mifrht 
 
THE IVORY GATE 129 
 
 remember. Lorry, therefore, was allowed to depart to his own 
 place. 
 
 "There can be no longer any doubt," said George, "that an 
 attempt has been made at a robbery on a very large scale." 
 
 "An attempt only?" Mr. Dering asked. "Where are my 
 certificates?" 
 
 " I say attempt, because you can't really steal stock. Dividends 
 arc only paid to those who lawfully possess it. This Edmund 
 Gray we can find if he exists. I take it, however, that he docs 
 not. It is probably a name assumed by the forger. And I sup- 
 pose that he has made haste to sell his stock. Whether or no, 
 you will certainly recover your property. People may as well 
 steal a field as steal stocks and shares." 
 
 " We can easily find out for you," said Mr. Ellis, " what has 
 become of your papc-r." 
 
 " If the thieves have kept it," George went on, "all they could 
 make would be the dividends for four months. That, however, is 
 only because the bank-book was not examined for so long. They 
 could not reckon upon such an unusual stroke of luck. It seems 
 almost certain that they must get rid of the stock as quickly as 
 tliey could. Suppose that they have realized the whole amount. 
 It is an immense sum of money. It would have to be paid by 
 check into a bank; the holder could only draw out the money 
 gradually. lie might, to be sure, go to America, and have the 
 whole amount transferred ; but that would not help him much 
 unless lie could draw it out in small sums payable to confederates. 
 In fact, the robbery seems to me hedged about with difficulties 
 almost impossible." 
 
 "It is the most extraordinary attempt at robbery that ever 
 was," said Mr. Ellis. "Thirty-eight thousand pounds in shares! 
 Well, I will find out for you if they have been sold, and to whom. 
 Meantime, my old friend, don't you be down-hearted about it. 
 As Mr. Austin says, you will certainly get your property back 
 af^ain. What? We live in a civilized country. We cannot have 
 large sums like forty thousand pounds stolen bodily. Property 
 isn't kept any longer in bags of gold. Bank-notes, banks, invest- 
 ments, all tend to make great robberies impossible. Courage; 
 you will get back your property." 
 
 Mr. Dering shook his head doubtfully. 
 
 "There is another chance," George suggested. "One has 
 ft* 
 
130 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 beard of robberies effected with the view of blackmail afterwards. 
 Suppose we were to get a letter offering the whole to be returned 
 for a certain sum." 
 
 "No, no. It is now four months since the thing was done. 
 They have sold out the stock, and disappeared — gone to America, 
 as you suggested. Why, the things may have been sold a dozen 
 times over in the interval. That is the danger. Suppose they 
 have been sold a dozen times over. Consider. Here is a share in 
 the Great "Western. I transfer it from A to B. Very good. The 
 sliare now belongs to B, and stands in his name, whether honestly 
 come by or not. B sends it to another broker, who sells it to C. 
 lie, again, to D. Every transaction is right and in form except 
 the first. You can trace the share from owner to owner. B has 
 vanished. A says to C, ' You bought that share of a thief.' 
 C says, ' Very sorry. How was I tu know ? D has got it now.' 
 D says that it is his, and he will stick to it. We go to law about the 
 share. What is going to happen ? Upon my word, I don't know. 
 Well — but this is only conjecture. Let me first find out what has 
 become of the shares. Of course, there is a record; I have only 
 to refer. I will let you know by to-morrow morning if I can." 
 
 When Mr. Ellis was gone, George began to sum up, for the 
 clearing of his own mind, the ascertained facts of the case, so far 
 as they had got. 
 
 '* First," he said, "the letters to Ellis 6: Northcote were writ- 
 ten on our headed paper. Clearly, therefore, the writer must 
 have had access to the office. Next, he knew and could copy 
 your handwriting. Third, he was able to intercept the delivery 
 of letters, and to prevent your getting any he wished to stop, be- 
 cause the correspondence was conducted openly through the post. 
 That seems to be a very important point. Fourth, the letters 
 were all, apparently, in your handwriting, very skilfully imitated, 
 instead of being dictated and then signed. Fifth, he must at least 
 have known of the last forgery, or how did he arrive at the name 
 of Edmund Gray? And was it out of devilry and mockery be- 
 cause that forgery escaped detection, that he used the name 
 again ? Sixth, he must have had access to the safe where the 
 check-book (as well as the certificates) was kept. Seventh, he 
 must have known the office pretty well, or how did he find out 
 the name of your brokers? Eighth, the handwriting appeared to 
 be exactly the same as that of the former forgery." 
 
1 '^l 
 THE IVORY GATE ^^'^ 
 
 " It is the same as last time," said Cheekier. That forgery 
 was done in the office if ever a thing ^vas done here. Same Nvith 
 tins-same with this. Well, time will show. Same with this. 
 Ue crlared from under his great eyebrows at the young partner, 
 as if he suspected that the young gentleman could throw some 
 liaht upon that mystery if he wished. 
 
 "- \Ye have given time long enough to discover the author of 
 the last business," said Mr. Dcring, "but he has not chosen to 
 do so as yet. The loss of property," he groaned - the loss of 
 close on forty thousand pounds." , , , ^ 
 
 " I don't believe it is lost," said George. " It can t be lost. 
 It is a bit of a railway-part of a reservoir-a corner of the gas- 
 works; you can't lose these things-unless, indeed, the difficulty 
 sn"-frested bv Mr. Ellis occurs." . 
 
 Here M.-: Doring pushed back his chair, and began again to 
 walk about the room in restless agitation. He was no longer the 
 grave and serious lawyer; he became one of his own clients, 
 lamenting, as they had so often lamented in that room, the great- 
 ness of his misfortune. He uttered the usual commonplaces of 
 men in distress-there is a dreadful sameness about the lamenta- 
 tion of ill luck. We all know them-the hardness of the thing ; 
 the injustice of it; the impossibility of warding it off; Ins own 
 sao-acity in taking every precaution; the dreadfulness of being 
 .imdcd out of a whole generation for exceptional misfortune. Mr 
 Dorin-v hi.nself-the grave, calm, reserved old lawyer, who seemed 
 made of granite-broke down under the blow, and became an or- 
 dinary human creature. In the lower walks they weep. Check- 
 Icy would have wept. Mr. Dering became eloquent, wrathful, 
 sarcastic. No retired general who has mined himself by gam- 
 blincr in stocks could so bemoan his luck. George listened, saying 
 notldn-. It was an experience. No man so strong but has his 
 weak p''oint. No man is completely armored against the arrows 
 
 of fate. u IT • « 
 
 Prcsentlv he grew a little more calm, and sat down torgne 
 
 me, Georg;," he said gently-" forgive this outbreak. There is 
 more in the business than you know of. I feel as ,f I know 
 something about it, but cant bring it out. I am gro-ing so 
 fo,-ctful-I forget whole days-I am filled with the eehng that 
 I ouc^ht to know about it. As for the loss, what I have said is 
 true." You do not yet feel as I do about property-you are too 
 
132 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 young. You Lave not got any property yet. Wait a few years — 
 then you will be able to agree with me that there is nothing in 
 the world so hard as to lose your property — the property that you 
 have made — by your own exertions — for yourself," 
 
 "Now you talk like yourself," said Checkley. " That's sense. 
 Nothing so dreadful as to lose property. It's enough to kill 
 people. It has killed many people." 
 
 " Property means everything. You understand that the more 
 the older you get." 
 
 " You do," said Checkley. " There's notliing in the world 
 worth considering except property." 
 
 " It means, remember, all the virtues — prudence, courage, quick 
 sight, self-restraint, tenacity, all the iighting qualities. We do 
 well to honor rich men. I hoped to receive honor myself as a 
 rich man. When you have put together a few thousands — by the 
 exercise of these finer qualities, so that tiie thought of this gives 
 you dignity — " 
 
 " Ah !" cried Checkley, straightening himself. 
 
 '* To feel that they are gone — gone — gone — It is cruel. 
 George, you don't understand it. You are young ; as yet you 
 have no money. Checkley, you liave saved — " 
 
 " A trifle, a trifle." But he covered his mouth with his hand 
 to conceal the smile of satisfaction. 
 
 " You are reputed rich." 
 
 " No — no — no. Not rich. My chances have been few. I 
 have not let thera go. But rich ? No, no." 
 
 " How would you regard the loss — the robbery of your prop- 
 erty, Checkley ?" 
 
 The old clerk shook his head. He had no words adequate to 
 the question, 
 
 "Apart from the loss," Mr. Dering went on, "there is the 
 sense of insecurity. I felt it once before, when the other forgery 
 took place. There seems no safety anywhere. Papers that I 
 keep in my private safe, to which no one has a key but myself, 
 which I never leave open if I leave the room even to go into an- 
 other room, are taken. Check-books which I keep there are 
 taken out, and checks stolen. Finally, things are put in — the 
 bundle of notes, for instance. I say that I feel a sense of help- 
 lessness, as if everything might be taken from me, and I should 
 be powerless to resist." 
 
THE IVORY GATE 133 
 
 " Let US first get back the certificates," said George, " and we 
 will find out and defeat this gang, if it is a gang, of confederates. 
 Yes — it is as you say — the ground itself seems sinking beneath 
 one's feet, when one's own investments are sold for nothing by 
 a letter so like your own writing that it would deceive anybody." 
 
 "Done in the office," Checklcy murmured — "in the office. 
 Same as iRst time. Well — we shall find him — we shall find him." 
 He began to bundle the papers back into the safe, murmuring, 
 " Same as last time — done in the oflice — we shall find him — we 
 shall find him. Wc found him before, and we'll find him 
 now." 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE FIRST FIND 
 
 "Yes," said George, thouglitfully, " a day or two ought to un- 
 ravel this matter. Wc must first, liowever, before going to the 
 police, find out as much as we can ourselves. Let me take up 
 the case by myself for a bit." 
 
 " No, no," Checklcy grumbled. " Police first. Catch the man 
 first." 
 
 " Put aside everything," said the chief — " everything, George. 
 Forget everything until you have found out the mystery of the 
 conspiracy." 
 
 " It looks to me like a long firm," George went on — " a long 
 firm witli a sham name and a respectable address. Of course 
 there is no such person, really, as Edmund Gray." 
 
 " It is not only the loss — perhaps, let us hope " — Mr. Dorino- 
 sighed — " only a temporary loss; if a real loss, then a most ter- 
 rible blow — not only that, but it is the sense of insecurity. No 
 one ever found out about that check — and here are the notes in 
 the safe all the time." 
 
 " He put 'cm in," said Checklcy. 
 
 "This is the second time — and the same name still — Ed- 
 mund Gray. It fills nie with uneasiness. I am terrified, 
 George. I know not what may be the next blow — what may 
 be taken from mc — my mortgages, my bouses, my land, 
 
134 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 everything. Go. I can do the work of the office — all the work 
 — by myself. But this work I cannot do. I ara not able to 
 think about it. These thoughts overpower me and cloud my 
 reason." 
 
 " Well," said George, " I will do what I can. I don't suppose 
 there is any Edmund Gray at all, but one must try to find out. 
 There can be no harm in paying a visit to Gray's Inli. If the 
 thing had been done yesterday it would be necessary to strike at 
 once, with a warrant for the arrest of the said Edmund Gray. As 
 it is four months since the last robbery, there can be small harm 
 in the delay of a day or two. I will go and inquire a little." 
 
 Nothing easier than to inquire. There was the man's address; 
 everybody knows Gray's Inn ; everybody knows South Square. 
 The place is only ten minutes' walk from Lincoln's Inn. George 
 took his hat, walked over, and proceeded straight to No. 22, ex- 
 pecting to tiiid no such name on the door-posts. On the con- 
 trary, there it was, " 2d Floor, Mr. Edmund Gray," among the 
 other occupants of the staircase, lie mounted the stairs. On 
 the second-floor right was the name over the door, Mr. Edmund 
 Gray. But the outer door was closed. That is a sign that the 
 tenant of the chambers is either not at home or not visible. On 
 the first floor were the offices of a firm of solicitors. lie sent 
 in his card. The name of Dering & Son commands the respect- 
 ful attention of every solicitor in London. One of the partners 
 received him. The firm of Dering tt Son was anxious to see Mr. 
 Edmund Gray, who had the chambers overhead. At what liours 
 was Mr. Edmund Gray generally in his rooms? Nobody knew — 
 not either of the partners, not any of the clerks. He might have 
 been met going up and down the stairs, but nobody knew him by 
 sight or anything about him. This, at first sight, seemed sus- 
 picious ; afterwards George reflected that men may live for years 
 on the same staircase, and never know anything about each otiier. 
 Men who live in Gray's Inn do not visit each other ; there is 
 little neighborly spirit among men in chambers, but rather an 
 unspoken distrust. 
 
 " But," said the partner, " I can tell you who is his landlord, 
 lie does not take the rooms of the inn direct, but, as we do, from 
 one who has several sets on a long lease and sublets the rooms. 
 They may know something about the man at the steward's office 
 across the square. If not, the landlord will certainly know." 
 
THE IVORY GATE 135 
 
 George asked if Edmund Gray was newly arrived. No. It 
 appeared that he bad been in Ibc inn for a long time. " But 
 then," his informant added, " be may have been here a hundred 
 years for all we know ; we never think of our neighbors in 
 chambers. Opposite is a man whose name has been over the 
 door as long as I can remember anything. I don't know who he 
 is or what is his business. I don't even know him by sight. So 
 with Mr. Edmund Gray. If I were to meet hira on the stairs I 
 should not be any the wiser. You see I am only here in the 
 daytime. Now, the other man on the second floor I do know 
 something about, because he is a coach and was a fellow of my 
 college. And the man in the garrets I hear about occasionally, 
 because he is an old barrister who sometimes defends a pris- 
 oner." 
 
 At the steward's office George put the same question. " I 
 am a solicitor," he said. " Here is my card. I am most anxious 
 to see Mr. Edmund Gray, of No. 22. Could yon save nie time 
 by lotting me know at what hour he is in his chambers ?" 
 
 They could tell hira nothing. Mr. Gray was not a tenant of 
 the inn. Very likely he was a residential tenant who came home 
 in the evenings after business. 
 
 Everything learned is a step gained. AVhctber Edmund Gray 
 was a man or a long firm, the name had been on the door for 
 many years. But — many years? — could a confederacy of swin- 
 dlers go on for many years, especially if they undertook such 
 mighty schemes for plunder as this business ? 
 
 Next he went to the address of the landlord. lie was a house 
 agent in Bloomsbnry, and apparently a person of respectability. 
 
 " If you could tell me," George began, with the same question, 
 " at what hours I could find your tenant in his chambers, or if 
 you could give me his business address, we should be verv o;reatly 
 obliged. We want to find him at once — to-day, if possible — on 
 very important business. 
 
 "Well, I am sorry, very sorry — but, in fact, I don't know 
 anything about my tenant's hours, nor can I give you his place of 
 business. I believe he has no business." 
 
 "Oh I But you took him as a tenant. You must have had 
 some references." 
 
 "Certainly. And upon that I can satisfy you very shortly." 
 He opened a great book, and turned over the pages. "Here it 
 
136 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 is — 'No. 22 Soutli Square, Gray's Inn, second floor, nortli side — 
 to Edmund Gray, gentleman. Rent, forty pounds a year. Date of 
 taking the rooms, February, 1882, at the half-quarter. Reference, 
 Messrs. Dcring &: Son, Solicitors, New Square, Lincoln's Inn.'" 
 
 " Why — you mean that he referred to us — to Messrs. Dering 
 & Son— in the year 1882 ?" 
 
 "That is so. Would you like to sec the letter which we re- 
 ceived on application ? Wait a moment." lie rang the bell, and 
 a clerk appeared, to whom lie gave instructions. " I am bound 
 to say," the landlord went on, " that a more satisfactory tenant 
 than Mr. Gray docs not exist, lie pays his rent regularly by post- 
 office order every quarter on the day before quarter-day." 
 
 "Oh! I wonder — " But he stopped, because to begin won- 
 dering is always futile, especially at so early a stage. When there 
 are already accumulated facts to go upon, and not till then, won- 
 dering becomes the putting together of the puzzle. 
 
 " Well, here is the letter. 'Gentlemen'" — the house-agent 
 read the letter received on application to the reference — " ' In re- 
 plv to your letter of the IHth, we beg to inform you that Mr. Ed- 
 mund Gray is a client of ours, a gentleman of independent means, 
 and that he is quite able to pay any reasonable rent for residence 
 or chambers. Your obedient servants, Dering «fc Son.' I sup- 
 pose," he added, " that a man doesn't want a better reference than 
 your own ?" 
 
 "No; certainly not." George looked at the letter. It pre- 
 sented, as to handwriting, exactly the same points of likeness and 
 of difference as all the other letters in this strange case — the 
 body of the letter apparently written in the hand of Mr. Dering; 
 that is, so as to deceive everybody ; the signature with one or two 
 small omissions. " Certainly not," he repeated. " With such a 
 reference, of course, you did not hesitate. Did you ever see Mr. 
 Gray ?" 
 
 " Certainly. I have seen him often. First, when he was get- 
 ting his rooms furnished, and afterwards on various occasions." 
 
 " What kind of a man is he, to look at ?" 
 
 " Elderly. Not exactly the kind of man you'd expect to have 
 chambers. Mostly they're young ones who like the freedom. 
 An elderly gentleman; pleasant in his manners; smiling and af- 
 fable ; gray-haired." 
 
 " Oh !" Then there was a real Edmund Gray, of ten years' 
 
THE IVORY GATE 137 
 
 standing in the inn, wlio lived, or had chambers, at the number 
 stated in tlie forged letters. 
 
 "I suppose," said the house agent, "that my respectable ten- 
 ant has not done anything bad ?" 
 
 " N-no — not to my knowledge. His name occurs in rather a 
 disagreeable case. Would you be so very kind as to let him know, 
 in case you should meet him — but of course we shall write to him 
 — that we are most anxious to see liim ?" 
 
 This the landlord readily promised. "There is another person," 
 he said, who can tell you a great deal more than anybody else. 
 That is his laundress. I don't know who looks after him, but 
 you can find out at the inn. The policeman will know. Go, and 
 ask him." 
 
 In the game of battledore and shuttlecock the latter has no 
 chance except to take the thing coolly, without temper. George 
 was the shuttlecock. He was hit back into Gray's Inn — this time 
 into the arms of the policeman. 
 
 " Well, sir," said the guardian of the peace, " I do not know 
 anything about the gentleman myself. If he was one of the noisy 
 ones I should know him. But Iiq isn't, and therefore I have nev- 
 er heard of him. But if he lives at No. 22 I can tell you who 
 does his rooms — and it's old Mrs. Cripps, and she lives in Leather 
 Lane." 
 
 This street, which is now, comparatively speaking, purged and 
 cleansed, is not yet quite the ideal spot for one who would have 
 pure air and cleanliness combined with godliness of conversation. 
 Ilowever, individual liberty is nowhere more absolutely free and 
 uncontrolled than in Leather Lane. 
 
 Mrs. Cripps lived on the top floor, nearest to heaven, of wliich 
 she ought to be thinking, because she was now old and near lier 
 end. She was so old that she was quite past her work, and only 
 kept on Mr. Gray's rooms because lie never slept there, and they 
 gave her no trouble except to go to them in the morning with a 
 duster and to drop asleep for an hour or so. What her one gen- 
 tleman gave her, moreover, was all she had to live upon. 
 
 Though the morning was warm, she was sitting over the fire 
 watching a small pan, in which she was stewing a savory mess, 
 consisting of an ornamental block with onions, carrots, and tur- 
 nips. Perhaps she was thinking — the poor old soul ! — of the days 
 gone by — gone by for fifty years — when she was young, and wore 
 
138 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 a feather in her hat. Old hidics of lier class do not think much 
 about vanished beauty, but they think a good deal about van- 
 ished featiiers and vanished hats; they remember tlie old free car- 
 riage in the streets with the young friends, and the careless laugh, 
 and the ready jest. It is the ancient gentlewoman who remem- 
 bers tlie vanished beauty, and thinks of what she was fifty years 
 ago. 
 
 Mrs, Cripps Iieard a step on the narrow stair leading to her 
 room — a manly step. It mounted higher and more slowly, be- 
 cause the stairs were dark as well as narrow. Then the visitor's 
 hat knocked against the door. He opened it, and stood there 
 looking in. A gentleman ! Not a district visitor or a sister try- 
 ing to persuade her to early churcli, nor yet the clergyman — a 
 young gentleman. 
 
 " You are Mrs. Cripps ?" he asked. " The policeman at Gray's 
 Inn directed me here. You are laundress, I believe, to Mr. Ed- 
 mund Gray, of No. 22?" 
 
 "Suppose I am, sir r' she replied suspiciously. A laundress is 
 like tlie hall porter of a club — you must not ask her about any of 
 her gentlemen. 
 
 " I have called to sec Mr. Edmund Gray on very important 
 business. I found his door shut. Will you kindly tell me at 
 what hours he is generally in his chambers ?" 
 
 She shook her head, but she held out her hand. 
 
 The young gentleman placed half a sovereign in her palm. 
 Her fingers closed over the coin. She clutched it, and she bid it 
 away in some secret fold of her ragged dress. There is no wom- 
 an so ragged, so dropping to pieces with shreds and streamers and 
 tatters, but she can find a safe hiding-place, somewhere in her 
 rags, for a coin or for anything else that is small and precious. 
 
 " I never tell tales about my gentlemen," she said, " especially 
 when they are young and handsome like you. A pore laundress 
 has eyes and ears and hands, but she hasn't got a tongue. If she 
 had there might be terrible, terrible trouble. Oh dear ! yes. 
 Ijut Mr. Gray isn't a young gentleman — he's old, and it isn't the 
 same thing." 
 
 "Then," said George, "how and when can I find him ?" 
 
 "I was coming to that. You can't find him. Sometimes he 
 comes, and sometimes he doesn't come." 
 
 " Oh ! He doesn't live in the rooms, then ?" 
 
THE IVORY GATE 139 
 
 "No. lie doesn't live in the rooms. He uses the rooms some- 
 times." 
 
 " Wliat docs he use tlicm for ?" 
 
 "How should I know ? All the gentlemen do tilings with pens 
 and paper. How should I know what they do? They make 
 their money with their pens and paper. I dun know how they 
 do it. I suppose Mr. Gray is making his money like the rest of 
 them." 
 
 " Oh ! he goes to the chambers, and writes ?" 
 
 " Sometimes it's weeks and weeks and months and months be- 
 fore he comes at all. But always my money regular and before- 
 hand sent in an envelope and a postal-order." 
 
 *' Well, what is his private address? I suppose he lives in the 
 country ?" 
 
 " I don't know where he lives. I know nothing about him. 
 I go there every morning, and I do the roum. That's all I 
 know." 
 
 There was no more information to be obtained. Sometimes 
 he came to the inn ; sometimes he 'stayed away for weeks and 
 weeks and for months and months. 
 
 " I might ha' told you more, young gentleman," murmured 
 the old woman, " and I might ha' told you less. P'r'aps you'll 
 come again." 
 
 He went back to Lincoln's Inn, and set down his facts. 
 
 First, there was a forgery in the year 1883, in which the name 
 of Edmund Gray was used. Next, in the scries of forgeries just 
 discovered, not only was the name of Edmund Gray used through- 
 out, but the liandwriting of the letters and checks was exactly the 
 same as that of the first check, with the same peculiarities in the 
 signature. This could hardly be a coincidence. The same man 
 must have written the whole. 
 
 Then, who was Edmund Gray? 
 
 He was a real personage — a living man, not a firm — one 
 known to the hmdlord of the chambers and to the laundress, if 
 to nobody else. He did not live in the chambers, but he used 
 them for some business purposes; lie sometimes called there, 
 and wrote. What did he write ? Where was he, and what was 
 he doing when he was not at the chambers? He might be one 
 — leader or follower — of some secret gang. One has read of 
 such gangs, especially in French novels, where the leaders are 
 
140 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 noble dukes of the first rank, and princesses — young, lovely — of 
 the highest fashion. AVliy should there not be such a gang in 
 London ? Clever conspirators could go a very long way before 
 they were even suspected. In this civilization of checks and reg- 
 istered shares and official transfers, property is so much defended 
 that it is difficult to break through the armor. But there must 
 be weak places in that armor. It must be possible for the wit of 
 man to devise some plan by means of which property can be at- 
 tacked successfully. Had he struck such a conspiracy ? 
 
 Thus. A man calling himself Edmund Gray gets a lease of 
 chambers by means of a forged letter in answer to a reference. 
 It is convenient for certain conspirators, hereinafter called the com- 
 pany, to have an address, though it may never be used. The 
 conspiracy begins by forging a check to his order for seven hun- 
 dred and twenty pounds. That was at the outset, when the con- 
 spirators were young. It was found dangerous, and the notes 
 were therefore replaced in the «afe. Note that the company, 
 through one or other of its members, has access to that safe. 
 This might, perhaps, be by means of a key — in the evening, af- 
 ter office hours ; or by some one who was about the place all 
 day. 
 
 V^ery good. The continued connection of some member of 
 the firm with Dering <fc Son is proved by the subsequent proceed- 
 ings. After eight years, the company having matured their ma- 
 cliinery, and perhaps worked out with success other enterprises, 
 return to their first quarry, where they have the advantage of ac- 
 cess to the letters, and can look over their disposition. They are 
 thus enabled to conduct their successive coups, each bigger than 
 the one before. And for four months the thing remains undis- 
 covered. Having the certificates in their hands, what was to pre- 
 vent them from selling the whole and dividing the proceeds? 
 Nothing. Yet, in such a case they would disappear, and here 
 was Edmund Gray still fearlessly at large. Why had he not got 
 clear away long before ? 
 
 Again. All the correspondence concerning Edmund Gray was 
 carried on between the office and the brokers. There were no 
 letters from Edmund Gray at all. Suppose it should be found 
 impossible to connect Edmund Gray with the transactions carried 
 on in his name. Suppose the real Edmund Gray were to deny 
 any knowledge at all of the transactions. Suppose he were to 
 
THE IVORY GATE 141 
 
 say that ten years before he had brought a letter of introduction 
 to Mr. Dering, and knew nothing more about him. ^Vell, but 
 the certificates themselves — what about them? Their possession 
 would have to be accounted for. So he turned the matter over 
 and over and arrived at nothing, not even the next step to take. 
 
 He went back to the chief, and reported what he had discov- 
 ered — the existence of an Edmund Gray, the letter of recom- 
 mendation to the landlord. "Another forgery," groaned Mr. 
 Dering. 
 
 " It is done in the office," said George. " It is all done in the 
 office — letters, checks, everything." 
 
 " The office," Checkley repeated. " No doubt about it." 
 
 "Give up everything else, George," said Mr. Dering eagerly — 
 " everything else. Find out — find out. Employ detectives. Spend 
 money as much as you please. I am on a volcano — I know not 
 what may be taken from me next. Only find out, my partner, 
 my dear partner — find out." 
 
 ^Yhcn George was gone, Checkley went after him and opened 
 the door mysteriously, to assure himself that no one was listen- 
 ing. 
 
 " What are you going on like that for, Checkley ?" asked his 
 master irritably. " Is it another forgery ? It rains forgeries." 
 
 "No, no. Look here. Don't trouble too much about it. 
 Don't try to think how it was done. Don't talk about the other 
 man. Look here. You've sent that young gentleman to find out 
 this business. Well, mark my words — he won't. lie won't, I 
 say. IIo'll make a splash, but he won't find anything. Who found 
 out the last job ?" 
 
 " You said you did. But nothing was proved." 
 
 " I found that out. Plenty of proof there was. Look here " 
 — his small eyes twinkled under his shaggy eyebrows — " I'll find 
 out this job as well, see if I don't. Why " — he rubbed his hands 
 — " ho! ho! I have found out. Don't ask me — don't put a sin- 
 gle question. But I've got 'em — oh ! I've got 'cm, I've got 'em 
 for you — as they say — on toast." 
 
142 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THINGS MORE REMARKABLE 
 
 After such a prodigious event as the discovery of these unpar- 
 alleled forgeries, anytliing might happen without being regarded. 
 People's minds arc open at such times to sec, hear, and accept 
 everything. After the earthquake ghosts walk, solid things fly 
 away of their own accord, good men commit murder, rich men 
 go empty away, and nobody is in the least surprised. 
 
 Sec what happened, the very next day, at the office in New 
 Square. ^Vllun George arrived in tlie morning he found that the 
 senior partner had not yet appeared. lie was late. For the first 
 time for fifty years and more he was late. He went to his place, 
 and the empty chair gave an air of bereavement to the room. 
 Checkley was laying out the table; that is, he had done so a quar- 
 ter of an hour before, but he could not leave off doing it; he was 
 loath to leave the table before the master came; he took up the 
 blotting-pad and laid it down again ; he arranged the pens ; he 
 lingered over the job. 
 
 "Not come yet?" George cried, astonished. "Do you think 
 that yesterday's shock has been too much for him ?" 
 
 "I believe it's killed liim," said the old clerk — "killed hira. 
 That's what it has done" — and he went on muttering and mum- 
 bling. "Don't," he cried, when George took up the letters. 
 " P'r'aps he isn't dead yet — you haven't stepped into his shoes 
 just yet. Let them letters alone." 
 
 " Not dead yet. I hope not." George began to open the let- 
 ters, regardless of the surly and disrespectful words. One may 
 forgive a good deal to fidelity. "He will go on for many years 
 after we have got the money back for him." 
 
 "After some of us" — Checkley corrected him — "have got his 
 money back for him." He turned to go back to his own office, 
 then turned again, and came back to the table. He laid both 
 hands upon it, leaned forward, shaking his head, and said, with 
 
1 A'i 
 
 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 tvcmblincr voice, "Did you never think, Mr. Austin, of the black 
 ,t nod of the thin^? Him that done it, you know-him 
 th^t eat his bread and took his money." ^^ ^''^^'^'''IXloZ 
 greatly moved his grammar went back to the early days befo.e 
 he was confidential clerk. -.K^^t^ 
 
 " I d,u-o say it was ungrateful. I l.avo been tluukmg, h.tliorto, 
 
 °^^7ei]^.^^a:::ed-aU of us-„avenH «-that It was 
 done i,: .'his office? So^e one in the offiee done .t »,* tbe e P 
 ot some one out; some one wlio knows Ins ways -he pomtefl 
 to the empt°- ehair-" some one who'd known all Ins ways fov a 
 lono- time, ten years at least.' • ^ +^ 
 
 -rhinc:s certainly seem to point that .ay-and they pomt to 
 you," he'vould have added, but refrained. uThev've 
 
 The old man shook his head agam, and went on They c 
 
 eaten his broad and done his ^^r^^ ^^^-^t:'?;;.2Z^- 
 it, Mr. Austin-I ask you plain-don't you call it black i.igiati 
 
 '" '!^l' am sure it is. I have no doubt whatever about the ingrati- 
 tude. But, you see, Checkley, that vice is not one which the 
 couris vecJgnize. It is not one denounced m the Dec.dogi.e 
 There is a good deal to consider, in fact, before we get to the 
 inrrratitude. ^ It is probably a criminal conspiracy ; it is a felony , 
 itls a thing to be punished by a long term of penal servitude. 
 When we Imve worried through all this and got our consp.ratois 
 under lock and kev, we will proceed to consider their ingratitude. 
 There is also the bad form of it, and the absence of proper feehng 
 of it and the want of consideration of the trouble they give. 
 Patience! Wc shall have to consider the business from your 
 point of view presently." . .. t 
 
 "I wouldn't scoff and snigger at it, Mr. Austin, if I were }0U. 
 Scofhn' and sniggerin' might bring bad luck. Because, you know, 
 there's others besides yourself determined to bring this thing to 
 
 a right issue." . 
 
 George put down his papers, and looked at this importunate 
 person What did he mean? The old man shrunk and shriv- 
 elled and grew small. He trembled all over. But he remamed 
 standin- with his hands on the table, leaning forward. E.gbt 
 years ago," he went on, " when that other business happened— 
 when Mr. Arundel cut his lucky — " 
 
144 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 *' I will have nothing said against Mr. Arundel. Go to your 
 own room." 
 
 "One word — I will speak it. If lies dead, I shall not stay long 
 liere. But I shall stay so long as he's alive, though you are his 
 partner. Only one word, sir. If Mr. Arundel hadn't — run away 
 — he'd 'a' hecn a partner instead of you." 
 
 " Well ?" 
 
 " Well, sir — s'pose he'd been found out after he was made a 
 partner, instead of before?"' 
 
 George pointed to the door. The old man seemed off his 
 head — was it with terror? Chccklcy obeyed. But at the door 
 lie turned his head, and grinned. Quite a theatrical grin. It ex- 
 pressed malignity and the pleasure of anticipation. What was 
 the matter with the old man ? Surely, terror. Who, in the oflice, 
 except iiimsclf, had the control of the letters? Who drew that 
 quarterly check? Surely, terror. 
 
 It was not until half-past eleven that Mr. Dcriiig arrived at the 
 office, lie usually passed through the clerks' office outside his 
 own ; this morning he entered by his own private door, which 
 opened on the stairs. No one had the key except himself. lie 
 generally proceeded in an orderly and methodical manner to hang 
 up his hat and coat, take off his gloves, place his umbrella in 
 the stand, throw open the safe, sit down in his chair, adjusted at 
 a certain distance of three inches or so, put on his glasses, and 
 then, without either haste or dawdling, to begin the work of the 
 day. It is very certain that to approach work always in exactly 
 the same way saves the nerves. The unmethodical workman gets 
 to his office at a varying hour, travels by different routes — now 
 on an omnibus, now on foot; does nothing to-day in the same 
 way that he did it yesterday. He breaks up early. At sixty he 
 talks of retiring; at seventy he is past his work. 
 
 This morning Mr. Dering did nothing in its proper order. 
 First, he was nearly two hours late. Next, he came in by his 
 private door. George rose to greet him, but stopped because — a 
 most wonderful thing — his partner made as if he did not observe 
 his presence. His eyes went through George in creepy and ghost- 
 ly fashion. The junior partner stood still, silent, in bewilder- 
 ment. Saw one ever the like, that a man should at noontide 
 walk in his sleep? Ilis appearance, too, was strange — his hat, 
 pushed a little back, gave a touch of recklessness — actually reck- 
 
THE IVORY GATE 
 
 145 
 
 Icssness— to the austere old lawyer; his eyes glowed pleasantly; 
 and on his face— that grave and sober face— there was a pleased 
 and satisfied smile; he looked happy, interested, benevolent, but 
 not— no— not Mr. Edward Dcring. Again, his coat, always tight- 
 ly buttoned, was now hanging loose; outside, it had been swing- 
 incr in the breeze to the wonder of Lincoln's Inn ; and he wore 
 no"' gloves, a thing most remarkable, lie looked about the room, 
 nodded his head, and shut the door beliind him. 
 
 "He's somnambulating," George murmured, "or else I^am in- 
 visible. I must have eaten fern-seed without knowing it." 
 
 Mr Derin"-, still smiling pleasantly, walked across the room to 
 the safe, and'unlocked it. ""lie had in his hand a brown-paper par- 
 cel tied with red tape— this he deposited in the safe, locked it up, 
 and dropped the keys in his pocket. The window beside the 
 safe was open. Uc sat down, looking out into the square. 
 ' At this moment Checkley opened the door softly, after his 
 wont to brin<r in more letters. Ue stopped short, seeing his mas- 
 ter thus seate'd, head in hand, at the window. He recognized the 
 symptoms of yesterday-thc rapt look, the open eyes that saw 
 nothincr. He crept on tiptoe across the room. "Hush! he 
 whimpered "Don't move. Don't speak. He went like this yes- 
 terday. Don't make the least noise. He'll come round pres- 
 ently." 
 
 "What is it?" ^ . ,„ 
 
 " Kind of fit, it is. Trouble done it. Yah ! Ingratitood.^ 
 lie would have hissed the word, but it has no sibilant. You can't 
 hiss without the materials. " Yesterday's trouble. That's what's 
 
 done it." „, 
 
 They stood watching in silence for about ten minutes, ilic 
 oflSce was like the court of the sleeping princess. Then Checkley 
 sneezed. Mr. Dering probably mistook the sneeze for a kiss, for 
 be closed his eyes for a moment, opened them again, and arose 
 once more himself, grave and austere. 
 
 He nodded cheerfully, took of! his hat, hung it on its peg, but- 
 toned his coat, and threw open the safe. Evidently he remem- 
 bered nothing of what had just passed. 
 
 "You are early, George," he said. "You are before me, which 
 is unusual. However, the early bird— we know." _ 
 
 " Before you for once. Are you quite well this morning ? Mono 
 the worse for yesterday's trouble ?" 
 7 
 
146 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 "He's always well," said Chcclclcy, with cheerfulness assumed. 
 " Nobody ever sees him ill — he get ill ? Not him. Eats as hearty 
 as five-and-twenty, and walks as upright." 
 
 "I am perfectly well, to the best of my knowledge. Yester- 
 day's business upset me for the time, and it kept me awake most 
 of the night. It is certainly a very great trouble. You have no 
 news, I suppose, that brought you here earlier thau usual ?" 
 
 " Nothing new since yesterday." 
 
 " And you feel pretty confident ?" 
 
 " I feel like a sleuth-hound. I understand the pleasures of the 
 chase. I long to be on the scent again. As for I'^dmund (Iray, 
 he is as good as in prison already." 
 
 "Good! I was for the moment shaken out of myself. I was 
 bewildered. I was unable to look at the facts of the case calmly. 
 For the first time in my life I wanted advice. Well, I now un- 
 derstand what a great thing it is that our profession exists for the 
 assistance of men in trouble. How would the world get along 
 at all without solicitors?" 
 
 He took his usual place at the table, and turned over his letters. 
 "This morning," he went on, "I feci more assured. My mind is 
 clear again. I can talk about the case. Now then, let us sec 
 — Edmund Gray is no shadow, but a man. He has made me 
 recommend him to his landlord. He is a clever man and a bold 
 man. Don't be in a hurry about putting your hands upon him. 
 Complete your case before you strike. But make no delay." 
 
 "There shall be none. And you shall hear everything from 
 day to day, or from hour to hour." 
 
 Left alone, Mr. Dering returned to his papers and his work. 
 
 At half-past one Checkley looked in. " Not going to take 
 lunch this morning?" 
 
 "Lunch? I have only just — " Mr. Dering looked at his 
 watch. "Bless me! Most extraordinary! This morning has 
 slipped away. I thought I had only just sat down. It seems not 
 more than half an hour since Mr. Austin left me. Why, I should 
 have forgotten all about it, and let the time go by — nothing worse 
 for a man of ray years than irregular feeding." 
 
 "It's lucky you've got me," said his clerk. "Half a dozen 
 partners wouldn't look after your meal-times. Ah !" as his master 
 went upstairs to the room where he always had his luncheon laid 
 out, " he's clean forgotten. Some of these days, walking about 
 
THE IVOUY GATE 
 
 147 
 
 wrapped up in his thoughts, he'll be run over. Clean forgotten 
 it, he has. Sits down in a dream ; walks about in a dream ; some 
 of these days he'll do something in a dream. Then there'll be 
 trouble." He closed the door, and returned to his own desk, 
 where ho was alone, the juniors having gone out to dinner. His 
 own dinner was in his coat-pocket. It consisted of a saveloy cut 
 in thin slices and laid in bread with batter and mustard— a tasty 
 meal, lie slowly devoured the whole to the last crumb. Then, 
 Mr. Bering having by this time finished his lunch and descended 
 again, Chc'cklcy went upstairs and finished the pint of claret, of 
 wliich his master had taken one glass. " It's sour stuff," he said. 
 «'It don't behave as wine in a man's inside ought to behave. It 
 don't make liim a bit joyfuller. But it's pleasant, too. Why 
 they can't drink port wine— which is real wiue— when they can 
 afford it, I don't know." 
 
 It was past three in the afternoon when George returned, not 
 quite so confident in his bearing, yet full of news. 
 
 " If you are quite ready to listen," he said, " I've got a good 
 deal to tell. First of all, I thought I would have another shot at 
 Gray's Inn. I went to the chambers. The outer door was open, 
 which looked as if the man was at home. I knocked at the inner 
 door, which was opened by the laundress, the old woman whom 
 I saw yesterday. * Well, sir,' she said, ' you are unlucky. The 
 master has been here this very morning, and he hasn't been long 
 gone. You've only missed him by half an hour or so.' I asked 
 her if he would return that day, but she knew nothing. Then I 
 asked her if she would let me write, and leave a note for him. To 
 this she consented, rather unwillingly. I went in, therefore, and 
 wrote my note at Mr. Gray's table. I asked him to call here on 
 important business, and I marked the note ' Urgent.' I think 
 there can be no harm in that. Then I looked about the room. 
 It is one of those old wainscoted rooms, furnished simply, but 
 everything solid and good— a long table, nearly as large as tliis 
 one of yours; solid chairs; a solid sofa. Three or four pictures 
 on the wall, and a bookcase full of books. No signs of occupa- 
 pation ; no letters ; no flowers. Everything covered with dust, 
 although the old woman was there. I could have wished to cx- 
 aminclhe papers on the table, but the presence of the old woman 
 forbade that dishonorable act. I did, liowevcr, look at the books. 
 And I made a most curious discovery. Mr. l':dinund Gray is a 
 
148 THE IVOUT GATE 
 
 Socialist. All his books arc on Socialism ; tlicy arc in French, 
 Gorman, and English — all books of Socialism. And the pictures 
 on the wall are portraits of distin2;uished Socialists. Isn't that 
 wonderful ? Did one ever hear before of Socialism and forgery 
 going together?" 
 
 "Not too fast. We haven't yet connected Edmund Gray with 
 the forgery. At present we only know that his name was used." 
 
 " Wait a bit. I am coming to that. After leaving the cham- 
 bers I went into the City, and saw Mr. Ellis. First of all, none 
 of the stock has been sold." 
 
 "Oh! they have had four months, and they have not disposed 
 of it? They must have met with unforeseen difficulties. Let 
 mc see." 
 
 Mr. Bering was now thoroughly alert. The weakness of the 
 morning had completely passed away. " What dilTiculties? Upon 
 my word ! I cannot understand that there could have been any. 
 They have got the papers from a respectable solicitor through a 
 respectable broker. No, no. Their course was perfectly plain. 
 But rogues often break down through their inability to see the 
 strength of their own case." 
 
 " Next, Mr. Ellis has ascertained that some of the dividends 
 are received by your bank. I therefore called on the manager. 
 Now, be prepared for another surprise." 
 
 " Another forgery ?" 
 
 "Yes, another forgery. It is nine or ten years since you sent 
 a letter to the manager — I saw it — introducing your client, Ed- 
 mund Gray, gentleman, who was desirous of opening a private 
 account. lie paid in a small sum of money, which has been 
 lying to his credit ever since, and has not been touched. la 
 February last he received another letter from you, and again in 
 March and April, forwarding certificates, and requesting him to 
 receive the dividends. With your own hand you placed the pa- 
 pers in the bank. I saw the letters. I would swear to your 
 handwriting." 
 
 " These people are as clever as they are audacious." 
 
 "At every point a letter from you — a letter which the ablest 
 expert would tell was your handwriting. Your name covers and 
 vouches for everything." 
 
 "Did you tell the manager what has happened?" 
 
 " Certainly ; I told him everything. And this is, in substance. 
 
THE IVORY GATE 
 
 149 
 
 the line he takes. 'Your partner,' he says, ' allc£?es that those 
 papers have been procured by forgery. He says that the letter 
 of introduction is a forgery. Very good. It may be so. But I 
 have opened this account for a customer who brought me an m- 
 troduction from the best solicitor in London, whose handwntmg 
 I know well and recognize in the letter. Such an allegation 
 would not be enough in itself for me to take action. Until a civil 
 or criminal action 'is brought— until it is concluded— I could not 
 refuse to treat the customer like all the rest. At the same time, 
 I will take what steps I can to inquire into my customer's antece- 
 dents.'" 
 
 " Quite right," said Mr. Dcring. 
 
 " I asked liim next what he would do if the customer sent for 
 the papers. ITe said that if an action were brought he would 
 probably be served with a subpoena duces tecum, making him 
 keep and produce these papers as forming part of the documents 
 in the case." ^^ 
 
 " Certainlv, certainly ; the manager knows his law. 
 " ' And,' he went on, ' as regards checks, I shall pay them or 
 receive them until restrained.'" 
 
 " In other words, he said what we expected. For our own ac- 
 tion now." 
 
 "We might apply to a judge in chambers for an attachment 
 or a garnishcr order. That must be 'pendente lite, an interlocutory 
 proceeding, in the action. As yet, we have not brought an action 
 at all. My partner"— Mr. Dering rubbed his hands cheerfully— 
 '" l' think we have done very well so far. These are clumsy scoun- 
 drels, after all. They thought to divert suspicion by using my 
 name. They thought to cover themselves with my name. But 
 they sliould have sold and realized without the least delay. Very 
 good ! We have now got our hands upon the papers. It would 
 have complicated matters horribly had the stock been sold and 
 transferred. So far we arc safe. Because, you see, after what 
 they have heard the bank would certainly not give them up with- 
 out' letting us know. They would warn us; they would put the 
 man off Tthey would ask him awkward questions about himself. 
 Oh ! I think we arc safe — quite safe." 
 
 Mr. Dering drew a long breath. "I was thinking last night," 
 he continued, " of the trouble we might have if those certificates 
 bad changed hands. They might have been bought and sold a 
 
160 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 dozen times in four months ; tlicy might liavc boon sold in separate 
 small lots, and an order of the court necessary for every transaction. 
 Wo have now nothiiio; but the simple question before us: llow 
 did the man Edmund Gray get possession of this property ?" 
 
 He sat in silence for a few minutes. Then he went on quietly, 
 "To lose this money would be a heavy blow for me — not all my 
 fortune, nor a quarter, but a large sum. I have plenty left; I 
 have no hungry and expectant heirs; my people are all wealthy 
 — but yet a very heavy loss. And then — to be robbed. I have 
 always wondered why we left off hanging robbers. They ought 
 to be hanged, every one. He who invades the sacred right of 
 property should be killed — killed without hope of mercy." He 
 spoke with the earnestness of sincerity. "To lose this property 
 would not be ruin to me, yet it would be terrible. It would 
 take so many years out of my past life. Every year means so 
 much money saved. Forty thousand pounds means ten years of 
 my past — not taken away so that I should be ten years younger, 
 but ten years of work annihilated. Could I forgive the man who 
 would so injure me? Never." 
 
 " I understand," said George. " Fortunately, we shall get the 
 papers back. The fact of their possession must connect the pos- 
 sessor with the fraud. AVho is he ? Can he be warned already ? 
 Yet who should tell him ? Who knows that we have discovered 
 the business? You, your friend Mr. Ellis, the manager of the 
 bank — no one else. Yes, there is also Checkley — Checkley," he 
 repeated. He could not — yet — express his suspicions as to the 
 old and faithful servant. " Checkley also knows." 
 
 At this point Checkley himself opened the door, and brought 
 in a card — that of the bank manager. 
 
 " I have called," said the visitor liurriedly, " to tell you of 
 something important that happened this morning. I did not 
 know it when we were talking over tliis business, Mr. Austin. It 
 happened at ten o'clock, as soon as the doors were open. A let- 
 ter was brought by hand from Mr. Dcring — " 
 
 "Another forgery ! When will they stop?" 
 
 " — asking for those certificates to be given to the bearer — Mr. 
 Edmund Gray's certificates. This was done. They are no longer 
 at the bank." 
 
 " Oh 1 Then they have been warned 1" cried George. " Wlio 
 was the messenger?" 
 
THE IVORY GATE 151 
 
 " lie was a boy. Looked like an ofTice-boy." 
 
 " I will inquire directly if it was one of our boys. Go on." 
 
 " That settles the difficulty as to our action in case tlic papers 
 arc wanted by you. We no longer hold them. As to the div- 
 idends, we shall continue to receive them to the account of Mr. 
 Edmund Gray until we get an order or an injunction." 
 
 "The difficulty," said George, "is to connect the case with Mr. 
 Edmund Gray bodily. At present wo have notliing but the let- 
 ters to go upon. Suppose the real Edmund Gray says that ho 
 knows notliing about it. What are we to do? You remember 
 receiving the dividends for him. Has he drawn a clicck?" 
 
 " No ; we have never paid any check at all for him." 
 
 " Uave you seen him ?" 
 
 '* No ; I have never seen him." 
 
 " It is a most wonderful puzzle. After all, the witlidrawal of 
 the papers can only mean a resolution to sell tliem. He must 
 instruct somebody. He must appear in the matter." 
 
 " He may instruct somebody as he instructed me — in the name 
 of Mr. Dering." 
 
 " Another forgery ?" 
 
 " Yes," said George. ** We must watch, and find out this mys- 
 terious Edmund Gray. After all, it will not help us to say that a 
 forged letter gave certain instructions to do certain things for a 
 certain person — say the queen — unless you can establish the com- 
 plicity of that person. And that — so far — we certainly have not 
 done. Meantime, what next?" 
 
 Obviously, the next thing was to find out if any of the office- 
 boys had taken that letter to the bank. No one had been sent 
 on that errand. 
 
 ClIAl'TEIi XV 
 ciieckley's case 
 
 That evening Mr. Chcckley was not in his customary place at 
 the Salutation, where his presence was greatly desired. He ar- 
 rived late, when it wanted only a quarter to eleven. The faded 
 barrister was left alone in the room, lingering over the day's pa- 
 
162 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 per, with his empty glass beside him. Mr. Checkley entered with 
 an air of triumph, and something like the clastic spring of a vic- 
 tor in his aged step. He called Robert, and ordered at his own 
 expense, for himself, a costly drink — a compound of Jamaica 
 rum, hot water, sugar, and lemon, although it was an evening in 
 July, and, for the time of year, almost pleasantly warm. Nor 
 did he stop here, for, with the manner of a man who just for 
 once — to mark a joyful occasion — plunges, he rattled his money 
 in his pocket, and ordered another for the barrister. " For," he 
 said, "this evening I have done a good work, and I will mark 
 the day." 
 
 \Vhen the glasses were brought lie lifted hi?, and cried, " Come, 
 let us drink to the confusion of all rogues, great and small. Down 
 %Yith 'cm I" 
 
 " Your toast, Mr. Checkley," replied the barrister, " would make 
 niv profession useless; if there were no rogues there would be no 
 law. That, however, would injure me less than many of my 
 brethren. I drink, therefore, confusion to rogues, great and 
 small. Down with 'em. This is excellent grog. Down with 
 'em!" So saying, he finished his glass, and departed to his gar- 
 ret, where, thanks to the grog, he slept nobly, and dreamed that 
 he was a master in chancery. 
 
 The reason of this unaccustomed mirth was as follows : Check- 
 ley, by this tiilie, had fully established in his own mind the con- 
 clusion that the prime mover in the deed — the act — the thing — 
 was none other than the new partner, the young upstart, whom 
 he hated with a hatred inextinguishable, lie was as certain about 
 liim as he had been certain about Athelstan Arundel, and for much 
 the same reasons. Very well. As yet he had not dared to speak ; 
 King Pharaoh's chief scribe would have had the same liesitation 
 at proffering any theory concerning Joseph. To-night, however — 
 But you shall hear. 
 
 Everybody was out of the office at half-past seven, when he left 
 it. lie walked round the empty rooms, looking into unlocked 
 drawers — one knows not what he expected to find. lie looked 
 into Mr. Austin's room, and shook his fist and grinned at the 
 empty chair. 
 
 " ril have you yet," he said. " Oh, fox ! fox ! I'll have you if 
 I wait for thirty years !" 
 
 It adds an additional pang to old age when one feels that if the 
 
THE IVORY- GATE 153 
 
 end comes prematurely, wlien one is only eiglity or so, there may 
 be a revenge unfinished. I have always envied the dying hero 
 who had no enemies to forgive because he had killed them all. 
 
 "When he left the place he walked across the inn, and so into 
 Chancery Lane, where he crossed over and entered Gray's Inn by 
 the llolborn archway. lie lingered in South Square; he walked 
 all round it twice; he read the names on the door-posts, keeping 
 all the time an eye on No. 22. Presently he was rewarded, A 
 figure which he knew, tall and well-proportioned, head flung 
 back, walked into the inn, and made straight for No. 22. It was 
 none other than Atlielstan Arundel. The old man crept into the 
 entrance, where he was partly hidden ; he could see across the 
 square, himself unseen. Athelstan walked into the house and up 
 the stairs; the place was quiet; Clieckley could hear his steps on 
 the wooden stairs; he heard him knock at a door; he heard the 
 door open, and the voices of men talking. 
 
 " Ah I'' said Clieckley, " now we've got 'cm !" 
 
 Well, but this was not all. For presently there came into the 
 inn young Austin himself. 
 
 "Oh!" said Clieckley, finishing his sentence — "on toast. 
 Here's tlie othor; here they are — both," 
 
 In fact, George, too, entered the house known as No. 22, and 
 walked up the stairs. 
 
 Clieckley waited for no more. He ran out of the inn, and he 
 called a cab. 
 
 If he had waited a little longer he would have seen the new 
 partner come out of the house and walk away ; if he had followed 
 him up the stairs he would have seen liim knocking at the closed 
 outer door of Mr. Edmund Gray. If he had knocked at the door 
 opposite he would have found Mr, Athelstan Arundel in tlie room 
 with his own acquaintance, Mr. Freddy Carstone, the Cambridge 
 scholar and the ornament of their circle at the Salutation, But, 
 being in a hurry, he jumped to a conclusion, and called a cab. 
 
 lie drove to Palace Gardens, where Sir Samuel had his town- 
 house. Sir Samuel was still at dinner. Ue sat down in the hall, 
 meekly waiting. After a while the service condescended to ask 
 if he wished a message to be taken in to Sir Samuel. 
 
 " From his brother's — ^rom Mr. Bering's ofiice, please tell him. 
 From iiis brother's ofiice — on most important business — most im- 
 portant — say." 
 7* 
 
154 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 Sir Samuel received lilm kindly, made liiin sit down, and gave 
 him a glass of wine. " Now," be said, " tell me what it all means. 
 My brother has had a robbery — papers and certificates and things. 
 Of course they arc stopped, lie won't lose anything. But it is 
 a great nuisance, this kind of thing." 
 
 "lie has already lost four months' dividends — four months, 
 sir — on thirty-eight thousand pounds. And do you really think 
 that he will get back his papers ?" 
 
 "Certainly — or others. They are, after all, only vouchers. 
 How is my brother?" 
 
 '* Well, Sir Samuel — better than you'd think likely. This morn- 
 ing, to be sure — " He stopped, being loath to tell how liis mas- 
 ter liad lost consciousness. " Well, sir, I've been thinking that 
 the property was gone, and from what I know of them as had to 
 do with the job 1 thought there was mighty little chance of get- 
 ting it back. It kept me awake. Oh ! it's an awful sum. Close 
 upon forty thousand pounds. He can stand that, and double 
 that—" 
 
 " — and double that again," said Sir Samuel, " I should hope so." 
 
 "Certainly, sir. But it's a blow. I can feel for him. I'm 
 only a clerk ; but I've saved a bit, and put out a bit, Sir Samuel. 
 Cheese-parings, you'd say ; but I've enjoyed saving it up — oh ! 
 I've enjoyed it. I don't think there is any pleasure in life like 
 saving up — watching it grow and grow and grow — it grows like 
 a pretty flower, doesn't it? — and adding to it. Ah!" he sighed, 
 and drank his glass of wine. "Sir Samuel, if I was to lose my 
 little savings it would break my heart. I'm an old man, and so 
 is he — it would break me up, it would, indeed. Ever since yes- 
 terday morning I've been thinking whether anything could hap- 
 pen to make me lose my money. There's death in the thought. 
 Sir Samuel — for an old man and a small man like me there's 
 death in the thought." 
 
 "Don't tell anybody where your investments are, and lock up 
 the papers, Checkley. Now, what do you want me to do for 
 you ?" 
 
 "I want you to listen to me for half an hour, Sir Samuel, and 
 to give me your advice, for the business is too much for me." 
 
 "Go on, then. I am listening." 
 
 " Very well. Now, sir, I don't know if I shall be able to make 
 my case clear — but I will try. I haven't been about Mr. Dering 
 
THE IVORY GATE 155 
 
 for fifty years for notliinj^, I hope. The case is this. Nine 
 years ago, a man, calling himself Edmnnd Gray, took chambers in 
 South Square, Gray's Inn — forty pounds a year. He is represent- 
 ed as being an elderly man. lie has paid his rent regularly, but 
 he visits his chambers at irregular intervals. Eiglit years ago 
 there was a forgery at your brother's. The check was payable 
 to the order of Edmund Gray — mark that. Tlie money was 
 paid — " 
 
 " I remember. Atlielstan Arundel was accused, or suspected 
 of the thing." 
 
 " He was. And he ran away to avoid being arrested — remem- 
 ber that. And he's never been heard of since. Well, the scries 
 of forgeries by wliich the shares and stocks belonging to Mr. 
 Dering have been stolen are all written in the same handwriting 
 as the first, and are all carried on in the name and for the order 
 of Edmund Gray. That you would acknowledge in a moment 
 if you saw the papers — there are the same lines and curves of the 
 letters—" 
 
 " Which proves, I should say, that Alholstan never did it." 
 
 "Wait a minute. Don't let's be in a hurry. The forgers by 
 themselves could do nothing. They wanted some one in the 
 office ; some one always fibout the place ; some one who could get 
 at the safe; some one who could get from the office what the 
 man outside wanted ; some one to intercept the letters — " 
 
 " Well r 
 
 " That person, Sir Samuel, I have found." 
 
 Sir Samuel sat up. "Von have found him?" 
 
 " I have. And here's my difficulty. Because, Sir Samuel, he 
 is your brother's new partner; and unless we lodge him in the 
 jug before many days he will be your own brother-in-law." 
 
 Sir Samuel changed color, and got up to see that the door 
 behind the screen was shut. "This is a very serious thing to 
 say, Checklcy — a very serious thing." 
 
 "Ob ! I will make it plain. First, as to opportunities; next, 
 as to motives ; third, as to facts. For opportunities, then. Lat- 
 terly, for the last six months, he's been working in the chief's 
 office nearly all day long. There he sat at the little table be- 
 tween the windows, just half turned round to catch the light, 
 with the open safe within easy reach of his hand when the chief 
 wasn't looking; or wlien — because he doesn't always touch the 
 
156 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 bell — Mr. Dcring would bring papers into my ofllcc and leave 
 him alone — ah ! alone — with the safe. That's for opportunities. 
 Now for motives. lie's been engaged for two years, I understand, 
 to a young lady — " 
 
 " To Lady Dering's sister." 
 
 "Just so, sir. And, I believe, until the unexpected luck of his 
 partnership, against the wish of Lady Dering's family." 
 
 " That is true." 
 
 "lie bad two hiuulrcd a year. And be had nothing else — no 
 prospects and no chances. So I think you will acknowledge that 
 there's sufficient motive here for him to try anything." 
 
 " Well, if poverty is a motive — no doubt he had one." 
 
 " Poverty was tbe motive. You couldn't have a stronger 
 motive. Tbere isn't in the world a stronger motive — tliough, I 
 admit, some young men who are poor may keep honest. I did. 
 Mr. Austin, I take it, is one of tbose that don't keep honest. 
 That's for motive. Now for facts. Mr. Austin bad nothing to 
 do with the forgery eight years ago; he was only an articled 
 clerk beginning. But he knew young Arundel, who did the thing, 
 remember. That check was written by young Arundel, who ran 
 away. The letters of this year are written by the same hand — 
 by your brother-in-law. Sir Samuel, by Mr. Athelstan Arundel." 
 
 " But he is gone ; he has disappeared ; nobody knows where 
 he is." 
 
 Checkley laughed. This was a moment of triumph. " He is 
 back again, Sir Samuel. I have seen him." 
 
 " Where ? Athelstan back again ?" 
 
 "I will tell you. All these forgeries use the name of Edmund 
 Gray, of 22 South Square, Gray's Inn. I have told you that be- 
 fore. When the thing is discovered young Austin goes off, and 
 makes himself mighty busy tracking and following up, hunting 
 down, doing detective work, and so on. Oh ! who so busy as 
 he? Found out that Edmund Gray was an old man, if you 
 please; and this morning again — so cheerful and lively that it 
 does your heart good — going to settle it all in a day or two. 
 Yah ! As if I couldn't see through his cunning ! Why ! I'm 
 seventy-five years old. I'm up to every kind of dodge ; what 
 will happen next, unless you cut in ? First, we shall hear that 
 Mr. Edmund Gray has gone abroad, or has vanished, or some- 
 thing. When he's quite out of the way we shall find out that 
 
THE IVORY GATE 157 
 
 he did the wliolc thing — him and nobody else. And then, if 
 there's no more money to be made by keeping the papers, they 
 will all come back — from Edmund Gray, penitent — oh ! I know." 
 "But about Athelstan Arundel ?" 
 
 " To be sure. I'm an old man, Sir Samuel, and I talk too much. 
 Well, I go most nights to a parlor in Ilolborn — the Salutation 
 it is — where the company is select and the liquor good. There 
 I saw him a week ago. lie was brought in by one of the com- 
 pany. I knew him at once, and he wasn't in hiding. Used his 
 own name. But he didn't see me. ' No, no,' thinks I. ' Wc 
 won't give this away. I liid my face behind a newspaper. 
 He's been staying in CamberwcU for the last eight years, I be- 
 lieve, all the time." 
 
 " In Camberwell ? Why in Camberwell ?" 
 " In bad company — as I was given to understand." 
 "You don't mean this, Checkley? Is it really true?" 
 " It is perfectly true, Sir Samuel. I have seen him. lie was 
 dressed like a prince — velvet jacket and crimson tie and white 
 waistcoat. And he walked in with just his old insolence — nose 
 up, head back, looking round as if we were not fit to be in the 
 same room with him — just as he used to do." 
 
 "By Jove!" said Sir Samuel, thrusting his liands into his 
 pockets. " What will Hilda say — I mean Lady Dering, say — 
 when she hears it ?'' 
 
 "There is more to hear, Sir Samuel — not much more. But it 
 drives the nail home — a nail in tlieir colHn, I hope and trust." 
 " Go on. Let me hear all." 
 
 "You've caught on, have you, to all I said about Edmund 
 Gray, of 22 South Square — him as was mentioned eight years 
 ago — and about the handwriting being the same now as then?" 
 " Yes." 
 
 " So that the same hand which forged the check then has 
 forged the letters now ?" 
 " Quite so." 
 
 "I said then — and I say now — that young x\rundel forged 
 that check. I say now that he is the forger of these letters, and 
 that Austin stood in with him, and was his confidant. What do 
 you think of this? To-night, after ofiice, I thought I would go 
 and liave a look at 22 South Square. So I walked up and down 
 on the other side ; my eyes are pretty good still ; I thought I 
 
158 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 should, perhaps, sec something presently over the way. So I 
 did. Who should coine into the square, marching along as if 
 the old place, benchers and all, belonged to hiin, but Mr. Athcl- 
 stan Arundel ! lie pulled up at No. 22 — No. 22, mind — Edmund 
 Gray's number; he walked upstairs — I beard him — to the second 
 floor — Edmund Gray's floor." 
 
 " Good Lord !" cried Sir Samuel. " This is suspicious with a 
 vengeance." 
 
 " Oh ! but I haven't done. I stayed where I was, wondering 
 if he would come down, and whether I should meet him and ask 
 him what he was doing with Edmund Gray. And then I was 
 richly rewarded — oh ! rich was the rewartl — for who should come 
 into the square but young Austin himself! lie, too, went up the 
 stairs of No. 22. And there I left them both, and came away — 
 came to put the case into your hands." 
 
 " What do you want me to do?" 
 
 "I want you to advise me. What shall I do? There is my 
 case complete — I don't suppose you want a more complete case 
 — for any court of justice." 
 
 " Well — as for that — I'm not a lawyer. As a City man, if a 
 clerk of mine was in such a suspicious position as young Austin 
 I should ask him for full explanations. You've got no actual 
 proof, you sec, that he, or Athelstan either, did the thing." 
 
 " I beg your pardon. Sir Samuel. I'm only a clerk, and you're 
 a great City knight, but I don't know what better proof you 
 want. Don't I see young Austin pretendj^ng not to know who 
 Edmund Gray is, and then going up to his chambers to meet his 
 pal, Athelstan Arundel? Ain't that proof? Don't I tell you that 
 the sitme hand had been at work in both forgeries? Isn't that 
 hand young Arundel's?" 
 
 " Checklcy, I see that you are greatly interested in this 
 matter — " 
 
 " I would give — ah ! — twenty pounds — yes, twenty hard-earned 
 pounds — to see those two young gentlemen in the dock — where 
 they shall be — where they shall be," he repeated. His trembling 
 voice, cracked with old age, seemed unequally wedded to the ma- 
 lignity of his words and his expression. 
 
 "One of these young gentlemen," said Sir Samuel, "is my 
 brother-in-law. The other, unless this business prevents, will 
 be my brother-in-law before many days. You will, therefore, 
 
THE IVORY GATE 
 
 159 
 
 understand that my endeavors will be to keep tlicm both out of 
 
 the dock." 
 
 "The job will be only half complete without; but still— to sec 
 yountr Austin drove out of the place with disgrace— same as the 
 other^'onc was— Why, that should be something— something to 
 think about afterwards." 
 
 Checkley went away. Sir Samuel sat thinking what was best 
 to be done. Like everybody else, he quite believed in Athelstan's 
 guilt. Granted that fact, he saw clearly that there was another 
 very black-looking case against him and against George Austin. 
 What should be done? He would consult his wife. He did so. 
 
 " What will Elsie say?" she asked. " Yet, sooner or later, she 
 must be told. I suppose that will be my task. But she can 
 wait a little. Do you go to-morrow morning to Mr. Bering, and 
 tell him. The sooner he knows the better." 
 
 You now understand why Mr. Checkley was so joyous when he 
 arrived at the Salutation, and why he proposed that toast. 
 
 In the morning Sir Samuel saw his brother, and whispered in 
 his ear the whole of the case as prepared and drawn up by 
 Checkley. " What do you say ?" he asked, when he had con- 
 cluded. 
 
 " I say nothing." Mr. Dering had heard all the points brought 
 out, one after the other, without the least emotion. " There is 
 nothing to be said." 
 
 " But, my dear brother, the evidence 1" 
 
 "There is no evidence. It is all supposition. If Athelstan 
 committed the first forgery — there is no evidence to show that 
 he did ; if he has been living all these years a life of profligacy 
 in EnMand — I have evidence to the contrary in my own posses- 
 sion ; if he was tempted by poverty ; if young Austin was also 
 tempted by poverty ; if the two together — or either separately — 
 could undertake, under temptation, risks so terrible — You see, 
 the whole case is built up on an ' if.' " 
 
 "Yet it holds together at every point. It is a perfect case. 
 Who else could do it ? Checkley certainly could not. That old 
 man — that old servant." 
 
 "I af^ree with you, Checkley could not do it. Not because he 
 is too old — a<Te has nothing to do with crime — nor because he is 
 an old servant. He could not do it, because he is not clever 
 
160 THE IVOUY GATE 
 
 enough. This kind of thing wants grasp and vision. Chcckloy 
 hasn't got either. He might be a confederate, lie may have 
 stopped the letters. He is miserly — he might be tempted by 
 money. Yet I do not think it possible.'' 
 
 "No; I cannot believe that," said Sir Samuel. 
 
 "Yet it is quite as difficult to believe such a thing of young 
 Austin. Oh ! I know everything is possible. He belongs to a 
 good family; he has his own people to think of; he is engaged; 
 he has always led a blameless life. Yet — yet — everything is 
 possible." 
 
 " I have known cases in the City where the blameless seeming 
 was only a pretence and a cloak — most deplorable cases, I assure 
 you — the cloak to hide a profligate life." 
 
 *' I think, if that were so, I should not be deceived. Outward 
 signs in such cases are not wanting. 1 know the face of the 
 profligate, open or concealed. Yuung Austin presents no sign of 
 anything but a regular and blameless life. For all these reasons, 
 I say, we ought to believe him incapable of any dishonorable 
 action. But I liave been in [)racticc for fifty years — fifty years. 
 During this long period I know not how many cases — what are 
 called family cases — have been in my hands. I have had in this 
 room the trembling old profligate of seventy, ready to pay any 
 price rather than let the thing be known to his old wife, who 
 believes in liim, and his daughters, who worship him. I have 
 had the middle-aged man of standing in the City imploring mc 
 to buy back the paper — at any price — which would stamp him 
 with infamy. I have had the young man on his knees begging 
 me never to let his father know the forgery, the theft, the vil- 
 lainy, the seduction — what not. And I have had women of 
 every age sitting in that chair, confessing their wickedness, which 
 they do, for the most part, with hard faces and cold eyes — not, 
 like the men, with shame and tears. The men fall, being tempted 
 by want of money, which means loss of pride and self-respect 
 and position and comfort. There ought to have been a clause 
 in the Litany, 'From want of money at all ages, and on all oc- 
 casions, good Lord, deliver us.' " 
 
 "True — most true," said Sir Samuel. " ' From want of money ' 
 — I shall say that the next time I go to church — ' from want of 
 money at all ages, and particularly when one is getting on in 
 years, and has a title to keep up, good Lord, deliver us.' Very 
 
THE IVOnr GATE 
 
 IGl 
 
 good, indeed, brother. I shall quote that in the City. To-morrow 
 I have to make a speech at the Helmet Makers' Company. I 
 shall quote that very remarkable saying of yours." 
 
 Mr. Dering smiled gravely. "A simple saying, indeed. The 
 greatest temptation of any is the want of money. Why, there is 
 nothing that the average man will not do rather than be without 
 money? lie is helpless; he is a slave; he is in contempt— with- 
 out money. Austin, you tell mo, was tempted by want of money. 
 I think not. He was poor; he had enough to keep him ; he was 
 frugal; he had simple wants; he had never felt the want of 
 money. No— I do not think that he was tempted by poverty. 
 Everything is possible — this is possible. But, brother, silence. 
 If you speak about this, you may injure the young man, suppos- 
 ing him to be innocent. If he is guilty, you will put him on his 
 gu'ard. And, mind, I shall show no foolish mercy — none— when 
 we find the guilty parties. All the more reason, therefore, for 
 
 silence." 
 
 Sir Samuel promised. But he had parted with the secret— ho 
 had given it into the keeping of a woman. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 WHO IS EDMUND GRAY? 
 
 Atiielstan laughed on the first hearing of the thing — it was 
 on the Tuesday evening, the day after the discovery. George was 
 dining with him. He laughed both loud and long, and with some 
 bitterness. "So the notes were in the safe all along, were tliey ? 
 Who put them there? ' I,' says old Chccklcy, ' with my pretty 
 fingers — I put them there.' " 
 
 " As soon as this other business is over the chief must tell your 
 mother, Athelstan. It ought to come from her. I shall say noth- 
 ing to Elsie just yet. She shall learn that you are home again, 
 and that your name is clear again, at the same moment." 
 
 " I confess that I should be pleased to make them all confess 
 that their suspicions were liasty and unfounded. At the same 
 time, I did wrong to go away — I ought to have stuck to my post. 
 
162 THE IVOUY GATE 
 
 As for this other business, one tliinks with something like satis- 
 faction of the wise old lawyer losing forty thousand pounds. It 
 made him sit up, did it? To sit up indicates the presence of 
 some emotion. Lost forty thousand pounds! And he who 
 holds so strongly to the sanctity of property ! Forty thousand 
 pounds !" 
 
 " Wc shall recover the certificates, or get new ones in their 
 place." 
 
 *' 1 suppose so. Shares can't be lost or stolen, really. Mean- 
 time there may be difficulty, and you must try to find the forg- 
 er. Has it occurred to you that Chcckley is the only man who 
 Las had control of the letters and access at all times to the 
 office r 
 
 " It has." 
 
 *' Checkley is not exactly a fox — he is a jackal ; therefore he 
 docs somebody's dirty work for him at a wage. That is the way 
 with the jackal, you know. Eight years ago he tried to make a 
 little pile by a little forgery — not the forgery, I am sure — he did 
 jackal ; but he forgot that notes are numbered, so he put them 
 back. Now, his friend, the forger, who is, no doubt, a begging- 
 letter writer, has devised an elaborate scheme for getting hold of 
 shares — ignorant that they are of no value." 
 
 " Well, he has drawn the dividends for four months." 
 
 "That is something, you see; but he hoped to get hold of 
 thirty-eight thousand pounds. It's the same hand, you say, at 
 work. You are quite sure of that?" 
 
 "There can be no doubt of it. How could two different hands 
 present exactly the same curious singularities ?" 
 
 " And all the letters, checks, and transfers for the same person. 
 "What is his name ?" 
 
 "One Edmund Gray, resident at 22 South Square, Gray's 
 Inn." 
 
 " No. 22 ? Oh ! that is where Freddy Carstone lives. Do you 
 know anything about the nomme Edmund Gray ?" 
 
 " I have been in search of information about him. lie is de- 
 scribed by the landlord of the rooms and by his laundress as an 
 elderly gentleman." 
 
 " Elderly. Checkley is elderly." 
 
 " Yes, I thought of Checkley, of course. But somehow tho 
 indications don't fit. My informants speak of a gentleman. No- 
 
THE IVORY GATE 163 
 
 body at his kindliest and most benevolent mood could possibly 
 call Chccklcy a gentleman," 
 
 " The word ' gentleman,' " said Athelstan, " is clastic. It stretch- 
 es with the consumer. It is like the word * truth ' to a politician. 
 It varies from man to man. You cannot lay down any defini- 
 tion of the word 'gentleman.' Do you know nothing more about 
 him ?" 
 
 " A little, lie has held this set of chambers for nine years, 
 and he pays his rent regularly before the day it falls due. Also, 
 I called upon him the other day when his, laundress was at work, 
 and wrote a note to him at his table. The room is full of Social- 
 ist books and pamphlets, lie is, therefore, presumably a Social- 
 ist leader." 
 
 " I know all these leaders," said Athelstan the journalist. " I've 
 made the acquaintance of most for business purposes. I've had 
 to read up the Socialist literature, and to make the acquaintance 
 of their chiefs. There is no Edmund Gray among them. Stay — 
 there is a Socialist letter in the Times of to-day — surely — Wait- 
 er" — they were dining at the club where Athelstan was a tem- 
 porary member — " let me have the Times of to-day. Yes, I 
 thought so. Here is a letter from the Socialist point of view 
 signed by Edmund Gray — and — and — yes — look here, it is most 
 curious — with the same address — 22 South Square — a long letter, 
 in small print, and put in the supplement; but it's there. See; 
 signed Edmund Gray. What do you think of that for a forger?" 
 
 George read the letter through carefully. It was a whole col- 
 umn long, and it was in advocacy of Socialism pure and simple. 
 One was surprised that the editor had allowed it to appear. Prob- 
 ably he was influenced by the tone of it, which was generous, 
 cheerful, and optimistic. Tlierc was not the slightest ring of bit- 
 terness about it. " We who look," it said, "for the coming dis- 
 appearance of property, not by violence and revolution, but by a 
 rapid process of decay and wasting away, regard the present po- 
 sition of the holders of property with the greatest satisfaction. 
 Everywhere there are encouraging signs. Money which formerly 
 obtained five per cent, now yields no more than half that rate. 
 Shares which were formerly paying ten, twelve, and twenty per 
 cent, are now falling steadily. Companies started every dav in 
 the despairing hope of the old great gains fail, and are wound up. 
 Land, which the old wars forced up to an extraordinary value, has 
 
164 • THE IVORY GATE 
 
 now sunk so enormously that many landlords have lost three 
 fourths and even more of their income. All those enterprises 
 which require the employment of many hands — as docks, railways, 
 printing-houses, manufactories of all kinds — are rapidly falling 
 into the condition of being able to pay no dividend at all, because 
 the pay of the men and the maintenance of the plant absorb all. 
 When that point is reached the whole capital — the millions em- 
 barked in these enterprises — will be lost forever. The stock can- 
 not be sold, because it produces nothing — it has vanished. In 
 other words, sir, what 1 desire to point out to your readers is that 
 while thev are discussing or denouncing Socialism, the one condi- 
 tion which makes Socialism possible and necessary is actually com- 
 ing upon the world — namely, the destruction of capital. Why 
 have not men in all ages combined to work for themselves? 
 Because capital has prevented them. When there is no capital 
 left to employ them, to bully them, to make laws against their 
 combinations, or to bribe them, they will have to work for 
 themselves or starve. The thing will be forced u\)on them. 
 Work will be a necessity for everybody ; there will be no more a 
 privileged class; all who work will be paid at ecjual rates for 
 their work; those who refuse to work will be suffered to starve." 
 The letter went on to give illustrations of the enormous losses in 
 capital during the last fifteen years, when the shrinkage began. It 
 concluded : " For my own part, I confess that the prospect of the 
 future fills me with satisfaction. No more young men idle, middle- 
 aged men pampered, and old men looking back to a wasted life ; 
 nobody trying to save, because the future of the old, the widows, 
 the children, the decayed, and the helpless will be a charge upon 
 the strong and the young — that is, upon the juve7ies, the workers 
 of the state. No more robbery ; no more unproductive classes. 
 Do not think that there will be no more men of science and of 
 learning. These, too, will be considered workers. Or no more 
 poets, dramatists, artists, novelists. These, too, will be consid- 
 ered workers. And do not fear the coming of that time. It is 
 stealing upon us as surely, as certainly, as the decay of the powers 
 in old age. Doubt not that when it comes we shall have become 
 well prepared for it. Those of us who are old may lament that 
 we shall not live to see the day when the last shred of property 
 is cast into the common hoard. Those of us who are young have 
 all the more reason to rejoice in their youth, because they may 
 
THE IVORY GATE 1G5 
 
 live to sec the great day of humanity dawn at last.— Edmund 
 Gray, 22 South Square, Gray's Imi." 
 "You have read this?" asked George. 
 
 "Yes; I read it this morning. Letter of a dreamer, lie sees 
 what might happen, and thinks that it will happen. Capital is 
 too strong yet." 
 
 " Is this the letter of a forger, a conspirator, a thief ?" 
 " It does not strike me iu that light. Yet many great thieves 
 are most amiable in their private lives. There is no reason why 
 tills dreamer of dreams should not be also a forger and a thief. 
 Still, the case would be remarkable, I admit.'" 
 
 " Can there be two Edmund Grays — father and son ?" 
 " Can there be a clerk to Edmund Gray, impudently using his 
 master's name, and ready to open any letter that may come? 
 Consider— clerk is a friend of old Chccklcy. Clerk invents the 
 scheme. Chccklcy does his share. However, we can easily find 
 out something more about the man, because my old friend Fred- 
 dy Carstone has chambers on the same tioor. We will walk over 
 after dinner, and if Freddy happens to be sober— he is always 
 pleasantly, not stuj)idly, drunk— he will tell us what he knows 
 about his neighbor." 
 
 " I ought to see Elsie this evening, but this is more impor- 
 tant." 
 
 " Much more. Send her a telegram. "Waiter, we will take 
 coffee here. So you have got the conduct of the case. What 
 has Chccklcy got?" 
 
 " Nothing. I believe he is jealous of mc. I don't know why. 
 But it docs not matter what an old man like that thinks." 
 
 " Even an old man can strike a match and light a fire. Chcck- 
 lcy is a maliixnant old man. He is quite capable of cliarging you 
 with the job. I wonder he hasn't done it by this time. Remem- 
 ber my case, old man." Athclstan's face darkened at the recol- 
 lection. " Dirt sticks sometimes. Look at me. I am smirched 
 all over." 
 
 "His manner was very odd this morning — insolent and 
 strange. He began to talk mysteriously of the ingratitude of 
 the forger — " 
 
 " Why, he's actually going to do it ! Don't you sec — he means 
 that you are the forger ?" 
 
 "Oh! docs he? Very well, Athelstan " — George finished his 
 
1G6 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 coffee, and got up — " the sooner we find out the mystery of this 
 Edmund Gray the better. Let us seek your tipsy scholar." 
 
 They walked from Piccadilly to Ilolborn, turnini^ the thing 
 over, and making .1 dozen surmises. Edmund Gray, twins ; Ed- 
 mund Gray, father and son — father wanting to destroy property, 
 a Socialist; son wanting to steal property, an individualist; Ed- 
 mund Gray, cousins — one the mild j)hilosopher, rejoicing in the 
 decay of wealth, the other a bandit, a robber, and a conspirator; 
 Edmund Gray, fatiicr and daughter — the young lady of the ad- 
 vanced type, who has not only thrown over her religion, but her 
 morals also; Edmund Gray, master and clerk; Edmund Gray 
 under domination of a villain ; there was in the situation a noble 
 chance for the imagination. George showed a capacity unsus- 
 pected ; he should have been a novelist. The hypotheses were 
 beautiful and admirable; they wanted one thing — vraiscviblance ; 
 one felt, even while advancing and defending them, that they 
 were impossible. 
 
 They turned into the gateway of the inn, and walked down the 
 passage into the square. "Look!" Athelstan caught his com- 
 panion by the wrist. " Who is that?" 
 
 " Checkley iiimself ; he is coming out of No. 22 !" 
 
 " Yes, out of 22. What is he doing there ! Eh ? What has 
 he been doing there ?" 
 
 It was Checkley. The old man, walking feebly, with bent head, 
 came out from the entrance of No. 22, and turned northward into 
 Field Court. They waited, watching him, until he left the square. 
 " Wiiat is he doing there ?" asked George again. " Come. Ed- 
 mund Gray must be at home. Let us go up." 
 
 They found the outer door shut. Tlicy knocked with their 
 sticks ; there was no answer. 
 
 " What was he doing here ?" asked Athelstan. 
 
 The scholar's door stood open. The scholar himself was per- 
 fectly sober, and welcomed them joyously and boisterously. 
 
 " We are here on business, Freddy," said Athelstan. 
 
 " You are here to sit and talk and drink whiskey-and-soda till 
 midnight — till two o'clock in the morning. It is not until two in 
 the morning that you can get the full flavor of the inn. It is like 
 a college then — monastic, shut off from the world, peaceful — " 
 
 " Business first, then. You know your neighbor, Mr. Edmund 
 Gray ?" 
 
THE IVORY GATE / 
 
 167 
 
 "Certainly. Wc exchange the compliments of the season and 
 the news of the weather when we meet on tlic stairs. lie has 
 been in here, but not often. A man who drinks nothing is your 
 true damper. That, believe nie, and no other, was the veritable 
 skeleton at the feast." 
 
 "Our business concerns your neighbor, Mr. Edmund Gray. 
 We want you to tell us what you know about him." 
 "Go on, then. Question, and I will answer if I can." 
 " Docs Mr. Edmund Gray live at these chambers ?" 
 " No. lie may sometimes sleep in them, but I should say not 
 often. He calls at irregular intervals. Sometimes in the after- 
 noon, sometimes in the morning, sometimes not for several weeks 
 together, lie is most uncertain." 
 " Do many people call upon him ?" 
 " No one ever calls upon him." 
 
 " Does he keep clerks ? Does he carry on an extensive corre- 
 spondence?" 
 
 " I have never heard the postman knock at his door." 
 " Has he a son or a brother, or anything ?" 
 " I don't know. He may have these hindrances, but they arc 
 not apparent." 
 
 " What is his occupation or trade?" 
 
 "Socialist. He is athirst for the destruction of property. 
 Meantime, I believe, he lives on his own. Perhaps his will be 
 spared to the end. He is an old gentleman of pleasant manners 
 and of benevolent aspect. The old women beg of him; the 
 children ask him the time ; the people who have lost their way 
 apply to him. He dreams all the time ; he lives in a world im- 
 possible. Oh ! quite impossible. Why, in a world all Socialist 
 I myself should be impossible. They wouldn't have me. My 
 old friend told me the other day that I should not be tolerated. 
 They would kill me. All because I do no work — or next to 
 none." 
 
 George looked at Athelstan. " Wc are farther off than ever," 
 he said. 
 
 " Mr. Edmund Gray believes that the kingdom of Heaven is 
 a kind of hive where everybody has got to work with zeal, and 
 where nobody owns anything. Also he thinks that it is close at 
 hand, which makes him a very liappy old gentleman." 
 " This can't be Cbcckley," said George. 
 
168 TUE IVORY GATE 
 
 " It would seem not," Athelstan replied. " Did you ever see 
 another old man up here — wc saw liim coming out just now — 
 one Chcckley, a lawyer's clerk ?" 
 
 " No ; not up here. There is an elderly person — a party — of 
 the name who uses the parlor of the Salutation, where I myself 
 sometimes — one must relax ; Porson loved a tavern, so did 
 Johnson — I myself, I say, sometimes forget that I used to belong 
 to the combination room, and sit with Checkiey and his com- 
 panions. But 1 do not think he is a friend of Mr. Gray. As 
 well call the verger the friend of the bishop. Mr. Cray is a 
 gentleman and a scholar, lie is a man of generous instincts and 
 culture, lie could not be a friend of Checklcy's." 
 
 " Yet Checkiey came out of this staircase." 
 
 They talked of other things; they talked till midnight. When 
 they came away tlie scholar was at his best; one more glass — 
 which he took after they left — would have turned the best into 
 the worst. 
 
 " We are as far o(T as before," said George. 
 
 " No — we are so much the nearer that we know who Edmund 
 Gray is not. He is not Checkiey. lie has no clerks, lie lias 
 no visitors. He comes seldom. George, this looks to me sus- 
 picious. We met Chcckley stealing out of the door. Why does 
 Edmund Gray keep these chambers? No business done there; 
 no letters brought there ; no callers ; the man does not live there. 
 The Socialism may be a blind. Why does the man keep on these 
 chambers ?" 
 
 Meantime at the Salutation the usual company was assembled. 
 " I fear," said the barrister, " that wc shall not have our friend 
 the scholar here this evening. As I came down the stairs I saw 
 liim opening his door to two gentlemen — young gentlemen. He 
 will display his wonted hospitality upon them this evening in- 
 stead." He sighed, and called for the glass of old and mild 
 mixed, which was all he could afford. Had the scholar been 
 with them, certainly there would have been a nobler and a costlier 
 glass. He took up the morning paper, and began to read it. 
 
 The conversation went on slowly and with jerks. A dull con- 
 versation ; a conversation of men without ideas; a day-before- 
 yesterday conversation — the slow exchange of short, solid sen- 
 tences taken from the paper, or overheard and adopted. Wc 
 
THE IVORY GATE 169 
 
 sometimes praise the old tavern life, and we regret the tavern 
 talk. We need not ; it was dull, gross, ignorant, and flat ; it was 
 common[)Iace and conventional ; because it was so dull the men 
 were fain to sing songs and to propose sentiments, and to drink 
 more than was good for them. Why and when do men drink 
 more than is good for them ? First, when and because things are 
 desperately dull ; there is nothing to interest them ; give them 
 animation, thoughts, amusements, and they will not begin to 
 drink. When they have begun, they will go on. When they 
 have arrived at a certain stage, let them drink as fast as they can, 
 and so get out of the way, because they will never mend, and they 
 only cumber the earth. Here is, you see, a complete solution — 
 a short solution — of the whole drink question. It will not be 
 accepted, because people like a long solution — a three-column 
 solution. 
 
 The barrister lifted his head. " There is a letter here," he 
 said, interrupting the ex-M.P., who was clearing tl)e way for what 
 he called an argument by an introduction in the usual form. 
 " While on the one hand, gentlemen, I am free to confess — " 
 
 " There is a letter here," he repeated, in a louder voice — the 
 barrister was now old, but he could still assume at times the 
 masterful manner of counsel before the court — " which should be 
 read. It is a letter on Socialism." 
 
 "Ugh !" said the money-lender. " Socialism ? They want to 
 destroy property. Socialism 1 Don't tell me, sir." 
 
 " It is a dream of what might be — a noble — a generous letter." 
 He looked round him. In their dull and fishy eyes there was no 
 gleam or sparkle of response. " I forgot," he said ; "you cannot 
 be interested in such a letter. I beg your pardon, sir." lie 
 bowed with great courtesy to the ex-M.P. "I interrupted your 
 valuable observations. AVe shall listen, I am sure, with — the — 
 greatest — " lie buried his head in the paper again. 
 
 The legislator began again. " As I was a-saying, gentlemen, 
 when I was interrupted, on the subject of education and the rate- 
 payers, being a ratepayer myself, as we all are, and having our 
 taxes to pay, which is the only advantage we ever get from beino" 
 a ratepayer, while on the one hand I am free to confess — " 
 
 "Why!" the barrister interrupted once again, "this letter is 
 from a man on our staircase — No. 22" — Checkley started — "an 
 acquaintance of mine, if I can call hiio so, and of our friend the 
 
IVO THE IVORY GATE 
 
 scholar. A very able man, now soinewliat in years. By name 
 Edmund Gray." 
 
 " What ?" said Checkley. " Edmund Gray ? You know Ed- 
 mund Gray ?" 
 
 "Certainly. I have known him this nine years. Ever since 
 he has been in the inn." 
 
 " W-w-what sort of a man is he ?" Checkley stammered in his 
 eagerness. 
 
 " A very good sort of a man. AVliy do you ask?" 
 
 " I want to know for his advantage — oh ! yes — yes — for his 
 advantage." 
 
 " Yes." The barrister retreated to his paper. " Oh, yes," he 
 added, " quite so." 
 
 " For liis advantage," Checkley repeated. " Robert, I think the 
 gentleman would take a tumbler, if you will bring it — hot, Ilobert 
 — strong — with lemon and sugar — a large rummer, Robert." 
 
 The barrister's head behind the paper was observed to tremble. 
 
 Robert returned with his rummer, the glass spoon tinkling an 
 invitation. Dinner liad been but a sorry affair that day — a stop- 
 gap — insufficient in bulk; the tempted man felt a yearning that 
 could not be resisted. He stretched out his hand, and took the 
 glass and tasted it. Then turning to Checkley, 
 
 " You have purchased my speech, sir. You were asking mc 
 about Mr. Edmund Gray. What do you wish to know 1" 
 
 " Everything — his business, his private life — anything." 
 
 "As for his business, he has none; he is a gentleman living 
 on liis means — like myself; but his means arc larger than my 
 own ; he has a residence elsewhere — I don't know where ; he uses 
 his chambers but little ; he has a collection of books there, and 
 he keeps them for purposes of study." 
 
 " Does he call there every day ?" 
 
 " No. Only at irregular times. Sometimes not for many 
 weeks together." 
 
 " Has he got any friends ?" 
 
 " I should say that he has no friends at all — at least none that 
 come to the inn. I have never heard or seen any one in his 
 room. A quiet man. No slammer. An excellent man to have 
 on the staircase. No trampler; doesn't tramp up and down like 
 an elephant. Isn't brought home drunk." 
 
 " What does he look like ?" 
 
TUE IVORY GATE 
 
 171 
 
 " lie is .1 man advanced in years — perhaps seventy ; a good- 
 looking man — very cheerful countenance; tall and well set up 
 still ; wears a long frock-coat. And that, I believe, is all I know 
 about him." 
 
 " That's all you've got to tell nic, is it ?" 
 
 "That is all, Mr. Checkley. Except that he has written a very 
 remarkable letter to the Times of this morning." 
 
 " Well, sir, it isn't much for your rum-and-watcr, let me tell 
 you." 
 
 The barrister rose, and poured the half-glass that remained into 
 the cinders. " Then let mc drink no more than ray information 
 was worth," he said ; and at the sight of so much magnanimity 
 the broad earth trembled and Mr. Checkley sat aghast. 
 
 The ex-statesman cleared his throat and began again. "After 
 the third interruption, gentlemen, I may hope for a hearing. 
 While, therefore, on the one hand — " 
 
 CIIArTER XYII 
 
 THE VOICE OF DUTY 
 
 Klsie, in her studio, was at work. She was painting a fancy 
 portrait. You have seen how, before her interview with Mr. 
 l)ering, she transformed him from a liard and matter-of-fact 
 lawyer into a genial, benevolent old gentleman. She was now 
 elaborating this transformation. It is a delightful process, known 
 to every portrait-painter, whereby a face, faithfully represented, be- 
 comes the face of another person, or the face as it might be, so 
 that a hard and keen face, such as Mr. Bering's, may become a 
 face ennobled with spiritual elevation, benevolence, charity, and 
 kindness of heart. Or, on the other hand, without the least 
 change of feature, this liard, keen face may become, by the curve 
 of a line or the addition of a shadow, the face of a cruel and 
 pitiless inquisitor. Or, again, any face, however blurred and 
 marred by the life of its owner, may by the cunning portrait- 
 painter be restored to the face intended by its Maker, that is to 
 say, a sweet and serious face. Great, indeed, is the power, mar- 
 vellous is ti»c mystery, of the limner's art. 
 
172 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 " Now," Elsie murmured, " you look like some great philan- 
 thropist — a thouclitfui philanthropist, not a foolish person; your 
 high forehead and your sharp nostril proclaim that you arc no 
 impulsive gusher; your kindly eyes beam with goodness of heart; 
 your lips are firm, because you hate injustice. Oh ! my dear 
 guardian, how much I have improved you ! Something like this 
 you looked when you told me of my fortune — and like this 
 when you spoke of your dream and your illusions — something 
 like this you looked." 
 
 She went on working at her fantasy, crooning a simple ditty, 
 composed of many melodies running into one, as girls use when 
 thoy arc quite happy. The afternoon was hot. Outside, Elsie's 
 ■windows looked upon a nest of little London gardens, where 
 nasturtiums twisted round strings upon the walls; hollyliocks 
 and sunflowers, which love the Ijondon smoke, lifted their heads; 
 and Virginia creepers climbed to the house-tops. The little Lon- 
 don gardens do sometimes look gay and bright in the yellow 
 glow of a July afternoon. The window was open, and the room 
 was almost as hot as the street outside; we get so few hot days 
 tliat one here and there cannot be too hot. On the table lay a 
 photograph of her lover; over the mantel hung her own drawing 
 in pastel of that swain ; on her finger was his ring ; round her 
 neck lay his chain ; all day long she was reminded of him if she 
 should cease for a moment to think of him ; but there was no 
 need of such reminder. It was Friday afternoon, four days after 
 the great discovery. Elsie had been informed of the event, the 
 news of which she received after the feminine manner, with an 
 ejaculation of surprise and an interjection of sympathy. l)ut one 
 cannot expect a girl on the eve of her marriage to be greatly dis- 
 tressed because her guardian, a rich man, is annoyed by the tem- 
 porary loss of certain shares. And as to finding the criminal and 
 getting back those shares — it was man's work. All the trouble- 
 some and disagreeable part of the world's work belongs to man- 
 It was nearly five o'clock. Elsie was beginning to think that 
 she had done enough, and that, after tea, a walk in the Gardens 
 might be pleasant. Suddenly, without any noise or warning of 
 steps outside, her door was opened, and her sister Hilda appeared. 
 Now, so swift is the feminine perception that Elsie instantly 
 understood that something had happened — something bad — 
 something bad to herself. For, first, the door was opened gently, 
 
THE IVORY GATE 1*13 
 
 as in a house of mourning; and, next, Hilda liad on a dress — 
 lavender with heliotrope — costly, becoming, sympathetic, and 
 sorrowful — a half-mourning dress — and she stood for a moment 
 at the door with folded hands, her classical head inclined a little 
 downward to the left, and her eyes drooping — an artistic attitude 
 of sadness, llilda not only said the right thing and held the 
 proper sentiments, but she liked to assume the right attitude and 
 to personate the right emotion. Now it is given to woman, and 
 only to her when she is young, tall, and beautiful, to express by 
 attitude all or any of the emotions which transport or torture her 
 fellow-creatures. Hilda, you see, was an artist. 
 
 "Come in, dear," said Elsie. " I am sure that you have got 
 something disagreeable to tell me." 
 
 Uilda kissed her forehead. "My poor child!" she murmured. 
 " If it could have been told you by anybody else !" 
 
 " ^Ycll — let us hear it. Is it anything very disagreeable ?" 
 
 " It is terrible. I tremble — I dare not tell you. Yet I must. 
 You ought to know." 
 
 " If you would go on. It is much more terrible to be kept in 
 suspense." 
 
 " It is about George." 
 
 " Oh !" said Elsie, flaming. " I have had so much trouble 
 aboat George already, that I did think — " 
 
 " My dear, all opposition of the former kind is removed, as 
 you know. This is something very different. ^Vorse," she added, 
 in a hollow voice — "far worse." 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, get along." 
 
 " He has told you about the dreadful robbery. Of course you 
 have talked about nothing else since it happened. I found my 
 mother full of it." 
 
 " Yes ; George is in charge of the case. He says that every- 
 thing must be recovered, and that Mr. Dering will in the end 
 suffer no more injury than the trouble of it." 
 
 " That may be so. Elsie — I liardly dare to tell you — there is 
 a clue. Checkley has got that clue, and has told Sir Samuel 
 everything. He is following up the clue. I shudder to think of 
 it. The man is as relentless as a bloodhound." 
 
 " Docs that clue concern me ?" Her cheek became pale because 
 she guessed — she knew not what. 
 
 " Sir Sanuiel, against his will, is convinced that Checkley has 
 
174 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 found the clue. lie has told nic the whole. Tie has consented 
 to my tt-lling the dreadful story to my mother and to you — and 
 now I am afraid. Yet I must." 
 
 p]lsic made a (gesture of impatience. 
 
 "Go back, Elsie, eis2:lit years, if you can. Remember the 
 wretched business of our unworthy brother." 
 
 "I remember it. Not unworthy, Hilda— our most unfortunate 
 brother. ^Vhy, they have found tlie very notes he was charged 
 with stealing. Tiiey were found in the safe on the very day 
 when tiiey made the other discovery. Have they not told 
 you ?" 
 
 *' Checkley tuld Sir Samuel. He also remembers seeing Athel- 
 stan place the packet in the safe." 
 
 "Oh! does he dare to say that? "Why, Hilda, the robbery 
 was proved to lie between himself and Athclstan. If he saw that, 
 wliy did he not say so? He keeps silence for eight long years, 
 and then he speaks." 
 
 Hilda shook her liead sadly. " I fear," she said, " that we can- 
 not accept the innocence of our unfortunate brother. However, 
 Athelstan was accused of forging Mr. Dering's handwriting and 
 signature. In this new forgery the same handwriting is found 
 again — exactly the same. The forger is the same." 
 
 "Clearly, therefore, it cannot be Athelstan. That settles it." 
 
 " Yes — unfortunately — it does settle it. Because, you sec, 
 Athelstan is in London. He is said to have been living in Lon- 
 don all the time — in some wretched place called Camberwcll, 
 inhabited, I suppose, by runaways and low company of every 
 kind. He has lately been seen in the neighborhood of Gray's 
 Inn, apparently passing under his own name. Checkley has seen 
 him. Another person has seen him." 
 
 " Have you come to tell me that Athelstan is charged with 
 this new wickedness?" 
 
 "The forger must have had an accomplice in the ofTicc — a man 
 able to get at the safe, able to intercept the post, acquainted with 
 Mr. Dering's ways; such a man as — say — Checkley — or — the only 
 other possible — George." Hilda paused. 
 
 "Oh! this is too absurd. You arc now hinting that George 
 — my George," she said, proudly, " was the confederate of Athel- 
 stan — no, of a forger." 
 
 "They have been seen together. They have been seen together 
 
THE IVORY GATE l75 
 
 at the house from which the forger addresses his letters. Has 
 George told you that he has known all along — for eight years — 
 of Athclstan's residence in London ?" 
 
 Observe how that simple remark made in the Salutation parlor, 
 tliat Athclstan must have been living in Cambcrwell, had by this 
 time grown into a complete record of eight years' hiding, eight 
 years' disgraceful company, on the part of one ; and eight years' 
 complicity and guilty knowledge on the part of the other. Hilda 
 had not the least doubt. It was quite enough for her that Check- 
 ley said so. Half of our newspapers arc conducted on the same 
 confiding principle. 
 
 "If George has not told me," Elsie replied, "it must be for 
 some good reason. Perhaps he was pledged to secrecy." 
 
 "My dear" — Hilda rose impressively, with fateful face — "the 
 hand that forged the letters is the hand that forged the check — 
 your brother's hand. The hand that took the certificates from the 
 safe" — she laid her own hand upon Elsie's — "the liand of the 
 confederate, my poor sister — is your lover's hand." 
 
 " I knew," said the girl, " that you were coming to this. I have 
 felt it from the beginning." 
 
 "Remember, the thing was done in the months of February, 
 March, and April. First of all, Athelstan was then, as now, des- 
 perately poor; the life that he has led for the last eight years — 
 the life of a — a — Camberwell protligate " — she spoke as if that 
 respectable suburb was the modern Alsatia — " has certainly de- 
 stroyed whatever was left of honor and of principle. There comes 
 a time, I have read, in the career of every wicked man when he 
 hesitates no longer, whatever means are offered him of making 
 money. Athelstan it was — so they believe — who devised this 
 scheme, which has been as successful as it is disgraceful. My 
 dear Elsie, this is the most terrible disgrace that has ever befallen 
 my family ; the most dreadful and the most unexpected calamity 
 for you.'' 
 
 Elsie cauglit her sister by the wrist. " In the name of God, 
 Hilda, arc you telling me what is proved and true, or what is only 
 suspected ?'' 
 
 " I am telling you what is as good as proved — more than sus- 
 pected." 
 
 "As good as proved? Oh !" Elsie drew a long breath. "As 
 good as proved. That is enough. Like Athelstan's guilt eight 
 
176 TnE IVORY GATE 
 
 years ago — " slic flared out suddenly, springing up again, and 
 walking about the room. " Oh ! it is wonderful !" she cried — 
 " wonderful ! What a family we are ! Vi'c had a brother, and 
 we believed that he was an honorable gentleman, as the son of 
 Lis father must be. Then there was a charge, a foolish charge, 
 based upon nothing but may-have-been and must-have-been — 
 We believed the charge — " 
 
 "Because we liad no choice but to believe, Elsie," her sister 
 interrupted. "Do you think we wanted to believe the charge?" 
 
 "We shoultl have believed him innocent \mtil the thing was 
 proved. We did not. We cast him out from among us; and 
 now — after eight years — he lias come back poor, you say, and sunk 
 so low that he is ashamed to see his people, and we are going to 
 believe another charge based on may-havo-bcen and nuist-lmve- 
 been. No, Hilda, I will not believe it — I will not. And then 
 there is George. If I cease to believe in his honor and his truth 
 I cease to believe in everything. I cannot believe in Heaven 
 itself unless I believe in my lover. Why, his heart is light about 
 this business; lie is not concerned; he laughs at that old man's 
 ravings. Ravings? If Athelstan is right then his is the hand 
 that has done it all — his, Hilda; Checkley is the man concerned 
 with both crimes." 
 
 Hilda shook her head. "No, Elsie, no. The old man is above 
 suspicion." 
 
 " Why should he be above suspicion more than George ? And 
 you ask me on the first breath of accusation to treat George as 
 you treated Athelstan. Well — Hilda, I will not!" 
 
 " I make every allowance for you, Elsie. It is a most dreadful 
 business — a heart-breaking business. You may misrepresent me 
 as much as you please. I will continue to make allowances for 
 you. Meantime, ay hat will you do?" 
 
 "Do? What should I do? Nothing, nothing, nothing. I 
 shall go on as if this thing had never liappened." 
 
 " Sir Samuel ordered me to warn you most seriously. If you 
 consent to sec him again — " 
 
 "Consent? Consent? Why should I refuse? In a fortnight 
 he will be my husband and my master, whom I must obey. He 
 calls me his mistress now, but I am his servant. Consent to see 
 him — " She sat down, and burst into tears. 
 
 " If you see him again," her sister continued, " warn him to 
 
THE IVORY GATE 177 
 
 leave the country. The tiling is so certain tliat in a day or two 
 the proofs will be complete, and it will then be too late. Make 
 liitn leave the country. Be firm, Elsie. Better still, refuse to see 
 him at all, and leave him to his fate. What a fate ! What 
 madness!" 
 
 " Wo allowed Athelstan to leave the country. He ought to 
 have stayed. If I advise George at all I shall advise him to stick 
 to his post, and see the business through. If he were to leave the 
 country I would go with him." 
 
 "You are infatuated, Elsie. I can only hope that he will fly 
 the country of his own accord. Meantime, there is one other 
 point — " 
 
 "What is it? Pray don't spare me, Hilda. After what has 
 gone before it must be a very little point." 
 
 "You are bitter, Elsie, and I don't deserve your bitterness. 
 But that is nothing. At such a moment everything must be par- 
 doned and permitted. The point is about your wedding. It is 
 fixed for the 12th of ne.xt month, less than three weeks from 
 to-day. You must be prepared to put it off," 
 
 " Indeed ? Because you say that a thing impossible is as good 
 as proved ! Certainly not, Hilda." 
 
 " I have come here to-day, Elsie, by Sir Samuel's express wish, 
 in order to soften the blow and to warn you. Whether you will 
 toll that unhappy young man or not is for you to decide. Per- 
 haps, if you do, he may imitate our unworthy brother, and run 
 away. If he does not, the blow will fall to-morrow — to-day — the 
 day after to-morrow — I know not when. He will be arrested ; he 
 will be taken before a magistrate; he will be remanded; he will 
 be out on bail. Oh ! Elsie, think of marrying a man out on bail ! 
 One might as well marry a man in convict dress. Oh ! horrible !" 
 
 "I would rather marry George in convict dress than any other 
 man in fine raiment. Because, once more, the thin'»- is impos- 
 sible." 
 
 "You carry your faith in your lover beyond bounds, Elsie. 
 Of course, a girl is right to believe in a man's honor. It makes 
 her much more comfortable, and gives her a sense of security. 
 Besides, we always like to believe that we are loved by the best 
 of men. That makes us feel like the best of women. But in 
 this case, when I tell you that Sir Samuel — a man who has always 
 lived among money, so to speak, and knows how money is coa- 
 8* 
 
178 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 stantly assailed — is firmly convinced of Georj^e's complicity, I do 
 think that you might allow something for human frailty. In the 
 case of Athelstan, what did Mr. Dcring say ? ' Everything is pos- 
 sible. So I say of George Austin, everything is possible." 
 
 " Not everything. Not that." 
 
 "Yes, even that. "What do you know of liis private life? 
 Why has he concealed the fact of Athclstan's residence in Lon- 
 don ? Why has he never told us of his friendship with that un- 
 fortunate outcast ?" 
 
 " I don't know. He has his reasons." 
 
 "It is a most dreadful thing for you," Hilda went on; "and 
 after getting to believe in the man, and — well — becoming attached 
 to him — though such attaciiments mean little, and are soon for- 
 gotten ; and after going the length of fixing the day, and order- 
 ing the dress and the wcJding-cake, and putting up the banns — 
 Ob ! it is a wretched business — a liorrible misfortune. The only 
 thing to be said is tiiat in such a case, the fact being known to 
 everybody, no one can blame a girl; and perhaps, in the long 
 run, she will suffer no injury from it. Our circle, for instance, 
 is so different from that of this young man's friends that the 
 thing would not even be k^own among us." 
 
 "I believe, Hilda, you will drive me mad." 
 
 " My dear, one must look ahead. And remember that I look 
 ahead for you. As for the young man, I dissociate him hence- 
 forth from you. What he does and where he goes I do not 
 inquire, or care about any more than I trouble myself about a 
 disgraceful brother. Some acts cut a man off from his mistress 
 — from his sisters — from the world." 
 
 " Do not talk any more," said Elsie. " Let the blow, as you 
 call it, fall when it pleases. But, as for me, I shall not warn 
 George that he is to be charged with dishonesty, any more than 
 I will believe him capable of dishonesty." 
 
 "Well, ray dear, there is one comfort for us. You may re- 
 solve on marrying him. But a man charged with a crime — out 
 on bail — cannot marry any girl. And he will be charged, and 
 the evidence is very strong." 
 
 " No doubt. As good as proved — as good as proved. Poor 
 George! who never had ten pounds in the world until he was 
 made a partner — " 
 
 " True. And there we have the real motive. Seek the motive, 
 
THE IVORY GATE 1'79 
 
 Sir Samuel says, and we shall find tlic criminal. Here you have 
 the reason of the secret partnership with Athclstan. Poverty is 
 the tempter — Athelstan is the suggester." 
 
 Elsie shook her head impatiently. 
 
 " Mr. Bering was to give you away. Who will now — Athcl- 
 stan ? How can we — Sir Samuel and I — assist at a wedding 
 where the bridegroom lies under such a charge by one so near 
 to us as Mr. Dering? How can your mother be present? Oh! 
 Elsie — think !" 
 
 Elsie shook her head again, with greater impatience. 
 
 "Think wliat a fate you may be dragging upon yourself! 
 Think of possible children with such a brand upon them !" 
 
 "I think only of an honorable and an innocent man." 
 
 " I have just come from my mother, Elsie. She says positively 
 that if the charge is brought, the wedding must be put off until 
 the man is cleared. And, for the moment, she does not feel 
 strong enough to meet him. You can receive him here, if you 
 please. And she desires that there may be no disputes or argu- 
 ments about it." 
 
 "It IS truly wonderful!" Elsie walked to the open window, 
 and gasped as if choking. " Wonderful !" she repeated. " The 
 same fate — in the same manner — threatens Geoi'ge that fell upon 
 Athelstan. And it finds us as ready to believe in the charge and 
 to cast him out. Now, Hilda, go to my mother, and tell her that 
 though the whole world should call George — my George — a vil- 
 lain I will marry him. Tell her that though I should have to 
 take him from the prison-door I will marry him. Because, you 
 sec, all things arc not possible. This thing is impossible." 
 
 "We shall have trouble with Elsie," Lady Bering told her 
 mother. "Call her soft and yielding? My dear, no mule was 
 ever more stubborn. She will marry her convict, she says, even 
 at the prison-door." 
 
180 THE IVOKY GATE 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 WAS HE IN RAGS? 
 
 Stubborn as a jnulc. Yes — it is tlie way with some girls. 
 Man is soft as wax compared with woman — man concedes, 
 compromises, gives way, submits; woman has her own way — 
 when tliat way is the right way she becomes a pearl above 
 price. 
 
 Elsie, when the door was shut and her sister gone, stood silent, 
 immovable. A red spot burned in her cheeks; lier eyes were un- 
 naturally bright; her lips j)arted ; she was possessed by a mighty 
 wratii and great determination ; she was the tigress who fights for 
 her beloved. Meantime, everything was changed— the sunshine 
 had gone out of the day; the warmth out of the air; her work, 
 that had pleased her so much an hour ago, seemed a poor weak 
 thing not worth thinking about. Everything was a trille not 
 worth thinking about — the details of her wedding; her presents; 
 her honeymoon ; her pretty flat — all became insignificant com- 
 pared with this threatened charge against her lover. How was 
 it to be met? If it was only a suspicion [)ut into shape by Sir 
 Samuel and old Checkley it would be best to say nothing. If it 
 was really going to be brought against him, would it not be best 
 to warn him beforehand? And about her brother — " 
 
 She sat down, and wrote out the facts. To be doing this 
 cleared her brain, and seemed like working for her lover. In 
 March, 1883, a check for seven hundred and twenty pounds, to 
 the order of one Edmund Gray, was cashed in ten-pound notes 
 by a commissionnaire sent from a hotel in Arundel Street, Strand. 
 No one ever found out this Edmund Gray. Athclstan was sus- 
 pected. The notes themselves were never presented, and were 
 found the other day in Mr. Bering's safe, covered with dust, at 
 the back of some books. 
 
 In February, March, and April, by means of forged letters, a 
 great quantity of shares were transferred from the name of Ed- 
 
THE IVORY GATE 181 
 
 ward Dcring to that of EJmnnd Gray, The writinf? of the let- 
 ters was the same as that of the forged check. 
 
 These were the only facts. The rest was all inference and pre- 
 sumption. Athelstan had been seen in London ; Athelstan had 
 been living all the time in London ; Athelstan had been seen go- 
 ing into the house which was given as the residence of Edmund 
 Gray. ^Vcll — Athelstan must be seen the very first thing. Fur- 
 ther than this point she could not get. She rang the bell, ordered 
 tea to be brought to her own room, and then put on her hat and 
 went out to the Gardens, where she walked about under the trees, 
 disquieted and unhappy. If a charge is going to be brought 
 against you, the most innocent man in the world must be disqui- 
 eted until he knows the nature of the evidence against him. 
 Once satisfied as to that, he may be happy again. What evi- 
 dence could they bring against George ? 
 
 Slie went home about eight, going without dinner rather than 
 sit down with her mother. It is a miserable thing for a girl 
 to be full of hardness against her mother, Elsie already had had 
 experience, as you have seen. For the present better not to meet 
 at all. Therefore she did not go home for dinner, but took a bun 
 and a cup of coffee — woman's substitute for dinner — at a confec- 
 tioner's. 
 
 When George called, about nine o'clock, he was taken into the 
 studio, where he found Elsie with the traces of tears in her eyes. 
 
 "Why, Elsie," he cried, " what is the matter? Why are you 
 crying, my dear? and why are you alone in this room?" 
 
 " I choke in this house, George. Take me out of it — take me 
 away. Let us walk about the squares, and talk. I have a good 
 deal to say." 
 
 " Now, dear, what is it?" — when they were outside. " What 
 happened? You are trembling — you have been shaken. Tell 
 me, dear." 
 
 " I don't think I can tell you just at present — not all." 
 
 "Something, then — the rest afterwards. Tell me by instal- 
 ments." 
 
 " You are quite happy, George? Nobody has said anything to 
 make you angry — at the office, or anywhere else ?" 
 
 "Nobody. We are going on just the same. Mr. Bering 
 thinks and talks about nothing but the robbery. So do I. So 
 docs everybody else. I suppose Checkley has told, for every clerk 
 
182 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 in the place knows about it, and is talking about it. "Why do you 
 ask if anybody lias made nie angry ?" 
 
 " My dear George, llilda has been here this afternoon. You 
 know that — sometimes — llilda docs not always say the kindest 
 things about people." 
 
 "Not always. I remember when she wrote me a letter asking 
 whether I thought that a lawyer's clerk was a tit aspirant for the 
 band of her sister. Not always just the kindest things. But I 
 thought we were all on the most affectionate terms, and that ev- 
 erything had been sponged out. She has been saying more kind 
 things about me? What have I done now? Isn't the money 
 difficulty solved ?'' 
 
 "I will tell you some other lime — not now — what she said. 
 At the present moment I want to ask you a f]ueslion. If you 
 liave reasons for not answering, say so, and I shall be quite satis- 
 fied ; but answer me if you can. This is the question. Hihla 
 says that Athelstan is secretly in London, and that you know it, 
 and that you have been seen with him. Is that true?'' 
 
 " Well, Elsie, the only reason for not telling you that Athel- 
 stan is here is that he himself made me promise not to tell you. 
 Athelstan is in London. I see him often. I shall sec him this 
 evening after leaving you. He is in London, walking about open- 
 ly. Whv not? I know no reason for any concealment. But he 
 cannot go to see his mother, or enter his mother's house, until 
 this charge against him has been acknowledged to be baseless. 
 As for you, he will be the first person to visit you — and will be 
 your most frequent visitor — when we arc married. He is always 
 talking about you. He is longing for the time when he can see 
 you openly. But nothing will persuade him to come here. He 
 is still bitter against his mother and against Hilda." 
 
 Elsie sighed. " It is very terrible — and now — But go on." 
 
 " I have answered your question, Elsie." 
 
 " Oh, no. I have only just begun. You say that Athelstan 
 is in London, but you do not tell me what he is doing and liow 
 be fares." 
 
 " He fares very well, and he is prosperous." 
 
 "Hilda says that be has been living in some wretched quarter 
 of London all these years; that he has been frequenting low com- 
 pany ; and that he has been, until the last few weeks, in rags and 
 penniless." 
 
THE IVORY GATE 183 
 
 George laughed aloud. " Where on earth did Ililda get this 
 precious information ? Athelstan in a low quarter? Athclstan a 
 prodigal? Athelstan in rags? My dearest Elsie, if Lady Bering 
 were not your sister, I should say that she had gone mad with 
 venomous hatred of tbe hrother whom she made so much haste 
 to believe guilty." 
 
 "Oh! tdl me quick, George. Don't say anything against 
 Ililda, please. I am already — Tell me quick the whole truth." 
 
 " Well, dear, the whole truth is this. Athelstan is doing very 
 well. I suppose you might call him prosperous. When he went 
 away he had ten pounds to begin with. People kindly credited 
 him with the nice little sum of seven hundred and twenty pounds 
 obtained by a forgery. We now know that this money has been 
 lying in the safe all the time; how it got there, the Lord knows 
 — perhaps Chccklcy could tell. He went to America by the 
 cheapest way possible. He had many adventures and many ups 
 and downs, all of which he will tell you before long. Once he 
 had great good-fortune on a silver mine or something ; he made 
 thousands of pounds out of it. Then he lost all his money — 
 dropped it down a sink or into an open drain — you know, in 
 America, these traps are plentiful — and started again on his ten 
 pounds. He was a journalist all the time, and he is a jour- 
 nalist still. He is now over here as the London correspondent of 
 a great paper of San Francisco. That, my dear Elsie, is, briefly, 
 the record of your brother since he went away." 
 
 "Oh! but arc you quite sure, George ? — quite — quite sure? 
 Because, if this can be proved — " 
 
 " Nothing is more easy to prove. He brought letters to a 
 London bank, introducing him as the correspondent, and empow- 
 ering him to draw certain moneys." 
 
 "How long has Athelstan been at home?" She remembered 
 the dates of the recent forgeries, and the alleged fact that all 
 were in the same handwriting. 
 
 " You are so persistent, Elsie, that I am certain you have got 
 something serious on your mind — won't you tell me?" 
 
 " No, George — not to-night. But how long has Athelstan been 
 in England ?" 
 
 " I will tell you exactly how and when I met him. Do you re- 
 member three weeks ago, that Sunday evening when we were so 
 happy and so miserable — resolved on braving everything — going 
 
184 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 to live on love and a crust for the rest of our lives? — you poor, 
 dear, brave girl !" lie touched her lingers. " I shall always be 
 thankful for that prospect of poverty, because it revealed my mis- 
 tress to mc in all her loveliness of love and trust and courage." 
 
 " Oh I George — you spoil me. But then I know myself bet- 
 ter." 
 
 " Well — on that evening we went to church together; and af- 
 ter church, as I was not allowed in the house, we walked round 
 and round the square, until the rain came on, and we had to go 
 home. Well, you did not take any notice ; but, as you stood on 
 the steps waiting for the door to be opened, a man was standing 
 on the curb under the lamp close by. When the door was shut 
 behind you, I turned and walked away. This man followed me, 
 and clapped mc on the shoulder. It was Athelstan." 
 
 "And I saw him, and did not know him?" 
 
 ** Jle has grown a big beard now, and wore a felt hat. lie is a 
 picturesque object to look at. Ought to have been one of Drake's 
 men. 1 dare say lie was in a former existence. lie had then 
 been in England about a fortnight, and every day he had prowled 
 about the place in the hope of seeing you — not speaking to you; 
 he trusted that you would not know him again." 
 
 " Oh ! poor Athelstan ! That is nearly three weeks ago. He 
 has been in England five weeks — over a month ; and three, four, 
 live months ago — where was he ?" 
 
 " I told you. In California." 
 
 " Oh ! then he could not, possibly — not possibly — and it can 
 be proved — and oh ! George — George — I am so glad — I am so 
 glad." She showed her joy by a light shower of tears. 
 
 " "Why, my dear," he said, soothing her — " wliy are you so 
 troubled and yet so glad ?" 
 
 " You don't quite understand, George. You don't know the 
 things that are said. All these forgeries are in the same hand- 
 writing?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " One man has written all these letters and checks and things 
 — both that of eight years ago and those of last March ?" 
 
 " That is perfectly certain." 
 
 " Then don't you see ? Athelstan was out of England when 
 these newly discovered forgeries were done. Therefore he had 
 no hand in them. Therefore, again, he could have no hand in the 
 
THE IVORY GATE loO 
 
 earlier one. "Why, you establish his innocence perfectly. Now 
 you see one of the reasons why I was so glad." 
 
 The other reason — that this fact destroyed at one blow the 
 whole of the splendid edifice constructed upon the alleged stay 
 of Athelstan in London — Elsie concealed, ller heart, it must be 
 acknowledged, was lightened. You may have the most complete 
 belief in the innocence of a person, but it is well to have the be- 
 lief strengthened by facts. 
 
 " As for mc," said George, " I have been so long accustomed to 
 regard him as one of the worst used of men that I never thought 
 of that conclusion. Of course if the handwriting is the same, 
 and it certainly seems the same — a very good imitation of Mr. 
 Dering's hand — there is nothing now to be said. Athelstan was 
 in California in the spring. That settles it. And the notes were 
 in the safe. Two clinchers. But to some minds a suspicion is a 
 charge and a charge is a fact." 
 
 "George, you must take me to Athelstan. Give me his ad- 
 dress." 
 
 '* Ue is in lodgings in Half Moon Street. I will ask him if lie 
 will meet you." 
 
 "No, no; let me go to him. It is more fitting. You will 
 see him presently. Will you tell him that I will call upon him to- 
 morrow morning at eleven ? And tell him, George, that some- 
 thing has happened — something that makes it impossible for me 
 to remain at home even for the short time before our wedding." 
 
 " Elsie ! this is very serious." 
 
 "Yes, it is very serious. Tell him that I shall, ask him to re- 
 ceive me until the wedding, or until certain things have happened. 
 But in any case — Oh! they must happen so — they must — it is 
 too absurd." 
 
 " Elsie, my dear, you grow interjectional." 
 
 "Yes, yes. I mean, George, that if things turn out as I hope 
 they may, I will go home again. If not, we will be married from 
 Atlielstan's lodgings." 
 
 "And you will not tell me what this terrible business is?" 
 
 " Not to-night, George," she repeated. " It is very serious, and 
 it makes me very unhappy that my mother and sister — " 
 
 "It has something to do with me, Elsie, clearly. Never mind. 
 Tell me when you please. Whatever you do is sure to be right. 
 I will see him this cvcninfr." 
 
186 THE IVORT GATE 
 
 "Thank you, George. I tbink that what I propose is the' 
 wisest thing to do. Besides, I want to be with you and Athel- 
 stan. Tell bim that as be left the bouse eight years ago I leave 
 it now." 
 
 " You ? Why, my dear child, what forgeries have you been 
 committing V 
 
 " None. And yet — Well, George, that is enough about me 
 and my troubles. Tell me now about your search into this busi- 
 ness. How have you got on ?'' 
 
 "There is nothing new to report. I told you that I left a note 
 on Edmund Gray's table — no answer has come to that. The 
 bank has written to tell him tliat his letter of introduction was a 
 forgery — no answer. The dividends arc accumulating; be draws 
 no checks; be makes no sign. In a word, thougli this money is 
 lying to bis credit, and the shares arc transferred to bis name, and 
 the letters give bis address, there is nothing whatever to convict 
 the man himself. We could not prove his signature, and be has 
 taken none of the money. He might call any day, and say that 
 be knew nothing about it. I wonder be hasn't done it. When 
 be does wc shall just have to put everything straight again. As 
 for poor old Checkley I really believe that he is going mad. If 
 I meet bim be glares; if he is in his master's room bis eyes fol- 
 low me about under bis sliaggy eyebrows with a malignity which 
 I have never seen painted. As for being described, words couldn't 
 do it. I suppose be sees that the end is inevitable. Really, Elsie, 
 the man would murder me if be dared." 
 
 "The man is dangerous, George, as well as malignant. But I 
 tbink be will do you no barm in the long run. Have you told 
 Athelstan what is going on ?" 
 
 "Certainly. He follows the business with the greatest in- 
 terest, lie agrees with me that the thing is done out of the 
 office, with the help of some one in. Now^ the point is, that 
 tlie man in the office must have control of the mail. All the 
 letters must pass through iiis bands. Who is that man? No 
 one but Checkley. Everything turns on that. Now, here is 
 a lucky accident. An old friend of Athelstan's, a man who 
 coaches, has chambers on the same stairs and on the same floor. 
 He knows this Mr. Edmund Gray. We have been to bis rooms 
 to question bim." 
 
 " Is it to see this old friend that Atbclstan visits No. 22 ?" 
 
THE IVORY GATK 
 
 187 
 
 "Yes. His name is Carstonc — commonly called Freddy Car- 
 stone— a pleasing man, with a little weakness which seems to en- 
 dear him to his friends." 
 
 "That is the way in wliich things get distorted in a malignant 
 mind ! Well. What did this gentleman tell you about this mys- 
 terious Edmund Gray ?" 
 
 " Nothing definite. That he is some kind of Socialist we knew 
 before; that he has occupied the chambers for ten years or so we 
 knew before. Also that he is an elderly gentleman of benevolent 
 aspect, and that he is irregular in his visits to his chambers. We 
 seem to get no further. ^ We see Checkley coming out of the 
 house. That connects him, to be sure. But that is not much. 
 There is no connection established between Edmund Gray and the 
 forgeries in his name, nor between Checkley and the forgeries. 
 One feels that if one could lay hold of this mysterious elderly 
 gentleman a real step in advance would be taken." 
 
 " You talked at first of arresting him on the charge." 
 
 " Well, there is no evidence. His name has been used — that 
 is all. On that evidence no magistrate would issue a warrant. 
 Sometimes one's head goes round with the bewilderment of it. 
 I've managed to learn something about Checkley in the course of 
 Uiesc inquiries. He is quite a great man, Elsie— a tavern oracle 
 in the evening; a landlord and householder, and collector of his 
 own rents at odd hours; a capitalist and a miser. Bat he is not, 
 as thought at first, Edmund Gray." 
 
 They had by this time got round to the house again. " Go 
 now, George," said Elsie. " See Athelstan this evening. Tell 
 him that I must go to him. I will tell him why to-morrow." 
 
 " If he is not at his club I will go to his lodgings. If he is 
 not there I will wait till he comes home. And before I go home 
 I will drop a note for you. Good-night, sweetheart — good-night." 
 
188 THE IVORV GATE 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE PRODIGAL AT HOME 
 
 Ix the morninix Elsie rose at seven, and put togcllicr such things 
 as she would want for the three weeks before her marriage, if she 
 were to spend that interval under her brother's care. At eight 
 o'clock she received her letters — including one in a handwriting 
 she did not know. She opened it. " Dear Elsie," it said, " come 
 to me at once. Come early. Come to breakfast at nine. I will 
 wait for you till ten, or any time. — Your aflcctionate brother, 
 Athelstan." 
 
 "Oh!" she murmured. "And I did not know his writing. 
 And to think that I am twenty-one, and he is thirty-one; and 
 th.it I liavc never had a letter from iiim before !" 
 
 Her boxes were packed. She put on her jacket and hat, and 
 descended into the breakfast-room, where her mother was already 
 opening her letters and waiting breakfast. 
 
 "You are going out, Elsie?" she asked coldly. 
 
 " Yes. Hilda told you, I suppose, what she came here for 
 yesterday. In fact, you sent me a message." 
 
 " I hope she delivered it correctly." 
 
 " She said that you would not sanction ray wedding wliile this 
 charge, or suspicion, was hanging over George's head. And that 
 you would not see him until it was withdrawn or cleared away." 
 
 " Certainly. In such a case it would be worse than hypocrisy 
 to receive him with friendliness." 
 
 "Then, like Hilda, you accept the conclusion?" 
 
 " I am unable to do anything else. The conclusion seems to 
 me inevitable. If not, let him explain. I hope that no time will 
 be lost in bringing the formal charge. It is foolish kindness — 
 real cruelty — to all concerned to keep such a thing hanging over 
 our heads. I say our heads, not yours only, Elsie, because you 
 know your brother is implicated — perhaps the real contriver of 
 the dreadful scheme." 
 
THE IVORY GATE 189 
 
 ""Would j'oii believe me if I were to tell you that Athclstan 
 could not be implicated?" 
 
 "My dear! believe yon? Of course I would believe if I could. 
 Unfortunately, the evidence is too great." 
 
 Elsie sighed. " Very well, I will say notliing more. You have 
 driven out my lover as you drove out my brother, for the self- 
 same cause and on the self-same charge. I follow my lover and 
 my brother," 
 
 " Elsie " — her mother started. " Do not, I pray you, do any- 
 thing rash. Ilcmembcr, a scandal — a whisper even — may be 
 fatal to you hereafter. Sit down and wait. All I ask you to 
 do is to wait." 
 
 "No, I will not wait. If those two arc under any cloud of 
 suspicion, I, too, will sit under the cloud, and wait until it lifts. 
 I am going to stay with my brother until my wedding. That is 
 to be on the 12th." 
 
 "No, no, my poor child! There will be no wedding on the 12th." 
 
 " Before that time everything will be cleared up, and I shall be 
 married from this house, so that I have left all my things, my 
 presents — everything." 
 
 Ilcr mother shook her head. 
 
 " Try not to think so cruelly of George and of Athelstan, 
 mother. You will be sorry afterwards. Try to believe that 
 though a case may look strange, there may be a way out." 
 
 " I have told you " — her mother was perfectly cold and un- 
 moved — " that I have come to this conclusion on the evidence. 
 If the young man can explain things, let him do so. There will 
 be no wedding on the 12th, Elsie. You can come home as soon 
 as you are convinced that your brother is an improper person for 
 a young lady to live with, and as soon as you have learned the 
 truth about the other young man. That is to say, I will receive 
 you under those distressing circumstances, provided there has been 
 no scandal connected with your name." 
 
 Elsie turned, and loft the room. The fifth commandment en- 
 joins that under such circumstances as these the least said the 
 soonest mended. 
 
 "When a man learns that his sister, his favorite sister, from 
 whom he has been parted for eight years — the only member of 
 his family who stood up for him when he was falsely accused of 
 
190 THE IVORV GATB 
 
 a disgraceful tiling — is about to take brealcfast with liim, lie nat- 
 urally puts as much poetry into that usually simple meal as cir- 
 cumstances allow. Mostly Athelstan took a cup of coffee and a 
 London egg. This morning he had flowers, raspberries lying in 
 a bed of leaves, a few late strawberries, various kinds of confitures 
 in dainty dishes, toast and cake, with fish and cutlets — quite a lit- 
 tle feast. And he had had the room cleared of the bundles of 
 newspapers; the pipes and cigar-cases, and all the circumstances 
 of tobacco were liidden away — all but tlic smell, which lingered. 
 One thinks a good deal about a sister's visit, under such condi- 
 tions. At a quarter past nine Elsie arrived. Athelstan hastened 
 to open tlie door, and to receive her with open arms and kisses 
 strange and sweet. Then, while the people of the house took in 
 lier luggage, he led his sister into the room, which was the front 
 room on the ground-floor. 
 
 "Elsie!" lie said, taking both her hands in his — "eight years 
 since we parted — and you are a tall young lady, whom 1 left a lit- 
 tle girl. To hold your hand — to kiss you, seems strange after so 
 long." lie kissed her again on the forehead. She looked up at 
 the tall, handsome man with a kind of terror. It was almost like 
 casting herself upon the care of a strange man. 
 
 " I remember your voice, Athelstan, but not your face. You 
 have changed more than I, even." 
 
 "And I remember your voice, Elsie — always a soft and winning 
 voice, wasn't it? — to suit soft and winning ways. There never 
 was any child more winning and affectionate than you — never." 
 
 " Oh ! you are grown very handsome, Athelstan. See what a 
 splendid beard, and the brown velvet jacket and white waistcoat 
 — and the crimson tie. You look like an artist, I wish all men 
 wore colors, as they used to do. I only heard yesterday that you 
 vere in London. Hilda told me." 
 
 " ^Vas that the reason why you cannot stay at home ?" 
 
 " Part of the reason. But you shall have breakfast first. You 
 can take me in without any trouble ?" 
 
 " My dear child, I am more than delighted to have you here. 
 There is a room at the back where you will be quiet; we have 
 only this one room for sitting-room, and I think we shall find it 
 best to go out every day to dinner. That will not hurt ns, and 
 George will come every evening. Now, Elsie, you sit here, and 
 I will — No — I quite forgot. You will pour out the tea. Yes 
 
THE IVOUV GATE 191 
 
 — I sec. I thought I was going to wait upon you altogether. 
 There — now you will make a good breakfast, and — and — Don't 
 cry, dear child." 
 
 " No, Athelstan." Slie brushed away the tears. " It is noth- 
 ing. I shall be very happy with you. But why are you not at 
 home? And why am I lierc ? Oh ! it is too cruel — too perverse 
 of them !" 
 
 " AVe had better have it out before breakfast, then. Strawber- 
 ries don't go well with tears, do they ? Nor jam with complain- 
 ings. Come, Elsie, why need you leave home ?" 
 
 "Because, in two words, they arc treating George as they treat- 
 ed you. I was younger then, or T would have gone away with 
 you." 
 
 "Treating George? Oh ! I understand. They are pouring sus- 
 picion upon him. Well, I saw that that was coming. Old Clieck- 
 Icy, I swear, is at the bottom of it." 
 
 "Yes; Checkley went to Sir Samuel with the 'case,' as he 
 called it, complete. He proved to their joint satisfaction that no- 
 body could have done the thing except George, assisted by you." 
 
 " Oh ! assisted by me." 
 
 "Yes; while you were in California, I suppose. There is to 
 be a warrant for your arrest — yours and George's — in a few days, 
 they say. Hilda brought the news to my mother. They both be- 
 lieve it, and they want me to break off my engagement. My 
 mother refuses to see George so long as this charge, as she calls 
 it, remains over him. So I came away." 
 
 " You did wisely. Well, any one may call up a cloud of sus- 
 picion, and it is sometimes difficult to disperse such a cloud. 
 Therefore we must do everything we can to find out who is the 
 real criminal. Now, let us rest quite easy. There can be no ar- 
 rest — or any charge — or anything but a fuss created by this old 
 villain. It is only troublesome to find one's own people so ready 
 to believe." 
 
 " Why did you not tell me that you were home again ?" 
 
 " Pour out the tea, Elsie, and begin your breakfast. I want- 
 ed to reserve the return of the prodigal until you came home af- 
 ter your honeymoon. Then I meant to call mysteriously about 
 sunset, before George was home. I thought I would have a long 
 cloak wrapped about me. I should have begun : ' Madam, you 
 had once u brother.' ' I had ' — that is you. ' On his death-bed — ' 
 
192 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 * My brother dead V — that's you. * — witli this packet.' Oh ! we 
 have lost a most beautiful little play. How can I forgive you ?" 
 
 Then they went on with breakfast, talking and laughing, until, 
 before the meal was finished, they had lost their shyness, and were 
 brother and sister again. 
 
 After breakfast Athelstan took a cigarette and an easy-chair. 
 "Now I am going to devote the whole day to you. I have noth- 
 ing to do for my })apcr which cannot wait till to-morrow. All 
 this morning we will talk — that is, until we are tired. AVe will 
 have lunch somewhere, and go to see the pictures. George will 
 come at about seven ; we will have dinner and go to the Naval 
 Exhibition. Then we will got home, and have another talk. To- 
 morrow I shall have to leave you to your own devices between 
 ten and six or so. I am very busy some days ; on others I can 
 find time for anything. Now that's all cleared up. I am to be 
 your banker and everything.'' 
 
 " Not my banker, Athelstan. Oh ! you dun't know. I an) a 
 great heiress." 
 
 " Indeed ? llow is that?" ho asked, a little twinkle in his eye. 
 
 " Mr. Dering told me when I was twenty-one, three weeks ago. 
 Somebody has given me an immense sum of money — thirteen 
 thousand pounds.'' 
 
 "That is a very liandsome sura. Who gave it to you?" 
 
 "That is a secret. Mr. Dering refuses to tell me. I wish I 
 knew." 
 
 " I wouldn't wish if I were you. Gratitude is at all times a 
 burden and a worry. Besides, he might be a vulgar person with- 
 out aspirates or aspirations. Much better not inquire after him. 
 Thirteen thousand pounds at three and a half per cent, means 
 four hundred and fifty pounds a year. A nice little addition to 
 your income. I congratulate you, Elsie; and this evening we will 
 drink the health of the unassuming benefactor — the retiring and 
 nameless recognizer of maidenly worth. Bless him !" 
 
 "And now, Athelstan, begin your adventures. Tell me every- 
 thing — from the day you left us till now. You cannot tell me too 
 much, or talk too long. Before you begin ask any questions about 
 my mother and Hilda that you want to ask. Then we can go on 
 undisturbed." 
 
 "I have no questions to ask about either. I have already ascer- 
 tained from George that both are in good health, and that Hilda 
 
THE IVORY GATE 193 
 
 has married a man with an immense fortune. That is happiness 
 enough for her, I hope. Now, £)lsie, I shall be tedious, I am 
 afraid ; but yon shall hear everything." 
 
 lie began. It was such a narrative as thousands of young Eng- 
 lishmen have been able to tell during the last five-and-twenty 
 years. The story of the young man with a few pounds in his 
 pocket, no friends, no recommendations, and no trade. Athelstan 
 landed at New York in this condition. He looked about for em- 
 ployment, and found none. He liastened out of the crowded city ; 
 he went West, and got work in the business open to every sharp 
 and clever man — that of journalism. He worked for one paper 
 after another, getting gradually more and more West, until he 
 found himself in San Francisco, where he was taken on by a great 
 paper, which had now sent liim over there as its London corre- 
 spondent. That was all the story ; but there were so many epi- 
 sodes in it, so many adventures, so many men whom he remem- 
 bered, so many anecdotes cropping up — in this eight years' history 
 of a man with an eye, a brain, and a memory — that it was long 
 past luncheon-time when Athelstan stopped and said that he must 
 carry on the next chapter at another time. 
 
 " That pile of dollars that you made out of the silver mine, Athel- 
 stan — what became of them ?" 
 
 "What became of them? Well, you see, Elsie, in some parts 
 of the United States money vanishes as fast as it is made. All 
 those dollars dropped into a deep hole of the earth, and were hope- 
 lessly lost." 
 
 She laughed. "You will tell me some day — when you please 
 — how you lost that fortune. Oh ! what a thing it is to be a man, 
 and to have had all those adventures ! Now, Athelstan, consider 
 — if it had not been for your bad fortune you would never have 
 had all this good fortune." 
 
 "True. Yet the bad fortune came in such an ugly shape. 
 There has been a black side to my history. IIow was I to tell 
 people why I left my own country ? I could make no friends. 
 At the first appearance of friendship I had to become cold, lest 
 they should ask me where I came from and why I loft home." 
 
 Elsie was silent. 
 
 They carried out part of their programme. Tliev went to see 
 the pictures — it was eight years since Athelstan had seen a picture 
 — and after the pictures they walked in the Park. Then they 
 9 
 
194 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 went home and waited for George, who presently appeared. Then 
 they went to one of the Regent Street restaurants and made a lit- 
 tle feast. After this, Elsie asked them to come home and spend 
 a qnict evening talking about things. 
 
 By common consent they avoided one topic. Edmund Gray 
 was not so much as mentioned, nor was tlie malignity of Check- 
 ley alluded to. They talked of old days, when Athelstan was a 
 big boy and George a little boy and Elsie a child. Tliey talked 
 of the long engagement, and the hopeless time when it seemed as 
 if they were going to marry on two hundred pounds a year; and 
 of that day of miracle and marvel when Mr. Dering gave to one 
 of them a fortune and to the other a partnership. They talked 
 of their honeymoon, and the tour they were going to make, and 
 the beautiful places they would sec — Tours and Blois, Chenon- 
 ceaux and Amboise, Angoulemo and Poitiers and La llochelle; 
 and of their return ; and the lovely flat, where their friends would 
 be made so welcome. Athelstan was a person of some symjiathy. 
 Elsie talked as freely to him as she could to George. They talked 
 till midnight. 
 
 Then Elsie got up. " Whatever happens, Athelstan," slie said — 
 " mind, whatever happens — you shall give me away on the 12th." 
 
 " Now she has left us," said George, " you may tell me why she 
 refused to stay at home." 
 
 " "Well, I suppose you ought to know. Much for the same 
 reason that I refused to stay at home. They then chose to jump 
 at the conclusion that at one step I had become, from a man of 
 honor, a stupid and clumsy forger. They now choose — I am 
 ashamed to say my mother and sister choose — to believe that you 
 and I together have devised and invented this elaborate scheme 
 of forgery. "With this end in view it has been found necessary 
 to contrive certain little fabrications — as that I have been living in 
 London on my wits — that is to say, by the exercise of cheatery — 
 for the last eight years; and that, being in rags and penniless, I 
 persuaded you to join me in this neat little buccaneering job.'' 
 
 " Oh I it is too absurd ! But I suspected something. Well, it 
 is perfectly easy to put a stop to that." 
 
 " Yes, it is easy. At the same time it will be well to put a 
 stop to it as soon as possible, before the tiling assumes serious 
 proportions, and becomes a horrid thing that may stick to you 
 all your life. You have got to do with a malignant man — per- 
 
THE IVORY GATE 105 
 
 haps a desperate man. lie will spread abroad the suspicion as 
 diligently as he can. Let us work, therefore." 
 
 " Well, but what can we do that we have not done ? How can 
 we fix the thing upon Checklcy ?" 
 
 "I don't know. We must think. We must find out some- 
 thing, somehow. Let us all three work together. Elsie will 
 make the best detective in the world. And let us work in secret. 
 I am very glad— very glad indeed— that Elsie came." 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE WHISPER OF CALUMNY 
 
 Whispered words are ever more potent than words proclaimed 
 aloud upon the house-top. If the envious man from the house- 
 top denounces a man of reputation as a thief, a gambler, a patri- 
 cide, a sororicide, an amicocide, no man regardeth his voice, thourrh 
 he call out with the voice of Stcntor; people only stare; the°se 
 are the words of a madman or a malignant. But wliisper these 
 charges in the ear of your neighbor; whisper them with bated 
 breath ; say that, as yet, the thing is a profound secret. Then 
 that rumor swiftly flics abroad, until every burgess in the town 
 regards that man askance; and when tlie lime for voting comes, 
 he votes for another man, and will not have him as beadle, sex- 
 ton, verger, school-master, turncock, policeman, parish doctor, 
 workhouse chaplain, common -councilman, alderman, mayor, or 
 member of Parliament. And all for a whisper. 
 
 It was Chcckley who set going the whisper which at this mo- 
 ment was running up and down the office, agitating all hearts 
 occupying all minds, the basis of all conversation. ° ' 
 
 King Midas's servant, when he was irresistibly impelled to 
 whisper, dug a hole in the ground, and placed his whisper at the 
 bottom of that hole. But the grasses grew up, and sighed the 
 words to the passing breeze, so that the market-women heard 
 them on their way, " The king's ears are the ears of an ass— 
 the cars of an ass— the cars of an ass." The old and trusty ser- 
 vant of Dcring & Son buried his secret in the leaves of Lis copy- 
 
19G THE IVORY GATE 
 
 ing-book. Here it was found by tbe boy who worked the copy- 
 ing-press. As he turned over tbe pngcs he became conscious of a 
 sibilant, malignant, revengeful murmur, "Who stole the bonds? 
 — the new partner. Who forged the letters? — the new partner. 
 Who robbed the safe? — the new partner." Here was a pretty 
 thing for a pretty innocent ofiicc-boy to hear! Naturally his 
 very soul became aflame; when the dinner-hour arrived he told 
 another boy, as a profound secret, what he had heard. That boy 
 told an older boy, who told another still older, who told another, 
 and so up the long oflicial ladder, until everybody in the place 
 knew that the new partner — actually the new partner — the most 
 fortunate of all young men that ever passed his exam. — who had 
 stepped at a bound from two hundred to a thousand at least — 
 this young man, of all young men in the world, had forged liis 
 partner's name, robbed his partner's safe, made away with his 
 partner's property. Who, after this, can trust anybody ? 
 
 But others there were who refused to believe this thing. They 
 pointed out that the new partner continued — apparently — on the 
 best of terms with the old partner; they argued that when such 
 things arc done friendships arc killed and partnerships arc dis- 
 solved. They even went so far, though members of the great 
 profession whicli believes in no man's goodness, as to declare 
 their belief that the new partner could not possibly, by any temp- 
 tation, do such things. And there were others who pointed to 
 the fact that the whisper came from the boy of the copying-press; 
 that ho heard it whispered by the fluttering leaves; and that it 
 was imparted to those leaves by Checkley — old Checkley — whose 
 hatred towards the new partner was notorious to all men — not on 
 account of any personal qualities or private injuries, but out of the 
 jealousy which made him regard the chief as his own property, 
 and because he had been deprived of his power in the office — the 
 power of appointment and disappointment and the raising of 
 screw, which he had previously possessed. Checkley was de- 
 throned — therefore Checkley spread this rumor. Others, again, 
 said that if the rumor were really started by Checkley, which could 
 not be proved, seeing that, like all whispers or rumors, the origin 
 was unknown and perhaps supernatural, then Checkley must have 
 very strong grounds for starting such a thing. 
 
 Thus divided in opinion, the office looked on expectant. Ex- 
 pectancy is a thing which gets into the air; it fills every room 
 
THE IVORY GATE 197 
 
 witli whispers ; it makes a conspirator or a partisan or a confed- 
 erate of every one; it divides a peaceful office into camps; it is 
 the cause of inventions, lies, and exaggerations. There were two 
 parties in this oflSce — one which whispered accusations, and the 
 other which whispered denials. Between these hovered the wob- 
 blers or mugwumps, who whispered that while on the one hand — 
 on the other hand — and that while they readily admitted — so they 
 were free to confess — Everybody knows the wobbler. lie is 
 really, if he knew it, the master of the situation ; but, because be 
 is a wobbler, he cannot use his strength. "When he is called upon 
 to act he falls into two pieces, each of which begins to wobble 
 and to fall into other two pieces of its own accord. Tlie whole 
 process of a presidential election — except the final voting — was 
 going on in that office of half a dozen rooms, but in whispers, 
 without a single procession, and not one German baud. And all 
 unconscious of the tumult that raged about him — a tumult in 
 whispers — a civil war in silence — the object of this was going on 
 his way unconscious and undisturbed. 
 
 Now, however, having learned that the old clerk was actually 
 seeking to fix this charge upon him, George perceived the whis- 
 pering, and understood the charge. When he passed through the 
 first or outer ofljce, in the morning, he perceived that the clerks 
 all looked at him curiously, and that they pretended not to be 
 looking at him, and plied their pens with zeal. On the stairs he 
 met an articled clerk, who blushed a rosy red with consciousness of 
 the thing; on his way to his own room, through his own clerks' 
 room, he felt them looking after him curiously as he passed ; and 
 lie felt them, when his own door was closed, whispering about 
 him. This made him extremely angry. Yet, for a whisper, one 
 cannot suffer wrath to become visible. That would only please 
 the whisperers. There is only one thing worse than to be sus- 
 pected rightly — it is to be suspected wrongly, for the latter makes 
 a man mad. What? That he — even he — the man of principle 
 and rule — should be suspected ! Docs nothing, then — no amount 
 of character, no blamclcssness of record — avail ? Is the world 
 coming to an end? 
 
 George then shut his door, and sat down to his table in a very 
 wrathful and savage frame of mind. And while he was just be- 
 ginning to nurse and nourish this wrath, coaxing it from a red 
 glow to a roaring flame, a card was brought to him. 
 
198 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 " I will see Sir Samuel at once," lie said. 
 
 It is as well that we do not hear the remarks of the clerks' 
 room and tlie servants' hail. The service, in fact, is a body of 
 critics whose judgments would, if wc only heard them, cause us 
 to reconsider our self-respect. Great philanthropist, great states- 
 man, saintly preacher — if you only knew what they say of you 
 down below ! 
 
 The clerks — as Sir Samuel Dering, his face composed to the 
 solemnity of a mute, walked into the new partner's room — whis- 
 j)ercd to each otlier, "He's going to finish liim. There'll be a 
 bolt to-night. lie won't dare face it out. He has got a nerve!!! 
 The game's up at last. They won't prosecute — you see if they 
 do. If it was one of us, now. Sir Samuel's come to warn him 
 — now you'll sec." With other excl)anges and surmises. 
 
 Sir Samuel, big and important, coldly inclined his head, and 
 took a cliair. "A few words," he said — "a few serious words, 
 if you please, sir." 
 
 " Pray go on." George sat up and listened. His upper lip 
 stiffened. He knew what was coming. The thing which Sir 
 Samuel proposed to say apparently became dillicult. He turned 
 red, and stammered. In fact it is very dillicult to inform a high- 
 ly respectable young man in a highly respectable position that he 
 is going to be charged with a crime of peculiar atrocity. 
 
 " I am here," lie said, after two or three false starts, " without 
 my brother's knowledge. Tliis is a private and unofficial visit. 
 I come to advise. Mv visit must be regarded as witliout preju- 
 dice." 
 
 " Is it not well to ask, first of all, if your advice is invited ?" 
 
 " In such a case as this, I venture to obtrude advice," Sir Sam- 
 uel replied, with dignity. " There arc occasions on which a man 
 sliould speak — he is bound to speak. You will remember that I 
 was to have been your brother-in-law — " 
 
 *' You are to be my brother-in-law. Well, Sir Samuel, go on. 
 I will hear what you have to say." 
 
 " You are, as no doubt you suspect and fear, about to be charged, 
 in company with another, with complicity in this long series of 
 forgeries." 
 
 " Really. I heard last night, from Elsie, that there was some 
 talk of such a charge. Now, Sir Samuel, a man of your experi- 
 ence must be aware that it is not enouirh for a foolish old clerk 
 
THE IVORY GATE 
 
 199 
 
 to suf^gest a charge, but there must be some connection between 
 the accused person and the crime." 
 
 "Connection? Good lieavcns ! There is a solid chain of evi- 
 dence, without a single weak point." 
 
 " Is there, indeed ? Well, we will not ask for the production of 
 your chain. Let us take it for granted. Go on to the next point." 
 
 " I wish, young gentleman, I wish most sincerely, for the credit 
 of yourself and for the happiness of the unfortunate girl who has 
 given you her heart, that my chain was of glass, to fly into a 
 thousand fragments. But it is not. Everything is complete. 
 The motive, the tempter, the conspiracy, the working out, the 
 apparent success — everything complete. The motive — want of 
 money." 
 
 " Want of money ? Well, I was pretty badly off. That can- 
 not be denied. Go on." 
 
 "You wanted money — both of you wanted money. In ninety 
 cases out of a hundred this is the cause — wanted money. So you 
 went and did it. Always the way in the City— they want money 
 — and so they go and do it — go and do it." 
 
 " I sec. Well, wc need not have the tempter and the rest of it. 
 They can wait. Let us go on to the advice." 
 
 "Just so. What I came to say is this. You are in a devil of 
 a mess, young gentleman; the whole job is found out; there's 
 no use in trying to brazen it out. Best come down at once." 
 
 George nodded, with as much good-humor as he could assume 
 under the circumstances. 
 
 "Down at once," Sir Samuel repeated. "It is always best in 
 the long run. In your case, there is every reason why a scandal 
 should be avoided. The thing hasn't got into the papers; we are 
 only yet in the first stage of finding out what has been actually 
 stolen ; it has not been a case in which the police could help. 
 Now, my brother is not a vindictive man. I, for my own part, 
 don't want my wife's brother, to say nothing of you, convicted 
 of forgery. Eli ? Beastly thing to go down to the City in the 
 morning, and to hear them whispering, 'That's his wife's brother 
 in the papers to-day. Lagged for fifteen years.' Fifteen years 
 for certain, it will be, my fine fellow." 
 
 " Fifteen years for certain," George repeated. 
 
 "Let me help you out of the mess. Don't make difficulties. 
 Don't stick out your chin. Think of E]sie !" 
 
200 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 George nearly lost his self-control — not quite, 
 
 "Think of Elsie!" he cried. "Best not mention her name, 
 Sir Samuel, if you please." 
 
 " She would be heart-broken if it went so far. If it stops short 
 of that she will soon got over the little disappoiutineut." 
 
 "Go on to the next point." 
 
 " Well, it is just this. I'll help you both — Athelstan as well as 
 you; yes, I'll help Athelstan. Hang the fellow! Why couldn't 
 lie stay at Camberwell ? Who cares about him and his bad com- 
 pany, if he keeps himself out of people's way ? Now then. Let 
 me have back the money. You liaven't drawn anything out of 
 the bank. Give me the papers. Then I'll square it with my 
 brother. I will advance you a hundred or two ; you shall go clear 
 out of the country, and never come back again. And theii, thougii 
 it's compounding a felony, we'll just put everything back again, 
 and say nothing more about it." 
 
 " Oh ! that is very good of you." 
 
 " Yes, I know. But I want to make things easy. I don't want 
 a beastly row and a scandal. As for Athelstan, I shouldn't know 
 the fellow if I ever saw him. I hardly remember him. But for 
 you I've always liad a liking, until these little events happened." 
 
 " Very good, indeed, of you." 
 
 "When the thing came out I said to Lady Dering, 'My dear,' 
 I said, ' I'm very sorry for your sister, because it will vex her 
 more than a bit. The engagement, of course, will be broken off; 
 but we must not have a scandal. We cannot afford it. We can- 
 not' " — he smiled — " ' we are positively not rich enough. Only the 
 very richest people can afford to have such a scandal. I will try 
 and get things squared,' I said, 'for all our sakes.' That is wiiat 
 I said to Lady Dering. Now he persuaded. Do the right thing. 
 Tell Athelstan what I have told you. The warrant for the arrest 
 of the man Edmund Gray will be issued to-morrow, I suppose, or 
 next dav. After that nothing can save you." 
 
 " Nothing can save me," George repeated. " Is that all you 
 came to say. Sir Samuel?'' 
 
 "That is all. A clean breast is all we ask." 
 
 " Then, Sir Samuel " — George rose, and took a bundle of papers 
 from the table — " let us find my partner. You shall hear what I 
 have to say." 
 
 " Ah ! that's right — that's sensible. I knew that you would be 
 
THK IVORY GATE 201 
 
 open to reason. Come. He is sure to be alone at this early 
 hour. Come at once." 
 
 They went out together. The clerks noticed their faces full 
 of "business," as we poetically put it— matters of buying and 
 selling being notoriously of the highest importance conceivable. 
 Evidently something very serious, indeed, had passed. But the 
 chief personage still held up his head. " Game, sir ; game to the 
 last. But there will be a bolt." 
 
 Mr. Bering was in his usual place, before liis letters, which 
 were still unopened. He looked ill, worn, and worried. 
 
 "Brother," said Sir Samuel, "I bring you a young gentleman 
 who has a communication to make of great importance." 
 
 " Is it about this case ? Have you— at last— found out some- 
 thing ?" The tone, the words, suggested extreme irritability. 
 
 "I fear not. You know, I believe, all that we have found out. 
 But now," said Sir Samuel, rubbing his hands— "now comes the 
 long-expected — " 
 
 What I have to say will not take long. I hear from Sir 
 Samuel that he and Checkley between them have got up a case 
 which involves me in these forgeries." 
 
 "Quite right," said Sir Samuel-" involves you inextrica- 
 bly." 
 
 "And that things have gone so far that I am about to be ar- 
 rested, tried, and convicted, which he rightly thinks will be a 
 great scandal. So it will— so it certainly will. He, therefore 
 proposes that I should make a clean breast of the who'le business' 
 and give back the stolen bonds. I am sorry that I cannot do 
 this, for a very simple reason— namely, that there is nothin.r to 
 confess. But there is one thing that I must do. You placed^he 
 case in my hands — " 
 
 " I did. I asked you to find out. I have brought no charge 
 against you. Have you found out?" 
 
 Mr. Dering spoke like a school-master in one of his least ami- 
 able moods. 
 
 " It is a very improper thing for a person accused of a crime 
 to be engaged in detecting it. So I resign the case— there are 
 the papers. You liad better go to some solicitor accustomed to 
 this kind of work." 
 
 " Stuff and rubbish !" cried Mr. Dering. 
 
 " Sir, you have deceived me." Sir Samuel's face was gradually 
 
203 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 resuming its normal ]enG:tli. "You promised to confess, and you 
 have not. You as good as confessed just now. This man is 
 clearly, unmistakably guilty," lie added, turning to his brother. 
 
 "I have not asked yon, my partner," Mr. Dcring added, more 
 softly, "to give up the case. I have heard what is said. I 
 have observed that the so-called case is built up entirely on con- 
 jecture." 
 
 "No, no," said Sir Samuel. "It is a sound structure, com- 
 plete in every part." 
 
 "And there is nothing, as yet, to connect any man with the 
 thing — not even the man Ktlmund Gray." 
 
 "Quite wrong — quite wrong," said Sir Samuel. "In the City, 
 we may not be lawyers, but we understand evidence." 
 
 " I cannot choose but give up the case," George replied. " Con- 
 sider. Alrcadv Mrs. Arundel has rc(juested her daughter to break 
 oflE her engagement ; I am forbidden the house ; Elsie has left her 
 mother, and gone to Iicr brother. No, sir — take the papers, and 
 give them to some other person." 
 
 Mr. Dering mechanically took the papers, and laid his hand 
 upon them. 
 
 "Let me remind you," George continued, "how far we have 
 got. Wc have proved that Edmund Gray is a real person, known 
 to many. We have not proved the connection between him and 
 the robberies committed in his name. He is apparently a most 
 respectable person. The problem before you is still to fix the 
 crime on some one. I shall be glad to licar that it has been suc- 
 cessfully solved." 
 
 "Glad?" asked Sir Samuel. '' Vou will be glad? This is 
 amazing !" 
 
 " Eight years ago, Mr. Dering, another man stood here, and 
 was accused of a similar crime. He refused to stay in the house 
 under such a charge. That was foolish. Time has established 
 his innocence. I shall stay. I am your partner. The partner- 
 ship can only be dissolved by mutual consent. I remain." 
 
 Mr. Dering laid his head upon his hand and sighed. " I be- 
 lieve I shall be driven mad before long with this business," he 
 said querulously. He had lost something of his decision of 
 speech. " Well, I will give the case to somebody else. Mean- 
 time,- look here. Tell me how these things came here." 
 
 The " things " were two envelopes containing letters. They 
 
THE IVORY GATE 
 
 203 
 
 ■were addressed to Edmund Gray, and had been opened. One of 
 thcni was George's own note, inviting liini to call. The other was 
 the letter from the manager of the bank, asking for other refer- 
 ences. 
 
 "How did they get here?" asked Mr. Bering again. 
 " Had you not better ask Checkley ?" George rang the bell. 
 " I found these on the top of my letters, Checkley," said Mr. 
 Bering. " You were the first in the room. You put the letters 
 on the table. I found them on the top of the lieap. Nobody 
 had been in the room except you and me. You must have put 
 them there." 
 
 Checkley looked at the envelopes, and began to tremble. "I 
 don't know," he said. " I put the letters on the table. They 
 were not among them. Somebody must have put them there" — 
 he looked at the new partner — " some friend of Mr. Edmund 
 Gray — between the time that I left the room and the time when 
 you came." 
 
 "1 entered the room," Mr. Bering replied, "as you were leav- 
 ing it." 
 
 "Observe," said George, "that in the whole conduct of this 
 business there has been one man engaged who has control of the 
 letters. That man — the only man in the office — is, I believe, the 
 man before us — your clerk, Checkley." 
 
 " How came the letters here ?" Mr. Bering repeated angrily. 
 " I don't know," answered Checkley. " He " — indicating 
 George — " must have put them there." 
 
 "Tlie devil is in the office, I believe. How do things come 
 here? How do they vanish? Who put the notes in the safe? 
 Wko took the certificates out of the safe ? All you can do is to 
 .stand and accuse each other. \Vhat good are you — any of you ? 
 Find out — find out ! Yesterday there was a handbill about Ed- 
 mund Gray in the safe. The day before there was a handful of 
 socialist tracts on the letters. Find out, I say." 
 "Give the thing to detectives," said George. 
 " Let me take the case in hand, brother." Sir Samuel laid 
 hands on the papers. " I flatter myself that I will very soon have 
 the fellow under lock and key. And then, sir" — he turned to 
 George — " scandal or no scandal, there shall be no pity, no mercy 
 — none." 
 
 George laughed. " Well, Sir Samuel, in a fortnight or so I 
 
204 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 shall call myself your brother-in-law. Till then, farewell." 
 lie left the oflicc, and returned to his own room, the ripple 
 of the laui^hter still upon his lips and in his eyes, so that the 
 clerks marvelled, and the faith of those who believed in bim was 
 strencjthcned. 
 
 "Before then, young crowing bantam," cried Sir Samuel after 
 him, " I shall have you under lock and key." 
 
 " xVh !" This was Checkley. The little interjection expressed, 
 far more than any words could do, his satisfaction at the prospect. 
 TliLMi he left the room, grumbling and muttering. 
 
 " 1 believe that this business will finish me off." Mr. Dcring 
 sighed again, and passed his hand over his forehead. " Night 
 and day it worries me. It makes my forgetful ness grow upon 
 me. I am as good as gone. This hour I cannot remember the 
 last hour. See — I had breakfast at home as usual. I remember 
 that. I remember setting out. It is ten minutes' w.ilk from 
 Bedford Row here. I have taken an hour and a half. How? I 
 do not know. \Vhat did I do last night? I do not know, and 
 I am pursued by this forger — robber — demon, lie puts things 
 in my safe — yesterday a placard that Edmund Gray was going 
 to give a lecture on something or other; the day before a bundle 
 of tracts by Edmund Gray. What do these things mean ? What 
 can 1 do?" 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 HE COMES FROM EDMUND GRAY 
 
 *' Nothing," said Athelstan, " could possibly happen more for- 
 tunately. We have turned whispering conspirators into declared 
 enemies. Now you are free to investigate in your own way with- 
 out having to report progress every day." 
 
 "About this new business of the letters and the things in 
 the safe," said Elsie. " It looks to me like diablerie. Checkley 
 couldn't do it. No conjurer in the world could do it. There 
 must be somebody else in the office to do these things. They 
 mean defiance. The forger says, * See — I do what I please with 
 you. I return your letters addressed to Edmund Gray. I place 
 
THE IVORY GATE 205 
 
 placards about Edmund Gray in your safe, for which nobody has 
 a key except yourself. Find inc, if you can.' " 
 
 " Yes, it's very mysterious." 
 
 " A person on two sticks might manage it. Very likely he is 
 concerned in the business. Or a boy under the table would be 
 able to do it. Perhaps there is a boy under the table. There 
 must be. Mr. Bering's table is like the big bed of Ware. I dare 
 say fifty boys might creep under that table, and wait there for a 
 chance. But perhaps there is only one — a comic boy." 
 
 " I should like to catch the joker," said George. " I would 
 give him something still more humorous to laugh at." 
 
 " If there is no comic boy — and no person with two sticks," 
 Elsie continued, " we arc thrown back upon Checkley. lie seems 
 to be the only man who receives the letters and goes in and out 
 of the office all day. Well, I don't think it is Checkley. I 
 don't think it can be. George, you once saw Mr. Bering in a 
 very strange condition — unconscious, walking about with open 
 eyes seeing nobody. Bon't you think that he may have done 
 this more than once?" 
 
 " W'hat do you mean, Elsie?" 
 
 "Bon't you think that some of these things — things put in the 
 safe, for instance — may have been put there by Mr. Bering him- 
 self ? You saw him open the safe. Afterwards he knew nothing 
 about it. Could he not do this more than once ? might it be a 
 habit?" 
 
 " Well — l)ut if he puts the things in the safe — things that 
 belong to Edmund Gray — he must know Edmund Gray. For 
 instance, how did he get my note to Edmund Gray, left by me 
 on his table in Gray's Inn ? That must have been given to him 
 by Edmund Gray himself." 
 
 "Or by some friend of Edmund Gray. Yes, that is quite 
 certain." 
 
 "Come," said Athelstan. "This infernal Edmund Gray is too 
 much with us. Let us leave off talking about him for a while. 
 Let him rest for this evening. Elsie, put on your things. We 
 will go and dine somewhere, and go to the play afterwards." 
 
 They did so. They had the quiet little restaurant dinner that 
 girls have learned of late to love so much — the little dinner where 
 everything seems so much brighter and better served than one 
 can get at home. After the dinner they went to a theatre, taking 
 
206 THE IVORY GATK 
 
 places in the dress circle, where, given good eyes, one sees quite 
 as well as from the stalls at half the money. After the theatre 
 they went home, and there was an exhibition of tobacco and soda 
 water. Those were very pleasant days in the Piccadilly lodg- 
 ings, even allowing for the troubles which brought them about. 
 Athelstan was the most delightful of brothers, and every even- 
 ing brought its feast of laughter and of delightful talk. . But all 
 through the evening, all through the play, Elsie saw nothing but 
 Mr. Dering, and him engaged in daylight somnambulism. She 
 saw him as George described liim, opening the safe, closing it 
 again, and afterwards wholly forgetful of what he had done. 
 
 She thought abt^ut this all night. Now, when one has a gleam 
 or glimmer of an idea, when one wants to disengage a single 
 thought from the myriads which cross the brain, and to fix it and 
 to make it clear, there is nothing in the world so good as to talk 
 about it. The effort of finding words with which to drag it out 
 makes it clearer. Every story-teller knows that the mere telling 
 of a story turns his characters, who before were mere shadows, 
 and shapeless shadows, into creatures of flesh and blood. There- 
 fore, in the morning she began upon the thought which haunted 
 her. 
 
 " Athelstan," she said, " do you know anything about somnam- 
 bulism ?" 
 
 "I knew a man once in California who shot a grizzly when lie 
 was sleep-walking. At least, he said so. That's the sum of my 
 knowledge on the subject." 
 
 " 1 want to know if people often walk about in the daytime 
 unconscious?" 
 
 "They do. It is called 'wool-gathering.'" 
 
 " Seriously, Athelstan ? Consider. George saw Mr. Dering 
 arrive in a state of unconsciousness. He saw nobody in the 
 room. He opened the safe, and placed some papers there. Then 
 he locked the safe. Then he sat down at the window. Pres- 
 ently he awoke, and became himself again. If he did that once 
 he might do it again." 
 
 " Well ? And then ?" 
 
 "You heard yesterday about the letters and the placard and 
 the Socialist tracts. Now, Checkley couldn't do that. He 
 couldn't, and he wouldn't." 
 
 " Well ?" 
 
THE IVORY GATE 207 
 
 " But Mr. Bering could. If he had that attack once he might 
 have it again and again. Why, he constantly complains of for- 
 getting things." 
 
 " But the letters yesterday were addressed to Edmund Gray. 
 How do you connect Edmund Gray with Edward Dering?" 
 
 " I don't know. But, my dear brother, the more I think of 
 this business the more persuaded I am that Checkley is not tlie 
 prime mover, or even a confederate." 
 
 " The same hand has been at work throughout. If not Check- 
 ley's aid to make that hand possible and successful, who is there? 
 And look at the malignity with which he tries to fix it on some 
 one else." 
 
 "That may be because he is afraid of its being fixed upon him. 
 Consider that point about the control of the letters. The busi- 
 ness could only be done by some one through whose hands passed 
 all the letters." 
 
 *' Checkley is the only person possible." 
 
 " Yes ; he understands that. It makes him horribly afraid. 
 He therefore lies with all his might, in order to pass on suspicion 
 to another person. You and George think him guilty — well, I 
 do not. If I were trying to find out the man I should try a 
 different plan altogether." 
 
 Her brother had work to do which took him out directly after 
 an early breakfast. When Elsie was left alone she began again 
 to think about Mr. Bering's strange daylight somnambulism ; 
 about his continual fits of forgetfulness; about the odd things 
 found on his table and in his safe, all connected with Edmund 
 Gray. Checkley could not have placed those letters on the table ; 
 he could not have put those things in the safe. 
 
 Elsie looked at the clock. It was only just after nine. She 
 ran to her room, put on lier jacket and hat, and called a cab. 
 
 She arrived at half- past nine. Checkley was already in his 
 master's room, laying out the table for the day's work as usual. 
 The girl was touched at the sight of this old servant of sixty 
 years' service doing these oflBces zealously and jealously. She 
 stood in the outer office, watching him through the open door. 
 "When he liad finished he came out, and saw her. 
 
 " Oh !" he grumbled. " It's you, is it? Well — he hasn't come. 
 If you want to see Mr. Bering it's full early. If you want to see 
 the new partner he isn't come. He don't hurry himself. Per- 
 
208 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 liaps you'll sit down a bit, and look at the paper. Here's the 
 Times. Ue'll be here at a quarter to ten." 
 
 He sat down at his desk, and took up a pen. But he laid it 
 down again, and began to talk. " We're in trouble, miss. No 
 fault of yours — I don't say it is. We're in trouble. The trouble 
 is going to be worse before it's better. They're not content with 
 robbing the master, but they mock at him and jeer him. They 
 jeer him. They put on his table letters addressed to the man 
 they call Edmund Gray. They open his safe, and put things in 
 it belonging to Edmund Gray. We're not so young as we was, 
 and it tells upon us. We're not so regular as we should be. 
 Sometimes we're late — and sometimes we seem, just for a bit, not 
 to know exactly who we are nor what we are. Oh ! it's nothing 
 — nothing but what will pass away when the trouble's over. But 
 think of the black ingratitood, miss — oh ! black — black, I'm 
 not blamin' you ; but I think you ought to know the trouble 
 we're in — considering who's done it and all." 
 
 Elsie made no reply. She had nothing to say. Certainly 
 she could not enter into a discussion with this man as to the part, 
 if any, taken in the business by the new partner. Then Clieckley 
 made a show of beginning to write with zeal. The morning was 
 hot ; the place was quiet ; the old man's hand gradually slack- 
 ened ; the pen stopped ; the eyes closed ; his head dropped back 
 upon his chair; he was asleep. It is not uncommon fur an old 
 man to drop off in this way, 
 
 Elsie sat perfectly still. At eleven o'clock she heard a step 
 upon the stairs. It mounted ; it stopped ; the private door was 
 opened, and Mr. Dering entered. He stood for a moment in the 
 doorway, looking about the room. Now, as the girl looked at 
 him she perceived that he was again in the condition described 
 by George — as a matter of fact, it was in this condition that Mr. 
 Dering generally arrived in the morning. His coat was unbut- 
 toned; his face wore the genial and benevolent look which we 
 do not generally associate with lawyers of fifty years' standing; 
 the eyes were Mr. Bering's eyes, but they were changed — not in 
 color or in form, but in expression. Elsie was reminded of her 
 portrait. That imaginary sketch was no other than the Mr. Ber- 
 ing who now stood before her. 
 
 lie closed the door behind him, and walked across the room to 
 the window. 
 
TDK IVORY GATE 209 
 
 Then Elsie, lightly, so as not to awaken the drowsy old clerk, 
 stepped into Mr. Dcring's office, and shut the door softly behind 
 her. 
 
 The sleep-walker stood at the window, looking out. Elsie crept 
 up, and stood beside him. Then she touched him on the arm. 
 lie started, and turned. " Young lady," he said, " what can I do 
 for you?'' lie showed no recognition at all in his eyes; he did 
 not know her. "Can I do anything for you?" he repeated. 
 
 " I am afraid — nothing," she replied. 
 
 He looked at her doubtfully. Then, apparently remembering 
 some duty as yet unfulfilled, he left the window, and unlocked 
 the safe, lie then drew out of his pocket a manuscript tied up 
 with red tape. Elsie looked into the safe, and read the title — 
 " The New Humanity, by Edmund Gray " — which was written in 
 large letters on the outer page. Then he shut and locked the 
 safe, and dropped the key in his own pocket. This done, he re- 
 turned to the window, and sat down, taking no manner of notice 
 of his visitor. All this exactly as he had done before in presence 
 of George and his old clerk. 
 
 For ten minutes he sat there. Then he shivered, straightened 
 himself, stood up, and looked about the room — Mr, Bering 
 {.gain. 
 
 " Elsie !" he cried. " I did not know you were here. How 
 long have yon been here?" 
 
 " Not very long. A few minutes, perhaps." 
 
 "I must have fallen asleep. It is a hot morning. You must 
 forgive the weakness of an old man, child. I had a bad night, 
 too. I was awake a long time, thinking of all these troubles and 
 worries. They can't find out, Elsie, who has robbed me." He 
 spoke querulously and helplessly. "They accuse each other, 
 instead of laying their heads together. Nonsense ! Checkley 
 couldn't do it. George couldn't do it. The thing was done by 
 somebody else. My brother came here with a cock-and-bull 
 case, all built np of presumptions and conclusions. If they 
 would only find out!" 
 
 "The trouble is mine as much as yours, Mr. Dcring. I have 
 had to leave my mother's house, where I had to listen to agree- 
 able prophecies about my lover and my brother. I wish, with 
 you, that they would fiud out I" 
 
 He took off his hat, and hung it on its peg. He buttoned his 
 
210 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 frock-coat, and took his place at the tabic, upright and precise. 
 Yet his eyes were anxious. 
 
 "They tease me, too. They mock inc. Yesterday they laid 
 two letters addressed to this man, l']>liniind r»ray, on my letters. 
 What for? To laugh at me, to defy me to lind them out. Check- 
 ley swears he didn't put them there. 1 arrived at the moment 
 when he was leaving the room. Are we haunted? And the day 
 before — and the day before that — there were things put in the 
 safe—" 
 
 " In the safe ? Oh ! but nobody has the key except yourself. 
 How can any'thing be put in the safe?" 
 
 " I don't know. I don't know anything. I don't know what 
 may be taken next. My houses, my mortgages, my lands, my 
 very practice — " 
 
 "Nay — they could not. Is there anything this morning?" 
 
 He turned over his letters. "Apparently not. Stay! I have 
 not looked in the safe." He got up, and threw open the safe. 
 Then he took up a packet. "Again!" he cried, almost with a 
 scream. " Again ! see this I" He tossed on the table the packet 
 which he had himself, only ten minutes before, placed in the safe 
 with his own hands. "See this! thus they laugh at me — thus 
 they torment me !" He hurled the packet to the other side of 
 the room, returned to his chair, and laid his head upon his hands, 
 sighing deeply. 
 
 Elsie took u[) the parcel. It was rather a bulky manuscript. 
 The title you have heard. She untied the tape, and turned over 
 the pages. The work, she saw, contained the views of Edmund 
 Gray. Aiid it was in the handwriting of Mr. Dering ! 
 
 She replaced it in the safe. "Put everything there," she said, 
 " which is sent to you. Everything. Do you know anything at 
 all about this man Edmund Gray ?" 
 
 "Nothing, my dear child, absolutely notliing. I never saw the 
 man. I never heard of him. Yet he has planted himself upon 
 me. He holds his chambers on a letter of recommendation from 
 me. I was his introducer to the manager of the bank — I — in 
 my own handwriting, as they thought. He drew a check of 
 seven hundred and twenty pounds upon me eight years ago. And 
 he has transferred thirty-eight thousand pounds' worth of shares 
 and stock to his own address." 
 
 " Added to which he has been the cause of suspicion and vile 
 
THE IVORY GATE 211 
 
 accusation against my lover and my brother, which it will cost a 
 great deal of patience to forgive. Dear Mr. Bering ! I am so sorry 
 for you. It is most wonderful and most mysterious. Suppose" 
 — she laid her hand upon his — "suppose that I was to find out 
 for you — " 
 
 " You, child ? What can you do, when the others have failed ?'' 
 
 " I can but try." 
 
 "Try, in Heaven's name ! Try, my dear. If you find out you 
 shall be burned for a witch." 
 
 " No. If I find out you shall be present at my wedding. You 
 were to have given me away. But now — now — Athelstan shall 
 give me away, and you will be there to see. And it will be a 
 tearful wedding" — the tears came into her own eyes just to illus- 
 trate the remark — " because every one will be so ashamed of the 
 wicked things they have said. Sir Samuel will remain on his 
 knees the whole service, and Checkley will be fain to get under 
 the seat. Good -by, Mr. Dering. I am a prophetess. I can 
 foretell. You shall hear in a very few days all about Edmund 
 Gray." 
 
 She ran away, without any further explanation. Mr. Dering 
 shook his head, and smiled. lie did not believe in contemporary 
 prophecy. That young people should place their own affairs — 
 their love-makings and weddings — before the affairs of their eld- 
 ers was not stirprising; but her visit had cheered him. Ue 
 opened his letters, and went on with the day's work. 
 
 As for Elsie, the smile in her eyes died out as she descended 
 the stairs. If she had been herself a lawyer she could not have 
 worn a graver face as she walked across the courts of the vener- 
 able inn. 
 
 She had established the connection between Mr. Dering and 
 Edmund Gray. It was he, and nobody else, who laid those let- 
 ters on the table — placed those things in the safe. This being 
 so, it must be he himself, and nobody else, who wrote all the let- 
 ters, signed the checks, and did all the mischief. He himself! 
 I>ut how? Elsie liad read of hypnotism. Wonderful things are 
 done daily by mesmerists and magnctizers under their new name. 
 Mr. Dering was hypnotized by this man Edmund Gray — as he 
 called himself — for his own base ends. Well, she would find out 
 this Edmund Gray. She would beard this villain in his own den. 
 
 She walked resolutely to Gray's Inn. She found No. 22 — she 
 
212 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 mounted the stairs. The outer door was closed. She knocked, 
 but there was no answer. She remembered how George had 
 found his laundress, and visited her at her lodgings — she thought 
 she would do the same. But on the stairs she went down she 
 met an old woman so dirty, so ancient, so feeble, that she seemed 
 to correspond with George's account of her. 
 
 "You are Mr. Gray's laundress?'' she asked. 
 
 "Yes, miss; I am." The woman looked astonished to see 
 such a visitor. 
 
 " I want to see him. I want to see him on very important 
 business. Most important to himself. When can I sec him?" 
 
 "I don't know, miss. He is uncertain. He was here yester- 
 day evening. He said he should not be here this evening. But 
 I don't know." 
 
 " Look here." Elsie drew out her purse. " Tell me when you 
 think he will be here, and if I find him I will give you two pounds 
 — two golden sovereigns. If you tell mc right I will give you 
 two sovereigns." 
 
 She showed them. The old woman looked hungrily at the 
 coins. " Well, miss, he's been here every Saturday afternoon for 
 the last six months. I know it by the litter of papers that he 
 makes. Every S.aturday afternoon." 
 
 " Very good. You shall have your money if I find him." 
 
 In the evening Elsie said nothing about Mr. During and her 
 strange discovery. The two young men talked about trying this 
 way and that way, always with the view of implicating Checkley. 
 But she said nothing. 
 
 CHAPTER XXn 
 
 I AM EDMUND GRAy' 
 
 On Saturday afternoon the policeman on day duty at Gray's 
 Inn was standing near the southern portals of that venerable 
 foundation, in conversation with the boy who dispenses the news- 
 papers from a warehouse constructed in the eastern wall of the 
 archway. It was half-past three by the clock, and a fine day, 
 
THE IVORY GATE 213 
 
 which was remarkable for the season — August — and the year. 
 Tlic sun poured upon tlic dingy old courts, making them dingier 
 instead of brighter. "Where the paint of the windows and door- 
 posts is faded and dirty — where the panes arc mostly in want of 
 cleaning — where there arc no flowers in the windows — where 
 there arc no trees or leaves in the square — where the bricks want 
 pointing, and where the soot has gathered in every chink and 
 blackens every cranny — then the sunshine of summer only makes 
 a dingy court shabbier. Gray's Inn in July and August, unless 
 these months arc as the August of the year of grace 1891, looks 
 old, but not venerable. Age should be clean and nicely dressed ; 
 age should wear a front to conceal her baldness ; age should 
 assume false teeth to disguise those gums stripped of their ivory. 
 It was felt by the policeman. " We want a washin' and a 
 briglitenin' in this old place," he remarked to the journalist. 
 " We want somethin' younger than them old laundresses," said 
 the newspaper boy. Great is the goddess Coincidence. Even 
 while he uttered this aspiration a young lady entered the gate, 
 and passed into the inn. 
 
 " lla !" breathed the policeman softly. 
 
 "Ah!" sighed the journalist. 
 
 She was a young lady of adorable face and form, surpassing 
 the wildest dreams either of policeman or of paper-man — both 
 of whom possessed the true poetic temperament. She was clothed 
 in raiment mystic, wonderful, such as seldom indeed gets as far 
 cast as Gray's Inn — something in gray or silver-gray, with an open 
 front and a kind of jacket. She passed them rapidly, and walked 
 through the passage into the square. 
 
 " No. 22," said the policeman. " Now, who does she want at 
 No. 22 ? Who's on the ground-floor of 22 ?" 
 
 "Right hand — architects and surveyors. Left hand — univer- 
 sal translators." 
 
 " Perhaps she's a universal translator. They must be all gone 
 by this time. The first floor is lawyers. They're all gone, too. 
 I saw tlic clerks march out at two o'clock. Second floor — 
 there's Mr. Carstone on the left, and Mr. Edmund Gray on the 
 right. Perhaps it's Mr. Carstone she's after. I liope it isn't 
 him. lie's a gentleman with fine manners, and they do say a 
 great scholar; but he's a lushington, and a sweet young tiling 
 like that ought not to marry a man who is brought home every 
 
214 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 other niglit too tipsy to stand. Or there's Mr. Gray — the old 
 gent — perhaps she's his daughter. What's Mr. Edmund Gray by 
 calling, Joe?" 
 
 " Nobody knows. He don't often come. An old gentleman 
 — been in the inn a long time — for years. Lives in the country, 
 I suppose, and does no work. Lives on other people's work — 
 my work — honest working-men's work," said the boy, who was a 
 Socialist and advanced. 
 
 " Ah ! There's something up about Mr. Gray. People are 
 coming to inquire for him. First, it was a young gentleman ; 
 very affable he was, and free with his money — most likely other 
 people's money. He wanted to know a good deal about Mr. 
 Gray — more than I could tell him ; wanted to know how often 
 lie came, and what he was like when he did come — and would I 
 tell liim all I knew. lie went to the old laundress afterwards. 
 Then it was a little old man — I know him by sight — uses the 
 Salutation parlor of an evening — he wanted to know all about 
 Mr. Gray, too. No half-crown in that quarter, though, lie's 
 been spying and watching for him — goes and hides up the pas- 
 sage on the other side of the square. Kind of spider he is. 
 lie's watching him for no good, I'll bet. Perhaps the young 
 lady wants to find out about him, too. Joe, there's something 
 up at No. 22. The old gentleman isn't in his chambers, I believe. 
 She'll come out again presently, and it'll be: 'Oh! Mr. Police- 
 man, could you very kindly tell me how I can find Mr. Edmund 
 Gray ?' \Yith a shilling perhaps, and perhaps not. I wonder 
 what she wants with Mr. Edmund Gray ? Sometimes these old 
 chaps break out in the most surprising manner. Joe, if you ever 
 go into the service, you'll find the work hard and the pay small. 
 But there's compensations in learnin' things. If you want to 
 know human nature, go into the force." 
 
 " There's old Mr. Langhornc, up at the top." 
 
 " So there is. But no young lady wants to see that poor old 
 chap. lie's got no friends, young nor old — no friends and no 
 money. Just now, he's terrible hard up. Took a shillin' off o' 
 me last Sunday to get a bit of dinner with. Fine thing — isn't 
 it, Joe ? — to be a gentleman and a barrister ail your life, isn't it? 
 — and to end like that ? Starvation in a garret — eh ? Look out. 
 She will be coming down directly." 
 
 But she did not come down. Two hours and more passed, and 
 she did not come down. 
 
THE IVORY GATE 215 
 
 The visitor was Elsie Arundel, She walked up the stairs to 
 the second tloor. Hero she stopped. There was a black door, 
 closed, on the right of her, and another black door, closed, on the 
 left of her. On the lintel of one was the name of Mr. F. W. 
 Carstone. On the lintel of the other was that of Mr. Edmund 
 Gray. Elsie knocked with her parasol at the latter door. There 
 was no reply. "The old laundress," she murmured, "told me 
 that Saturday afternoon was my best chance of finding him. I 
 will wait." She sat down, with hesitation, on the stairs leading to 
 the third floor — they were not too clean — and waited. 
 
 She was going to do a very plucky thing — a dangerous thing. 
 She had made a discovery connecting Mr. Dering directly with 
 this Edmund Gray. She had learned that he came to the office 
 in a strange condition — hypnotic — bringing things from Edmund 
 Gray. She now suspected that the only person who carried on 
 the forgeries on Mr. Dering was Mr. Dering himself, acted on and 
 controlled by Edmund Gray — and she wanted to find out who 
 this Edmund Gray was. She would confront him, and tax him 
 with the crime. It was dangerous, but he could not kill her. 
 Besides, he was described as quite an elderly man. He was also 
 described as a benevolent man, a charitable man, a kindly man ; 
 and he wrote letters brimful of the most cheerful optimism. Yet 
 he was carrying on a series of complicated forgeries. She re- 
 solved to wait fur him. She would wait till sundown, if neces- 
 sary, for him. 
 
 The place was very quiet. All the offices were closed, and the 
 clerks gone. Most of the men who lived in the chambers were 
 away, out of town, gone on holiday, gone away from Saturday 
 till Monday. Everything was quite quiet and still ; the traffic in 
 llolborn was only heard as a continuous murnuir which formed 
 part of the stillness; the policeman, who had now said all he had 
 to say to the newspaper-boy, was walking slowly and with heavy 
 tread round the court. The inn was quite empty and deserted 
 and still. Only, overhead there was the footfall of a man who 
 walked up and down his room steadily, never stopping or ceasing 
 or changing the time, like the beat of a pendulum. Elsie began 
 to wonder, presently, who this man could be, and if he liad noth- 
 ing better to do than to pace his chamber all day long, when the 
 sun was bright, and the leaves on the trees, and the flowers in full 
 bloom ? 
 
216 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 The clock struck four. Elsie bad been waiting balf an bour; 
 still Mr. Edmund Gray did not arrive ; still the steady beat of tbe 
 footstep continued overhead. 
 
 The clock struck five. Still that steady footfall. Still Elsie sat 
 upon the stairs waiting in patience. 
 
 ^Vhen the clock struck six the footsteps stopped — or changed. 
 Then a door overhead opened and shut, and the steps came down 
 tbe stairs. Elsie rose, and stood on one side. An old man came 
 down — tall and thin, close-shaven, pale, dressed in a black frock- 
 coat worn to a shiny polish in all those parts which take a polish 
 — a shabby old man, whose bat seemed hardly able to stand up- 
 right, and a gentleman — which was perfectly clear from bis bear- 
 ing — a gentleman in tbe last stage of poverty and decay. 
 
 He started, surprised to see a young lady on the stairs. 
 
 " You arc waiting for Mr. Carstone ?" be asked. " lie is out 
 of town. He will not be back till Monday. Nobody ever comes 
 back before Monday. From Saturday to Monday I have the inn 
 to myself. All that time there arc no slammcrs and no strangers. 
 It is an agreeable retreat, if only — " He shook bis bead, and 
 stopped short. 
 
 " I am not waiting for Mr. Carstone. I am waiting for Mr. 
 Edmund Gray." 
 
 " He is very uncertain. No one knows when be comes or 
 whither be goetb. I would not wait if I were you. Jle may 
 come to-day, or to-morrow, or at any time. He comes on Sun- 
 day morning, often. I hear bim coming upstairs after tbe cbapcl- 
 bell stops. He is a quiet neighbor — no slammer or tramper. I 
 would not wait, I say, if I were you." 
 
 "I will wait a little longer. I am very anxious to see Mr. 
 Gray." 
 
 " He should wait for you," Mr. Langliorne replied politely. 
 " The stairs are not a fit resting-place for you. This old inn is 
 too quiet for sucb as you. Mirth and joy belong to you — silence 
 and rest to sucb as me. Even slamming does not, I dare say, 
 greatly displease youth and beauty. Chambers are not for young 
 ladies. Beauty looks for life and love and admiration. They do 
 not exist here. Run away, young lady — leave the inn to tbe poor 
 old men, like me, who cannot get away if they would." 
 
 " Thank you. I must see Mr. Edmund Gray if I can. It will 
 not burt me to wait a little longer." 
 
THE IVORY GATE 217 
 
 "You wish to sec Edimiud Gray. So do I. So do I. Yon 
 arc a friend of his. Perhaps, therefore, yon will do as well. 
 Those who arc his friends arc like unto him for kindness of heart. 
 TIiosc who wish to be his friends must try to be like unto him. 
 Young lady, I will treat you as the friend of that good man. 
 You can act for him." 
 
 " What can I do if I do act for liim ?" Put there was a liun- 
 gry eagerness in the man's eyes which made her divine what she 
 could do. 
 
 "It is Saturday," he replied, without looking at her. He 
 turned away his head. lie spoke to the stair-window. " To- 
 morrow is Sunday. I have before this, on one or two occasions, 
 found myself as I do now— without money. I have borrowed of 
 Mr. Carstonc and of Mr. E<lmund Gray. Sometimes I have paid 
 ,t back— not always. Lend mc— for Mr. Edmund Gray— if you 
 arc not rich he will give it back to you— the sum of five shillincrg 
 —say five shillings. Otherwise I shall have nothing to cat until 
 ^fonday, when Mr. Carstonc returns." 
 
 "Nothing to cat? Nothing at all to eat?" Beggars in the 
 street often make the same confession, but somehow tlieir words 
 fail to carry conviction. Mr. Langhorne's, however, did carrv 
 conviction. 
 
 The old man shook his head. " I had some food yesterday at 
 this time. Since then I have had nothinrr. There was neither 
 tea nor bread in my rooms for breakfast. When the clock struck 
 SIX, my dinner-hour, I thought I would walk along the street, and 
 look at the things to eat which are placed in the shop-windows 
 That relieves a little. But to-morrow will be a bad time— a very 
 bad time. I shall lie in bed. Oh! I have gone throuo-h it be- 
 fore. Sometimes "—he dropped his voice—" I have been sore 
 tempted to take something— No, no; don't think I have ^iven 
 way. No, no. Why, I should be disbarred. Not yet— not 
 yet." 
 
 Elsie opened her purse. It contained two sovereigns and a 
 shilling or two. "Take all," she said eagerly— " take all the 
 gold, and leave me the silver. Take it instantly." She stamped 
 her foot. ' ^ 
 
 lie hesitated. " All ?" he asked-" all ? Can vou spare it ? I 
 can never repay — " 
 
 " Take it !" bhe said again, imperiou>lv. 
 lU 
 
218 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 He obeyed — be took tbc gold oat of tbe purse witb trembling 
 fingers. Then he raised bis rickety old bat — was tbat a tear tbat 
 stole into bis eyes or tbe rbeuin of old age ? — and slowly walked 
 down tbc stairs, bolding by tbe banisters. He was weak, poor 
 wrctcb ! witb bunger. But it was bis dinner-bour, and be was 
 going to iiavc bis dinner. 
 
 Elsie sat down again. 
 
 It was balf-past six — sbe bad been waiting for tbrce bours — 
 wben otber footsteps entered tbe bouse. Elsie s[)rang to ber 
 feet ; sbe turned pale ; ber beart stood still ; for now slie realized 
 tliat if tins step was truly tbat of the man sbe expected sbe was 
 about to confront a person certainly of the deepest criminality, 
 and possibly capable of villainy in any other direction. The steps 
 mounted tbe stairs. I really think that tbc bravest persons in 
 tbc world are those who before tbc event look forward to it witb 
 tbc utmost apprehension. They know, you see, what tbc dangers 
 are. Elsie was going to face a great danger. She was going to 
 find out, alone and unaided, who this man was, and why and bow 
 be worked these deeds of darkness. 
 
 Tbe footsteps mounted higher; from tbe door to the top of 
 tbe stairs it took but a single minute, yet to Elsie it seemed half 
 an hour, so rapid were ber thoughts. Then tbe man mounted 
 tbe last flight of steps. Heavens ! Elsie was fain to cry out for 
 sheer amazement. She cried out; sbe caught at tbe banisters. 
 For before ber, taking tbc key of Mr. Edmund Gray's chambers 
 from bis waistcoat pocket, was none other than Mr. Dering him- 
 self ! 
 
 Yes. An elderly man, of truly benevolent aspect, bis coat open, 
 flying all abroad ; liis face soft, gracious, smiling, and full of sun- 
 sbine ; bis bat just the least bit pushed back ; bis left band in bis 
 pocket. Elsie thought again of ber portrait at home, in whicli 
 sbe liad transformed ber guardian — and liere be was in the flesh 
 transformed according to her portrait ! 
 
 She stared at him witb an amazement tbat bereft her of speecb 
 and of motion. Sbe could only stare. Even if ber mother's 
 voice were suddenly to call out to ber that it is rude for little 
 girls to stare, sbe could not cboosc but stare. For Mr, Dering 
 looked at ber witb tbat kind of surprise in bis eyes whicb means, 
 "What have we here to do witb beautiful young ladies?'' There 
 was not tbe least sign of any knowledge of ber. He looked at 
 
THE IVORY GATE 219 
 
 her as one suffers tlio eyes to rest for a moment without interest 
 upon a stranf^cr and a casual passcnsi^cr in the street. 
 
 lie opened his outer door, and was about to walk in, when she 
 recovered some presence of mind — not much. She step[)cd for- 
 ward. " Can yon tell me, please, how I could find Mr. Edmund 
 Gray ?" 
 
 "Certainly" — he smiled — "nothing easier. I am Edmund 
 Gray." 
 
 " YoH ! — you Edmund Gray ? Oh ! no, no. You cannot be 
 Edmund Gray — you yourself !" All her beautiful theory of hyp- 
 notic influence vanished. No mesmerism or magnetic influ- 
 ence at all. "You vourself?" she repeated — "you Edmund 
 Gray ?" 
 
 "Assuredly. Why not? Why should a man not be him- 
 self?" 
 
 " Oh ! I don't understand. The world is going upside down. 
 I took you — took you for another person." 
 
 lie laughed gently. " Truly, I am none other than Edmund 
 Gray — always Edmund Gray. My first name I can never change 
 if I wished, because it is my baptismal name. The latter I do not 
 wish to change, because it is our name ancestral." 
 
 " I asked because — because — I fancied a resemblance to anoth- 
 er person. Were you ever told that you are much like a certain 
 other person V 
 
 " No, I think not. Resemblances, however, are extremely su- 
 perficial. No two living creatures arc alike. We are alone, each 
 living out his life in the great Cosmos, quite alone — unlike any 
 other living creature. However, I am Edmund Gray, young lady. 
 Is isn't often that I receive a visit from a young lady in these 
 chambers. If you have no other doubt upon that point, will yon 
 let mc ask you, once more, how I can help you I And will you 
 come in, and sit down ?" 
 
 "Oh! it is wonderful," she cried — "wonderful! most wonder- 
 ful !" Again she controlled herself. " Are you," she asked again, 
 "the same Mr. Edmund Gray who wrote the letter to the Times 
 the other day ?" 
 
 " Certainly. There is no other person, I believe, of the name 
 in this inn. Have you read that letter?" 
 
 " Yes — oh, yes." 
 
 "And vou Lave come hcio to talk tu me about that letter T' 
 
220 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 "Yes, yes." She cauglit at the liint. "That is why I came 
 — to talk about that letter. I came in the hope of finding the 
 author of that letter at home." 
 
 lie threw open the door of his sittinof-room. 
 
 " Will you step in ? We can talk <|uite quietly here. The inn, 
 at this Iiour on Saturday, is almost deserted." lie closed the outer 
 door, and followed his visitor into the sitting-room. " This," he 
 went on, " is tlic quietest place in the wiiolc of London. We have 
 not in this square the stately elms of the old garden, but still we 
 have our little advantages — spacious rooms; quiet always in the 
 evening and on Sumlays. A few rackety young men, perhaps; 
 but for one who reads and meditates no better place in London. 
 Now, young lady, take the easy-chair, ;uid sit down. Wc will 
 talk. There are very few people who talk to me about my theo- 
 ries. That is because I am old, so that 1 have h)st my friends, 
 and because my views arc in advance of the world. No man is 
 so lonely as the man born before his time. He is the prophet, 
 you know, who must be stoned because he prophesies things un- 
 intelligible and therefore uncomfortable — even terrifying. 1 shall 
 be very glad to talk a little with you. Now, allow me first to 
 open these letters." 
 
 Elsie sat down and looked about her. She was in a large, low, 
 wainscoted room, with two windows looking upon the square. 
 The room was quite plainly but quite well furnished. There was 
 a good-sized study-table with drawers ; a small table between the 
 windows; a few chairs, a couch, and an easy-chair; and a large 
 bookcase filled with books — books on Socialism, George had told 
 bcr. A door opened upon a smaller room ; there was probably 
 a bedroom at the back. A plain carpet covered the floor. Above 
 the high, old-fashioned mantel were two or three portraits of So- 
 cialist leaders. The room, if everything had not been covered 
 with dust, would have been coldly neat, the chairs were all in 
 their places; the window-blinds were half-way down, as the laun- 
 dress thought was proper — millions of Londoners always keep 
 their blinds half-way down — a subject which must some day be 
 investigated by the Folklore Society; the curtains were neatly 
 looped ; it wanted only a Bible on a table at a window to make 
 it the front parlor of a Dalston villa. There were no flowers, no 
 ornaments of any kind. 
 
 Mr. Edmund Gray opened half a dozen letters lying on his ta- 
 
TFIE IVORY GATE 221 
 
 blc, and glanced at them. There were a great many more waiting 
 to be opened. 
 
 " All are from people who have read my letter," he said. 
 "They share with me in the new faith of a new humanity. 
 Happy is the man who strikes the note of leading at the right 
 moment. Happy he who lights the lamp just when the darkness 
 is beginning to be felt. Yes, young lady, you are not the only 
 one who has been drawn towards the doctrines of that letter. 
 But I have no time to write to all of them. A letter makes one 
 convert — a paragraph may make a thousand." 
 
 Elsie rose from her chair. She had decided on her line. You 
 have heard that her voice was curiously soft and winning ; a voice 
 that charms; a voice which would soothe a wild creature, and fill 
 a young man's heart with whatever passion she chose to awaken. 
 She had, besides, those soft eyes which make men surrender their 
 secrets, part with their power and their strength. Did she know 
 that she possessed all this power? — the girl who had no experi- 
 ence save of one man's love, an<l that the mo<it natural, easy, and 
 unromantic love in the world, when two who arc brought up side 
 by side, and see each other every day, presently catch each other 
 by the hand, and walk for the future hand in hand without a 
 word. Yet Delilah herself — the experienced, the crafty, the trained 
 and taught — could not — did not — act more cleverly and craftily 
 than this artless damsel. To be sure, she possessed great advan- 
 tages over Delilah in the matter of personal charm. 
 
 " Oh !" she murmured softly, " it is a shame that you should be 
 expected to waste your valuable time in writing letters to these 
 people. You must not do it. Your time is wanted for the world, 
 not for individuals." 
 
 " It is," he replied — " it is. You have said it," 
 
 " You are a master — a leader — a prince in Israel — a preacher 
 — a prophet." 
 
 " I am — I am. You have said it. I should not myself Iiave 
 dared to say it. But I am." 
 
 " No one can doubt it who has read that letter. Be my mas- 
 ter, too, as well as the master of — of all these people who write 
 to you." 
 
 "Be your master?" He blushed like a boy. " Could I desire 
 anything better?" 
 
 " My father and my master," she added, with a little change of 
 
222 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 color. Girls talcc fn2;lit very easily, and perhaps this old gentle- 
 man might interpret the invitation — well, into something other 
 than was meant. 
 
 " Yes, yes." He held out his hand. She took it in licr own 
 — both licr own soft hands — and bowed her head — her comely 
 head — over it. 
 
 "1 came to-day, thiidcing only " — oh, Delilah ! — *' to thank you 
 for your great and generous and noble words, which have put fresli 
 heart into me. And, now that I have thanked you, I am embold- 
 ened to ask a favor — " 
 
 " Anything, anything." 
 
 " You will be my master — you will teach me. Let me, in re- 
 turn, relieve you of this work." She laid her hand on the pile 
 of letters. " Let me answer them for you. Let me be your 
 private secretary. I have nothing to do. Let me work for 
 you." She looked into his face with the sweetest eyes and the 
 most winning smile, and her voice warmed the old man's car 
 like soft music. Ah, Circe ! " Now that I have seen you — let 
 me be your disciple, your most humble disciple, and " — ah, 
 siren ! — " let me be more, Edmund Gray — I cannot say Mr. Gray 
 — let me be more, Edmund Gray." She laid her hand — her 
 soft-gloved, dainty, delicate hand — upon his, and it produced the 
 effect of an electric battery gently handled. "Let me be your 
 secretary." 
 
 It was ten o'clock before Elsie reached home that evening, and 
 slic refused to tell them — even her own brother and her lover 
 — where she had been or liow she had spent her evening. 
 
 CHAPTER XXHI 
 
 MASTER AND DISCIPLE 
 
 It was Sunday afternoon in Gray's Inn. The new disciple 
 sat at the feet of the master, her Gamaliel ; one does not know 
 exactly the attitude adopted by a young rabbi of old, but in this 
 case the disciple sat in a low chair, her hands folded in her lap, 
 curiously and earnestly watching the master as he walked up and 
 down the room, preaching and teaching. 
 
THE IVORY GATE 223 
 
 " Master," she aslccd, " liavc you always preached and held 
 these doctrines?" 
 
 " Not always. There was a time when I dwelt in darkness 
 like the rest of the world." 
 
 " IIow did you learn these things ? By reading books ?"' 
 "No. I discovered them. I worked tlicni out for myself by 
 logic, by reason, and by observation. Everything good and true 
 must be discovered by a man for himself." 
 
 "What did you believe in that old time? Was it, with the 
 rest of the world, the sacredness of property ?" 
 
 " Perhaps," He stood in front of her, laying liis riglit fore- 
 finger in his left forefinger and inclining his head. "My dear 
 young scholar, one who believes as I believe, not with half a 
 heart, but wholly and without reserve, willingly forgets the time 
 when he was as yet groping blindly in darkness or walking in 
 artificial light. He wishes to forget that time. There is" no 
 profit in remembering that time. I have so far drilled and 
 trained myself not to remember that time that I have in fact 
 clean forgotten it. I do not remember what I thought or what 
 I said, or with whom I associated in that time. It is a most 
 blessed forgetfulness. I dare say I could recover the memory of 
 it if I wished, but the effort would be painful. Sparc me. The 
 recovery of that part would be humiliating. Spare me, scholar. 
 Yet, if you wish — if you command — " 
 
 "Oh! no, no! Forgive me." Elsie touched his hand. He 
 took licrs, and held it. Was it with a little joy or a little fear 
 that the girl observed the power she already had over him? "I 
 would not cause you pain. Desides— what docs it matter?" 
 
 " You know, my child, when the monk assumes the tonsure 
 and the triple cord, he leaves behind him, outside the cell, all the 
 things of the world— ambition, love, luxury, the pride of the eye 
 —all— all. He forgets everything; he casts away everything; 
 he abandons everything — for meditation and prayer. The 
 monk," added the sage, " is a foolish person, because his medi- 
 tation advances not the world a whit. I am like the monk, save 
 that I think for the world instead of myself. And so, spendin^r 
 days and nights in meditation, I know not what went before— 
 nor do I care. It is a second birth when the new faith takes you 
 and holds you together, so that you care for nothing else. Oh, 
 child ! upon you also this shall come— this obsession— this pos- 
 
224 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 session — so that your spirit sliall know of no time but that spent 
 in the service of the cause. Nay, I go so far that I forget from 
 day to day what passed, except when I was actively engaged for 
 the cause. Yesterday I was here in tlic afternoon. You came. 
 \Ve talked. You offered yourself as my disciple. I remember 
 every word you said. Could I ever forget a disciple so trustful 
 and so liumble? But before you came, where was I? Doubt- 
 less licre — meditating. ]>ut I know not. Then there are things 
 which one must do to live — breakfast, dinner — of these I remem- 
 ber nothing. Why should I ? It is a great gift and reward to 
 me that 1 should not remember unnecessary things — low and 
 common things. Why should I try to do so?" 
 
 " No, no," murmured the catechumen, carried away by his 
 earnestness. "Best forget them. Best live altogether in and 
 for the cause." Yet — she wondered — how was she to bring 
 things home to him unless he could be made to remember? He 
 was mad one hour and sano the next. How should she bridge 
 the gulf, and make the madman cross over to the other side? 
 
 The master took her hand in his and held it paternally. " Wo 
 needed such a disci[)le as you," he went on, slightly bending his 
 head over her. " Among my followers there is earnestness with- 
 out understanding. They believe in the good time, but they arc 
 impatient. Tiiey want revolution, which is terrific and destroys. 
 I want conviction. There are times wlien a great idea flies abroad 
 like the flame througli the stubble. But men's minds must first 
 be so prepared that they are ready for it. The world is not yet 
 ready for my idea, and I am old, and may die too soon to sec the 
 sudden rise of tlie mighty flood, when that doctrine sliall suddenly 
 cease in all mankind. We need disciples. Above all, we need 
 women. Why do women, I wonder, throw themselves away in 
 imitating man, when there are a thousand things that they can 
 do better than any man? I want women — young, beautiful, 
 faithful. I can find work for hundreds of women. Ilypatia 
 would be worth to me — to us — far more than he of the golden 
 mouth. Child ! your sweet voice, your sweet face, your sweet 
 eyes — I want them. I will take them and use them — expend 
 them — for the great cause. It may be that you will be called 
 upon to become the first martyr of the cause. Ilypatia was 
 murdered by a raging mob. You will have against you a mob 
 worse than any of Alexandria. You will have a mob composed of 
 
THE IVORY GATE 225 
 
 all those who are rich, and all wbo •want to be rich, and all the 
 servile crews at thcii' comraand. Happy girl ! You will be torn 
 to pieces for the cause of humanity. Happy girl ! I see the 
 roaring, shrieking mob. I see your slender figure on the steps 
 — what steps? Where? I hear your voice, clear and high. 
 You are preaching to them ; they close in round you ; you dis- 
 appear — they have dragged you down ; they trample the life 
 out of you. You are dead — dead ! and a name forever. And 
 the cause has had its martyr." 
 
 It was strange. She who had offered herself as a disciple with 
 deception in her heart, thinking only to watch and wait and spy 
 until she could sec her way plain before her, who knew that she 
 was listening to the voice and the dreams of a madman, yet 
 she was carried away — he made her see the mob; she saw herself 
 dragged down and trampled under their heels. She shuddered, 
 yet she was exultant; her eyes glowed with a new light; she 
 murmured, "Yes, yes. Do with me what you please. I am 
 your disciple, and I will be your martyr if you please." 
 
 Great and wonderful is the power of enthusiasm. You sec, 
 it matters nothing — nothing in the world — what a man has to 
 preach and teach — whether he advocates Obi or telepathy, or 
 rapping, or spirits who hide teacups in coat-pockets — it matters 
 nothing that there is neither common-sense nor evidence nor 
 common reason to back him, if he only possess the magnetic 
 power, he will create a following; he will have disciples who will 
 follow him to the death. What is it — this power? It makes 
 the orator, the poet, the painter, the novelist, the dramatist ; it 
 makes the leader of men ; it made the first king, the first priest, 
 tiie first conqueror. 
 
 "Come," said Mr. Edmund Gray, "the time passes. I must 
 take you to my place." 
 
 They walked out together, master and scholar. The man 
 who was mad walked carelessly and buoyantly ; his coat flying 
 open ; one hand in his pocket, the other brandishing hi^ walking- 
 stick ; his head thrown back; his face full of light, and, though 
 his words were sometimes strong, always full of kindness. Now 
 the sane man, the man of Lincoln's Inn, wore his coat tightly 
 buttoned, walked with a firm, precise step, looked straight before 
 him, and showed the face of one wholly occupied with his own 
 thoughts. There was a man who was mad and a man who was 
 10* 
 
22G THE IVORY GATE 
 
 sane, and certainly the madman was the more interesting of tho 
 two. 
 
 "This place," said the master, meaniiiLi; Gray's Tun, "is en- 
 tirely tilled with those who live by and for the defence of prop- 
 erty. They absorb and devour a vast portion of it while they 
 defend it. No one, you see, defends it unless ho is paid for it. 
 Your country, your family, your honor — you will defend for 
 nothinj^; but not another man's property — no. For that you 
 must be paid. Every year it becomes more necessary to defend 
 property ; every year the hordes of mercenaries increase. Hero 
 they are lawyers, and lawyers' clerks — a vast multitude. Out- 
 side there are fiicnts, brokers, insurers, financiers — I know not 
 what — all defending property. They produce nothing, these 
 armies; they take their toll; they devour a part of what other 
 people have prod need before they hand on the residue to the 
 man who says it i-^ his property." 
 
 " Oh I" — but Elsie did not say this aloud — " if these words 
 could only be heard in Lincoln's Inn! If they could be repeated 
 to a certain lawyer." From time to time she looked at him 
 curiouslv. How if he sliould suddenly return to his senses? 
 AVhat would he think ? IIow should she explain ? " Mr. Dering, 
 you have been off your liead. You have been talking the most 
 blasphemous tilings about property. You would never believe 
 that even in madness you could say such things." No, he never 
 would believe it — never. He could not believe it. What if his 
 brother. Sir Samuel, were to hear those words? Meantime, the 
 apostle walked along unconscious, filled with his great mission. 
 Oh, heavens! that Mr. Dering — Mr. Dering — should believe ho 
 bad a mission ! 
 
 The master stopped a passing tram-car. " Let us climb up to 
 the roof," he said. "There we can talk ai»d breathe and look 
 about us, and sometimes we can listen." 
 
 On the seat in front of them sat two young men, almost boys, 
 talking together eagerly. Mr. Edmund Gray leaned forward, and 
 listened shamelessly. "They are two young atheists," he said — 
 " they are cursing religion. There is to be a discussion this 
 evening at Battle Arches between a Christian and an Atheist, and 
 they are going to assist. They should be occupied with the 
 question of the day ; they cannot, because they, too, are paid 
 defenders of property. They arc lawyers' clerks. They arc 
 
THE IVORY GATE 227 
 
 poor, and tlicy arc slaves ; all their lives tliey will be slaves, and 
 tliey will be poor. Instead of fighting against slavery and poverty, 
 which they know and feel, they fight against the unknown and 
 the unintelligible. Pity! Pity!" 
 
 They passed two great railway termini, covering an immense 
 area with immense buildings. 
 
 "Now," said the sage, "there are millions of property invested 
 in railways. Whenever the railway servants please they can 
 destroy all that property at a stroke. Perhaps you will live to 
 see this done." 
 
 "But," said Elsie, timidly, "we must have things carried up 
 and down the country." 
 
 " Certainly. We shall go on carrying things up and down the 
 country, but not in the interests of property." 
 
 The tram ran past the stations and under broad railway arches, 
 called battle arches — where the two young atheists got down, 
 eager for the fray, always renewed every Sunday afternoon with 
 the display of much intellectual skill and much ignorance. It is 
 a duel from which both combatants retire, breathed and flushed, 
 proud of having displayed so much smartness, both claiming the 
 victory, surrounded by admiring followers, and neither of them 
 killed, neither of them hurt, neither of them a bit the worse, and 
 both ready to begin again the following Sunday with exactly the 
 same attack and exactly the same defence. There arc some in- 
 stitutions—Christianity, the Church of England, the House of 
 Lords, for instance — which invite and receive perpetual attacks, 
 from which they emerge without the least hurt, so far as one 
 can perceive. If they were all abolished to-morrow what would 
 the spouters do ? 
 
 The car stopped again, and two girls mounted — two work-girls 
 of the better sort— not, that is to say, the sort which wears an 
 ulster and a large hat with a flaming feather in it— working-girls, 
 dressed quietly and neatly. They ought to have been cljeerful,' 
 and even gay, for they were both young, both good-looking, both 
 nicely dressed, and it was Sunday afternoon, warm and sunny. 
 Yet they were not cheerful at all. One of them was in a rao-e 
 royal, and the other, her friend, was in a rage sympathetic— quite 
 a real rage. They were talking loudly on the curb while they 
 waited for the tram ; they carried on their conversation as they 
 climbed the stair; they continued it while they chose a seat, and 
 
228 THE lYOnv GATE 
 
 before they sf^t down, without tlio least rei^ard to those who sat 
 near them — whetlicr they overheard, or wished not to hear, or 
 anything. They were wholly occupied with themselves and their 
 rat;e and their narrative. Tbey neither saw nor heeded any one 
 else — which is the way tliat the anj^ry woman has. 
 
 "So I told her — I up and told her, I did. * Yes,' I scz, 
 'you and your fifteen hours a day and overtime,' I sez; 'and 
 your fines — so as to rob the poor girls of their money ; and your 
 fitinkin' little room, as isn't fit for two, let alone a dozen; and your 
 fiarin' gas,' I sez, 'to choke us and {)oison us; and your din- 
 nei-s — yah ! your dinner,' I scz — ' fit for pigs ; and your beast 
 of a husband coinin' round with his looks and his leers — ' 
 ' You let my husband alone,' she sez. ' His looks and his leers,' 
 I sez; 'some day the girls'll take him out and drowiid liirii, 
 hc.id-first, in the gutter,' I sez — ' and a good job too !' " 
 
 "You didn't say all tliat, Liz?" asked the other admiringly. 
 " My ! AVhat 'd she say to that ? Her ' beast of a husband ?' And 
 ' his looks and his leers?' Did you really, Liz — and her that jeal- 
 ous ?" 
 
 "I did. Oh! I let her hear it. For once she did iiavc it. 
 Then I took ray money, and I went off. Never mind what she 
 called me — that don't matter. She got the truth for once." 
 
 "What do you make of this, disciple?" asked the master. 
 
 " It seems a quarrel between the girl and her employer." 
 
 "These arc the makers of property. They arc not the soldiers 
 wlio defend it. They arc those who create it. The girls arc cm- 
 I)loyed by the sweater, who stands on the lowest rung of the lad- 
 der of property and steals the things as fast as they arc made." 
 
 "One of them has been turned out. Wiiat will she do ? Will 
 she find anotlier place?" 
 
 " I don't know. What becomes of the young ? It is a difficult 
 question. No one knows. Some say this, and some say that. 
 Wc know what becomes of the old when they arc turned out — 
 they die. But as for the young I know not. You are young, 
 and vou are a woman. Go among the young women who have 
 been turned out, and find out for yourself — for the world — what 
 does become of them." 
 
 They passed an immense churchyard, with an ancient church 
 standing in the midst — the churchyard now cleared of its head- 
 stones and converted into a beautiful garden after the modem 
 
THE IVORY GATE 229 
 
 fashion, in which wc liavc abandoned the pretence of remember- 
 ing tlie dead, and plant flowers and turf above their graves for the 
 sokice of tlie living. Why not? Let the nameless dead be re- 
 membered by the nameless dead. Their virtues, if they had any, 
 may live after them in their descendants. 
 
 "See," said Mr. Edmund Gray, moralizing — "here they lie, 
 those who are soldiers of property and those who arc slaves of 
 [iroperty. They are mostly the poor of their parish who lie in 
 that garden. No headstones mark their graves. They were born ; 
 they toiled for others to enjoy; and they died. Is this the life 
 that men should most desire?" 
 
 " Nay," said the disciple. " But there must be strong and 
 weak — clever and dull ; there must be inequalities." 
 
 " Yes. Inequalities of gifts. One man is stronger, one is 
 sharper, one is cleverer, than another. Formerly, those gifts were 
 used to make their possessor richer and more powerful. The 
 strong man got followers, and made slaves. The clever man 
 clicated the dull man out of his land and his liberty. Hence- 
 forth, these gifts will be used for the general good. Patience! 
 You shall understand all in good time." 
 
 He stopped the tram, and they descended. 
 
 Lying cast of the Ilampstead Road and Camden High Street — 
 and boimded on that side by the canal, the great space occupied 
 by the Midland and Great Northern Goods Depot, by gas-works, 
 wharves, and railway arches — there is a network of streets very 
 little known to any but the parish clergy. No part of London is 
 less interesting than this district. It used to be called Somers 
 Town, but I think that the old name has almost died out. It is 
 about a hundred years old, regarded as a settlement; it possesses 
 three churches at least, two workhouses, one almshouse, and three 
 burial-grounds turned into gardens. It is also cheered by the 
 presence of a coal depot. Many small industries are carried on in 
 this quarter; there are many lodging-houses ; the streets are rather 
 grimy, the houses are rather shabby, the people are rather slipsliod. 
 They are not criminals; they are, in a way, respectable — that is to 
 say, tolerably respectable. It is not a picturesque suburb ; dull- 
 ness reigns ; it is a dull, a dull, a dismally dull quarter. There are 
 children, but they lack mirth ; and young girls, but they lack the 
 spring of youth; one would say that there was a low standard in 
 everything, even in the brightness of dress. The place looks bet- 
 
230 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 tcr in winter than in summer. To-day the bright sunshine only 
 made the shabbiness of the streets more shabby, 
 
 " Is your place here ?" asked Elsie. 
 
 "Yes, it is here. You wonder why I came here. Because the 
 people here are not all working-people. Some of them are small 
 employers — those of whom 1 spoke — who stand on the lowest 
 rung of the ladder and steal the things as fast as they are made, 
 and take toll, and hoard them up. The working-man is generous 
 and open to others, compared with these people, I planted my place 
 down in the midst of them. But you shall see — you shall sec." 
 
 It was like a dream. Elsie walked beside her conductor. Yes- 
 terday she made the acquaintance of this man for the first time; 
 slic had never seen liim before except in liis sane condition ; he 
 was a madman — a real, dangerous madman — stark, staring mad; 
 he was taking her she knew not where — to some place among 
 strange people; she walked beside him without the least fear — 
 slic who would have fled before the most harmless lunatic ; and 
 she was going with him as his disciple, 
 
 ** George," she said afterwards, " I do not know how it hap- 
 pened. 1 could not choose but go with him. I could not choose 
 but to become liis disciple — he compelled me, I lost my will, I 
 even forgot that he was a madman ; I gave up my reason and all ; 
 I followed him, and I believed all that he told me. How did be 
 get that power ? Directly I left him I became myself again. I 
 perceived the mad enthusiast. I saw Mr. Dering caricatured, and 
 proclaiming foolishness. But in his presence I was his servant 
 and his slave." 
 
 ** Ilcrc we are," he said. " This is my place. Lot us go in." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE HALL OF THE NEW FAITH 
 
 The place, as Mr. Edmund Gray modestly called it, was a meek 
 and unpretending structure. The word is used advisedly, because 
 
THE IVORY GATE 231 
 
 no one could call it anytliinf; else — not an edifice; not a build- 
 ing; a structure. It turned its gabled front to the street, with a 
 door below and a window above. It was of gray brick, with a 
 slate roof — a very plain and simple structure. It might liavc 
 been a Primitive Methodist chapel — this connection are fond of 
 such neat and unpretending places ; or a room belonging to the 
 Salvation Army ; or one of those queer lecture-halls affected by 
 secularists, and generally called the Hall of Science. On the door- 
 post was affixed a small handbill, announcing that every Sunday 
 evening at seven o'clock an address would be pronounced by Ed- 
 mund Gray, on the subject of " Property." On the same bill, be- 
 low the line of the principal title, were suggestive sub-titles. Thus, 
 
 " Property and its Origin." 
 " Property and its Evils." 
 " Property and its Dangers." 
 " Property and Liderty." 
 "Property and Progress." 
 " Property and its Decay." 
 
 The master pointed to the bill. " Read it," lie said. "There 
 you have ray mission clearly announced. No mistake about it. A 
 bold pronouncement, which cannot be mistaken. I make war 
 against property. I am the enemy irreconcilable — the enemy to 
 the death — of property. I am almost alone against the world, 
 for my followers are a feeble folk and without power. All the 
 interests, all the prejudices, all the powers, all the intellect of the 
 whole world are against me. I stand alone. But I fear nothing, 
 because the future is given over to me and to mine — yea, thourrh 
 I do not live to see the day of victory."' 
 
 lie opened the door, and Elsie entered. She found herself in 
 a room about si.\ty feet long by twenty broad, and lofty — a fine 
 and goodly room. It was furnished with a long and narrow tabic 
 running down the middle, and a few benches. Nothing else. The 
 table was laid with a white cloth, and provided with plates of ham 
 and beef, cold sausages, hard-boiled eggs, cakes, toast, muffins, 
 bread and butter, marmalade, jam, shrimps, water-cresses, and tea- 
 cups. In fact, there was spread out a tea of generous proportions. 
 
 The room was half filled with thirty or forty people, mostly 
 young, though there were some elderly men. Among them Elsie 
 remarked, withuut surprise, the decayed barrister of Gray's Inn. 
 
232 THE IVORT GATE 
 
 Perhaps be was attracted as much by the loaves as by the sermon. 
 Three quarters of them were young men. Elsie noticed that they 
 were young men of a curious type — their faces keen, their eyes 
 hard, their manner aggressive. They belonged to a church mili- 
 tant. They longed to be fighting. On the appearance of their 
 preacher they flocked about him, shaking hands and inquiring 
 after his liealth. At least, therefore, he had the affection of his 
 followers. 
 
 *' My friends," said the prophet, "I bring you a new disciple. 
 She comes to us from the very stronghold of property. Her 
 friends" — yet he had shown no sign of recognition — "arc cither 
 those wlio pillage the producer, or those who rob the possessor on 
 pretence of defending him. She is at present only a recruit. She 
 comes to listen and to learn. She will go iiomc to remember and 
 to meditate. She is a recruit now, who will be hereafter a leader." 
 
 The people received her with curiosity. They were not of the 
 higher classes, to put it mil<lly, and they had never had a young 
 lady among them before. Two or three girls who were present — 
 girls from the dress-makers' workrooms — looked at her frock with 
 envy, and at her bonnet and her gloves with a yearning, helpless, 
 heart-sinking admiration. To the young men she seemed a god- 
 dess, unapproachable. They stood at a distance. Men of the rank 
 above them would have worshipped — these young men only gaped. 
 Such a girl had nothing to do with their lives. 
 
 Apparently they had been waiting for the master, for at the 
 moment a stout woman and a girl appeared, bearing trays with 
 teapots and jugs of hot water, which they placed upon the board. 
 Mr. Edmund Gray took the chair. Elsie began to feel like Alice 
 in Wonderland. She came to sec a " place," she expected to 
 hear a sermon or a lecture — and behold, a tea ! 
 
 " Sit beside me," said the master. " We begin our evening 
 on Sunday with a simple feast, which I provide. It is a sign of 
 brotherhood. Every Sunday we begin with this renewal of fra- 
 ternity. Those who break bread together are brothers and sis- 
 ters. In the good time to come every meal shall be in common, 
 and every evening meal shall be a feast. Eat and drink with us, 
 my daughter, so you will understand that you belong to a broth- 
 erhood." 
 
 "Try some shrimps, miss," said her neighbor on the right, an 
 elderly man, who was a builder's foreman. 
 
THE IVORY GATE 233 
 
 History docs not concern itself with what Elsie took. She 
 found the meal very much to the purpose after a long afternoon 
 of talk, argument, and emotion. She was young, and she was 
 hungry. The tea was good; the things to eat were good; the 
 cake and toast were admirable. Elsie ate and drank, and won- 
 dered what was coming next. 
 
 After a little, she began to look round her and to watch the 
 company. There w'cre now, she counted, forty-five of them — 
 forty-five disciples of Mr. Edmund Gray. What had he to teach 
 them ? The destruction of property. Out of the four millions of 
 London, forty-five were found who wanted to destroy property — 
 only forty-five. But perhaps all wlio advocated that step were 
 not present. Her ancient prejudices whispered that tliis was a 
 reassuring fact, considering that the preacher liad preached his 
 doctrines for nine long years. Only forty-five. Ne.xt to her the 
 foreman began to talk to her of Fourier and Owen and a dozen 
 half-forgotten leaders in the old experiments, lie had been a 
 Chartist in the forties; he was a Socialist in these, the nineties; 
 but he confessed that before any real reform was attempted prop- 
 erty mu.«t first be destroyed. 
 
 " It's the selfishness," he whispered earnestly, " that's got to be 
 torn out by the roots. Take that away, and there's a chance for 
 the world. It never can be taken away till a man finds that he 
 can't work no longer for himself, and that he must work for all, 
 whether he likes it or lumps it. Don't give him the choice nor 
 the chance, I say. Take away property, and there's neither choice 
 nor chance left. You hear Mr. Gray upon that. Oh ! he's power- 
 ful. What do they say ? ' Naked we came into the world ; naked 
 we enter into the kingdom of Heaven.' There's a wonderful lot 
 of fine things hangin' to that. You must wait till you hear Mr. 
 Gray upon tliat theme — kingdom of Heaven ! To hear the par- 
 sons talk, it's away above the clouds. Not so. It's here — close 
 beside us — on this earth. All we've got to do is to put out our 
 hands and reach it." 
 
 " You may put out your hands as much as you like," said one 
 of the younger men ; *' but you won't reach it, all the same. 
 Property stands between." 
 
 "At our place," said a girl sitting opposite — a girl of intelli- 
 gent face, pale and thin — " we work from eight till eight, and 
 sometimes longer, for twelve shillings a week. I know what 
 
234 THE IVOUY OATE 
 
 things cost, ami wlmt tlicy sell for. I could produce enough to 
 keep ine — ah! a good deal bettor tliau I live now — if I could sell 
 what I made myself — for four hours' work a day. So I work 
 eight hours a day, not counting tlie dinner-hour, just to keep the 
 boss and to make property for liiin. My property it is — well, I 
 know, in here wc say, our property ; outside wc say, my prop- 
 erty. Where's your kingdom of Heaven, then, if you reach out 
 your hand ever so far, so long as I've got to work to make some- 
 body else rich? Let's destroy property, and then we shall sec." 
 
 A desire — a foolish, concealed desire, horn of prejudice — seized 
 Elsie to argue, for she perceived in the girl's reasoning certain 
 confusions and intricacies. But she had the courage to suppress 
 the inclination; she refrained. She was a disciple — she must 
 listen. 
 
 "I am a slave, like all the rest of us," another young man 
 remarked cheerfully. " My master owns me. ITc can sell mc 
 if he likes, only he calls it by another name. lie can't take a 
 whip and lash me, though lie'd like to, because if he did I'd 
 break every bone in his body for him ; but lie can cut down the 
 work and the money. I do editing and reporting for a local 
 paper — thirty shillings a week. The proprietor makes ten 
 pounds a week out of it, and I'm not allowed to tell the truth 
 for fear of advertisers." lie added a few words not commonly 
 beard in a place that looked like a chapel on a Sunday evening, 
 
 Elsie observed that their faces showed two variations of expres- 
 sion — only two. The majority of the company liad the eyes of 
 the dreamer, the theorist, the enthusisist. They are soft eyes, 
 and in repose are heavy, and they look through stone walls into 
 space, far away — space where their dreams are realized, and men 
 and women live according to their theories. In moments of en- 
 thusiasm and passion they become flaming fires. These eyes 
 belonged to most of those present. The rest — the minority — 
 were those who are angry and restless and eager for the practical 
 application of the doctrine. These want revolution ; they are 
 impatient ; they feel for themselves the injustices and oppressions 
 which enthusiasts feel for others. These are always resentful ; the 
 others are always hopeful. These want to convert the world at 
 once with bludgeon and with gun ; the others are certain that 
 before long the world will be converted by reason. The one de- 
 spairs of anything but force ; the other will have no force. The 
 
THE IVORY GATE 235 
 
 one hates liis enemy; lie would kill him if lie could; he has no 
 words too bad for him. The enthusiast, on the other hand, regards 
 his enemy with pity, and would at any moment welcome him, 
 forgive hira, and — well— invite him to a fraternal tea, if he would 
 only desert his ranks and come over. And tlicse arc the two divi- 
 sions in every party, and such is the nature of man that there 
 must always be these two divisions. 
 
 The fraternal tea finished, tlic company cleared the tables, 
 everybody lending a hand, perhaps as another sign or pledge of 
 fraternity. It was then nearly seven o'clock, the hour appointed 
 for the address. The door was thrown wide open for the admis- 
 sion of the world, but there was no sign that the world took the 
 least interest in the subject of property. No one came at all. 
 Elsie learned afterwards that the world outside the hall had lono- 
 since grown tired of the subject on which Mr. Gray had been 
 preaching for nine years. Those who came to the tea were the 
 inner circle of believers or disciples, a small but faithful company, 
 to whose members there was rarely any addition. 
 
 At seven Mr. Edmund Gray rose to commence liis address, 
 standing at the head of the table, so that it was like an after- 
 dinner speech. Outside the sun was hot and bright and the air 
 clear. "Within the hall there were the mingled odors and steams 
 of long-protracted and hearty fraternal tea; tlie air was heavy, 
 and the room dark. When the master began to speak a young 
 man— one of the ardent and wrathful kind— drew out a note- 
 book and took everything down ; all listened with respect, some 
 with rapt interest. Some nodded; some groaned; some said 
 "Hear" softly — to encourage the preacher, and to show their 
 adhesion to principle. 
 
 Elsie sat at the right hand of the speaker. His discourses 
 moved her much less in this public place than in liis chambers. 
 The persuasive voice was there, but it did not persuade her. 
 Moreover, she could not meet his eyes; their magnetism failed 
 to touch her. So much the better, because she could listen with 
 cool judgment and watch the people. 
 
 " My friends," he began, " my brothers, and my sisters— we are 
 all long since agreed that the root of all evil, the first form of 
 disease, the first fatal step that was leading to so many other mis- 
 chiefs, was the beginning of property. We have proved that so 
 often— we are all so entirely agreed upon this vital principle 
 
236 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 that we seldom, and only on rare occasions, find it necessary to 
 do more than assume its Iriitli. That occasion, however, is the 
 present, when we have among us one who comes as a stranjjer, 
 yet a disciple; one who lias a mind open to the influence of 
 reason ; one who is anxious to clear herself of the prejudices and 
 absurdities in wjiich she has been from infancy brought up. Let 
 us, tiierefore. briefly, for her instruction and for the strengthening 
 of our own faith, point out some of the arguments which support 
 this position. It is to us an axiom. To the world it still requires 
 proof. And the world refuses to accept the proof, because it is 
 given over to the chase of the abominable thing." 
 
 lie proceeded to parade the reasons which made his school 
 regard property as tlie root of all evil. The line which he pur- 
 sued was not new ; many men have pointed out before Mr. 
 Edmund CIray the selfishness of mankind, as illustrated by the 
 universal game of grab; others, with equal force, have shown 
 that the protection of things causes an immense expenditure and 
 a great shrinkage in things; others have shown that it is the con- 
 tinual ellorts of men to get without working the things for which 
 others have worked that fill our jails and keep up an army of 
 police. 
 
 " Wc start with a false principle," tlie master went on, " which 
 has ruined the world, and still keeps it down. If there are to be 
 rich men, they must become rich at the expense of the rest; they 
 must be few, and the poor must be many. Therefore, the pro- 
 tection of property is the robbery of the poor by law. We all 
 know that ; in this place we have agreed, so far, a thousand 
 times; the rich can only become rich by robbing the poor; tliey 
 rob their land; they rob their work; they rob their whole lives — 
 and they are permitted and encouraged by the law. Shall we, 
 then, change the law ? No, it would be a work too vast. Shall 
 we change the minds of men? Not by reason; it is impossible 
 by any argument so long as by law and custom they can still rob 
 the producer of his work. The only way is to destroy all prop- 
 erty. When men can no longer by any kind of thought get 
 richer than their neighbors, then tliey will cease to tliink for 
 themselves, and think for the whole community. You will say 
 — some one may object — that some are not the same in strength 
 of mind or of body ; there will be many, then, who will refuse to 
 work at all, and become burdens on the community. We have 
 
THE IVOKY GATE 237 
 
 thought of that objection. At first, there would be many such, 
 but not for long, because we should kill them. Yes, my friends," 
 he added, with a smile of the sweetest benevolence, "for the 
 good of the community it will be necessary, without any senti- 
 mental considerations, to kill ail those who refuse to work, all 
 those who shirk their work, all those who persistently do 
 scamped and bad work. They must die. So the common- 
 wealth shall contain none but those who are vigorous, loyal, and 
 true. For the rest death — if it means the death of a million 
 who were once rich — death is the only escape from the difficulty 
 which is so often objected. 
 
 " It has been asked again how we differ from the Socialists. 
 In tliis: We would begin with no theories, no constitution, no 
 code. Only let every man give all his strength, all his licart, all 
 his mind, to the good of the commonwealth; without the least 
 power of enriching himself, saving money — of course, there 
 would be no money ; without the chance of getting better food 
 and better clothes than the rest — and we may safely leave the 
 world to take care of itself. Why, my brothers — why, my 
 sisters — should we poor, purblind creatures, unable to compre- 
 hend more than a glimpse of that glorious future which awaits 
 tho world when property shall be destroyed — why, I say, should 
 we dare to lay down schemes and invent systems for that glori- 
 fied humanity? Let us leave them to themselves. They will be 
 as far above us, my brothers, as we are already above the hold- 
 ers and the defenders of property." 
 
 Elsie looked at the little gathering — five-and-forty — with a lit- 
 tle smile. They were then already far above the liolders and the 
 defenders of property, and again she thought, "What if these 
 words were heard in Lincoln's Inn 'f 
 
 " How, then, can property be destroyed ?" 
 
 At this practical question every one sat upright, coughed, and 
 looked interested. Their preacher liad often enough declaimed 
 upon the evils of property, lie seldom spoke of a practical way. 
 iVrhaps the time had come. 
 
 "There are, my friends, several ways. They are already be- 
 ginning to be understood and to bo worked. The Irish and the 
 politicians who wanted the Irish vote have shown the world how 
 to destroy property in land. Believe me, that example will be 
 followed. It was an evil day for the holders of i)roperty when 
 
238 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 the government interfered between tlic landlord and his tenant. 
 That example will bear fruit elsewhere. Wo shall sec everywhere 
 the owners of the land turned out, and their places taken by 
 those who work the land. The next step is from land to houses. 
 Why not with houses as with land? Since a beginning lias been 
 made it must be carried on. But there is other property besides 
 lands and houses. There are companies with shares, railways, 
 and so forth. Wc have only begun to see what united labor can 
 effect — since union of labor is, in fact, not yet begun. When it 
 is fairly started it will pay small respect to shareholders and to 
 dividends. When wages are paid there will be perhaps no divi- 
 <lend left at all. In a single year — nay, a single week — the 
 wlioic capital invested in all the companies will lose its value; it 
 will be so much waste-paper. My friends, we need not stir hand 
 or foot to bring about this end; it will be done for us by the 
 working-man, and by those who follow the example of Ireland. 
 They will do it for their own selfish ends first, but property once 
 destroyed we shall never again allow it to be created. 
 
 " Oh !" — he warmed with his subject ; his voice grew more musi- 
 cal ; his face glowed — " I sec a splendid — a noble sight. I see 
 the great houses in the country fallen to ruin and decay ; their 
 contents are stored in museums; the great palaces of the towns 
 are pulled down; the towns themselves arc decayed and shrunk; 
 there is no property; there is no one working for himself; the 
 man of science works ins laboratory for the community — but he 
 has the honor of his discoveries; the medical man pursues his 
 work with no thought of getting rich ; there is plenty to go the 
 round of everything — oh ! plenty of the best. We can have 
 what we like, do what we like, dress as we like, teach what we 
 please — provided we work for the State. If we refuse — deatli ! 
 If we give bad work — death ! It is the only law. We sliall 
 have no lawyers — no power — no magistrates. Oh ! great and 
 glorious time — you shall see it, you who are young — yes, you 
 shall see it — while I — I — I — who have dreamed of the time so 
 lonfj — I shall lie low in the grave. What matter — so the time 
 come, and so the world rises free at last to follow out the destiny 
 of a new and glorified humanity ?" 
 
 He sat down, and laid his head upon his hand as one in prayer. 
 They remained in silence till he raised his head. Then the young 
 man who had called attention to his blavery spoke. 
 
THE IVORY GATE 239 
 
 ** There is, perhaps, another way," he said, " wliich might do the 
 job for us. Suppose tlie chemists were to find out how to pro- 
 duce food — food of any kind — artificially — just as good and as 
 nourisliing as if it were butchcr-mcat or bread. Suppose it could 
 be produced dirt cheap — most chemists' things cost nothing. 
 Then no one would need to work, because he'd have his food 
 found fur him. If no one would need to work, no one could get 
 rich any more. And if no one wanted to buy anything, nobody 
 could soil. Then riches wouldn't count, and there you are. Let's 
 get a chemist to take the thing up." 
 
 The conversation that followed struck out new ideas. Pres- 
 ently it flagged, and one by one the people stoic away. 
 
 The master and the disciple returned in the tram as far as 
 Gray's Inn. 
 
 The master fell into profound silence a quarter of an hour be- 
 fore the end of the journey. When they got down, Elsie ob- 
 served, first, that he buttoned his coat; next, that lie put on 
 gloves; thirdly, that he pulled his hat forward; and, lastly, that 
 he ignored her presence. lie drew himself erect, and walked 
 away, with firm and precise step, in the direction of Bedford 
 Row, which is on the other side of Gray's Inn. lie was once 
 n»ore Mr. Edward Bering. 
 
 " I wonder," said Elsie, " how much, to-morrow, he will recol- 
 lect?" 
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 CAN HE REMEMDEK? 
 
 It was past ten o'clock that Sunday evening when Elsie arrived 
 home. Athelstan and George were waiting up for her. " Ai^ain 
 the mysterious appointment ?" asked the former. " Are we to 
 know anything yet ?" Elsie shook her head. " Not to-night ? 
 Very good. You look tired, Elsie." 
 
 " I am tired, thank you. And — and I think I would rather not 
 talk to-night. I will go to my own room. Have patience, both 
 of you, for a day or two longer. Believe me, everything is foing 
 Wfll. The only rc:ison why I cannot tell you what I have been 
 
240 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 doini; is that it is so strange — so wonderful — that I have not been 
 able even to shape it into words in n)y own mind. "What is to- 
 days—the 1st of August?" 
 
 "Only eleven days yet — eleven long days," said George, "but 
 also eleven short days." 
 
 " I do not forget. Well, you may both of you sit down — go 
 about your business — you need do nothing more. As for me, I 
 think you will have to get on without me every evening this week. 
 But be fjuite easy. The thing is done." And with that, nodding 
 and laughing, she ran out of the room. 
 
 " It is done," repeated George. "The thing is done. Which 
 thing?" 
 
 " It is done," repeated Athelslan. " What is done ? How was 
 it done? Who did it ? When was it done?" 
 
 " Since Elsie says it is done, I am bound to accept her assur- 
 ance. Presumably she has caught old Checkley at South Square, 
 in the very act. Never mind ; I am quite sure that Elsie knows 
 what she says." 
 
 In her own retreat Elsie sat down to consider. 
 
 If you think of it she had a good deal to consider. She had, 
 in fact, a tremendous weapon, an eighty -ton AVoolwich, in her 
 possession — a thing wliich had to be handled so that when it was 
 fired it should not produce a general massacre. All those who 
 liad maligned and spoken and thought evil of her brother and 
 lier lover should, she thought, be laid prostrate by the mere [)uflf 
 and whiff of the discharge. Checkley should fall backwards, and 
 raise a bump at the back of his head as big as an egg. Sir Sam- 
 uel and Hilda should be tumbled down in the most ignominious 
 fashion, just as if they had no money at all. And her mother 
 should be forced to cry out that she had been wrong and hasty. 
 
 She held in her own hands nothing less than the complete de- 
 molition of all this erection of suspicion and malignity — nothing 
 less. She could restore to her brother that which he had never 
 lost, save in the eyes of his own people, who should have been 
 the most jealous to preserve it. No greater service could be ren- 
 dered to him. And she could clear from her lover's name what- 
 ever shreds and mists had been gathered round it by the indus- 
 trious breath of Checkley — that humble cloud compeller. You 
 see, we all have this much of Zeus in us, even in the compelling 
 of clouds — every man, by the exercise of a little malignity, a little 
 
THE IVOKY GATE 241 
 
 insinuation, and a few falsehoods, can raise quite a considerable 
 mist about the head, or the name, or the figure, or the reputation 
 of any one. Women — some women, that is — are constantly en- 
 gaged in this occupation; and after they have been at their work 
 it is sometimes hard for the brightest sunshine to melt those mists 
 away. 
 
 To be able to clear away clouds is a great thing. Besides this, 
 Elsie had found out what the rest had failed to find out — and by 
 the simplest method. She had learned from the only person who 
 knew at what hour she should be most likely to find the myste- 
 rious Edmund Gray, and she had then waited on the stairs until 
 he came. No method more direct, yet nobody thought of it 
 except herself. She had done it. As the result, there was no 
 longer any mystery. The man who forged the first check, the 
 man who wrote those letters and conducted their transfer, was, as 
 they all thought at first, Edmund Gray. No other. And Ed- 
 mund Gray was Edward Dcring — one and the same person — and 
 Edward Dcring was a madman, and this discovery it was which 
 so profoundly impressed her. There were no confederates ; there 
 was no one wanted to intercept the post ; no one had tampered 
 with the safe ; the chief himself had received the letters and 
 conducted the correspondence alternately as Edmund Gray him- 
 self, or Edmund Gray acting unconsciously for Edward Dcring. 
 
 Perfectly impossible — perfectly simple — perfectly intelligible. 
 As for the impossibility, a fact may remain when its impossibil- 
 ity is established. Elsie was not a psychologist or a student of 
 the brain. She knew nothing about mental maladies. She only 
 said, after what she liad seen and heard, " The man is mad." 
 
 Then she thought how she should best act. To establish the 
 identity of Mr. Dcring and Edmund Gray must be done. It was 
 the one thing necessary. Very well. That could easily be done, 
 and in a simple way. S^ie had only to march into his office, at 
 the bead of a small band of witnesses, and say, "You wanted us 
 to find out Edmund Gray. I have found him ! And thou art the 
 man !" 
 
 lie would deny it. He certainly knew nothing about it. Then 
 she would call upon her witnesses. First, Athelstan's commission- 
 naire, who declared that lie should remember, even after eight years 
 or eighty years, the gentleman who sent him to cash that check. 
 " Who is this man, commissionuaire ?' 
 11 
 
242 THE IVOKY GATE 
 
 "That is Mr. Etlmmul Gray." 
 
 Next, the landlord of his chambers. " Who is this man ?" 
 
 " That is Mr. Edmund Gray, my tenant for nine years." 
 
 Then she would call the eminent barrister, Mr. Langliornc. 
 " Do you know this man ?" 
 
 " lie is my neighbor, Mr. Edmund Gray." 
 
 And Freddy Carstone the coach. 
 
 *' lie is my neighbor, Mr. Eilnuind Gray." 
 
 And the laundress, and she would say, " T have done for the 
 gentleman for nine years. He's a very good gentleman, and gen- 
 erous, and his name is Mr. Edmund Gray." 
 
 And the people from the hall, and they would make answer, 
 with one consent, "That is Mr. ii]dmund (xray, our preacher and 
 our teacher." 
 
 And she herself wouKl give her testimony, "I have sat with 
 you in your chambers. 1 have heard you lecture in your hall, 
 surrounded by these gootl people, and you are Edmund (Jray." 
 
 The thing was quite easy to do. She could bring forward all 
 this evidence at once, and it would be unanswerable and convinc- 
 ing — even to Sir Samuel. 
 
 Except for one thing, which made it didicult. 
 
 The discovery would be a most dreadful — a most terrible — 
 revelation to one who believed himself to be the most respectable 
 solicitor in the whole of London ; the most trustworthy ; the 
 clearest in mind ; the keenest in vision ; the coolest in judgment. 
 lie would learn without the least previous suspicion or prepara- 
 tion, or any softening of the blow, that for many years he had 
 been — What ? Is there any other word — any kinder word — 
 any word less terrifying or less humiliating — by which the news 
 could be conveyed to him that he had been mad — mad — mad ? 
 Heavens! what a word it is! How terrible to look at with its 
 three little letters which mean so much. All the words that 
 mean much arc monosyllables — God; love; joy; hate; fear*» 
 glad; sad; mad; bad; hell; hoine; wife; child; house; song; 
 feast; wine; kiss — everything — they are the oldest words, you 
 see; they have been used from time immemorial by prehistoric 
 man as well as by ourselves. 
 
 Mr. Dering had to be told that he was mad. Somehow or 
 other, he must be told that. It seemed at first the only way out 
 of the diilicultv. How c«juld this iiirl communicate the dreadful 
 
THE IVOUY GATE 2-43 
 
 news to her guardian, who liad always been to her considerate, 
 and even affectionate? She shrank from the task. Then she 
 thouglit slic would hand it over to her brother Athclstan. But 
 he was far more concerned about clearing up the hateful business 
 than about softening the blow for Mr. Bering. Or of communi- 
 cating it to George. What should she do ? Mr. Dering was 
 mad. Not mad all the time, hut mad now and then — sometimes 
 every day, sometimes with intervals. This kind of madness, I be- 
 lieve, takes many forms — a fact which should make the strongest 
 men tremble. Sometiuies it lasts a long time before it is found 
 out. Sometimes, even, it is never found out at all. Solicitors 
 and doctors tell queer stories about it. For instance, that story — 
 quite a common story — of an old gentleman of irreproachable 
 reputation, a speaker and leader in religious circles, a man cnor- 
 m.nisly respected by all classes, concerning whom not his bitter- 
 est enemy had a word of scandal — yet, after his death, things de- 
 plorable, things incredible, things to be suppressed at any cost, 
 were brougiit to the knowledge of his lawyers. At certain times 
 ho went mad, you see. Then he forgot who he was ; he forgot 
 his reputation, his place in the world, and the awful penalties of 
 being found out; he went down; he lived among people of 
 th'i baser sort, and became an inferior man with another name, 
 and died without ever knowing liis own dreadful record. An- 
 other of whom I have heard was mad for fifteen years, yet the 
 chief of a great house, who all the time conducted the business 
 with great ability, lie was found out at last because he began to 
 buy things. Once he sent home six grand pianos ; another time 
 he bought all the cricket-bats that were in stock at a certain 
 shop; and another time he bought all the hats that fitted him at 
 ail the hatters' shops within a circle whose centre was ricc.idilly 
 Circus and tlic radius a mile long. After this they gave him a 
 cheerful companion, who took walks abroad with him, and he re- 
 tired from active business. Some philosophers maintain that we 
 are all gone mad on certain points. In that case, if one does not 
 know it or suspect it, and if our friends neither know nor suspect 
 it, what does it matter ? There are also, we all know, points on 
 which some of us arc mad, and everybody knows it. There is the 
 man who believes that he is a great poet, and publishes volume 
 after vulumo, all at his uwn expense, to [)ruvc it ; there is the man 
 —but he ought tu be taken away and put ou a treadmill -who 
 
244 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 writes letters to the papers on every conceivable subject, witli 
 tbe-day-beforc-yesterday's wisdom; there is tlie man who thinks 
 he can paint — we all know plenty of men mad like unto these, 
 and we are, for the most part, willin<j; to tolerate them. Con- 
 siderations, however, on the universality of the complaint fail to 
 bring consolation to any except those wlio have it not. In the 
 same way nobody who dies of any disease is comforted with the 
 thoui^ht of the rarity or the frc(]ucncy of that disease; its inter- 
 esting character has no charm for him. Nor is the man on his 
 way to be banged consoled by the reminder that thousands liavc 
 trodden that flowery way before him. To Mr. Dering — proud of 
 his own intclleot, sclf-suffificnt and strong — the discovery of those 
 things would certainly bring humiliation intolerable, pcrhaj)s even 
 shame unto death itself. How — oh! Ikjw could things be man- 
 aged so as to spare him this pain? 
 
 Elsie's diflicullies grew greater the more she piMidered over 
 them. It was past midnight when she closed the volume of 
 thought and her eyes at the same moment. 
 
 In the morning Athelstan kissed her gravely. 
 
 "Do you remember what you said last night, Elsie? You said 
 tbat we could rest at peace, because the thing was done." 
 
 " Well, Athelstan, the words could only have one meaning, 
 could they ? I mean, if you want me to be more explicit, that 
 tbc thing is actually done. My dear brother, I know all about it 
 now. I know who signed that first check — who sent the com- 
 missionnaire to the bank, who received the notes — who placed 
 them in the safe — who wrote about the transfers — who received 
 the letters, and carried on the wbole business. I can place u\y 
 hand upon him to-day, if necessary." 
 
 "Without doubt? With proofs, ample proofs?" 
 
 "Without the least doubt — with a cloud of witnesses. My 
 dear brother, do not doubt me. I liave done it. Yet — for a rea- 
 son — to spare one most deeply concerned — for the pity of it — if 
 you knew — give me a few days — a week, perbaps — to find a way 
 if I can. If I cannot then the cruel truth must be told bluntly, 
 wbatevcr happens." 
 
 "Remember all tlie miscbief the old villain ])as done." 
 
 "The old villain? Oh! you mean Checkley ?" 
 
 " Of course ; wbom should I mean ?" 
 
 "Nobody — nothing. Brother, if you bid me speak to-day I 
 
THE IVORY GATE 245 
 
 will speak. No one has a better right to command. But if tliis 
 — this person — were to die to-day, my proofs are so ample that 
 there could be no doubt possible. Yes, even my mother — it is 
 dreadful to say it — but she is so hard and so obstinate — even my 
 mother would acknowledge that there is no doubt possible." 
 
 Athelstan stooped and kissed her. " Order it exactly as you 
 please, my child. If I have waited eiglit long years I can wait 
 another week. Another week ! Then I shall at last be able to 
 speak of my people at home. I shall go back to California with 
 belongings like other men. I shall be able to make friends; I 
 can even, if it comes in my way, make love, Elsie. Do you think 
 you understand quite what this means to me?" 
 
 lie left her presently to go about his work. 
 
 In the corner of the room stood her easel with tljc portrait, the 
 fancy portrait, of Mr. Dering the l>enevolent — Mr. Dering the 
 Optimist — Mr. Dering as lie might be with the same features and 
 tlie least little change in their habitual setting. 
 
 Elsie stood before this picture, looking at it curiously. 
 
 "Yes," she murmured, "you are a dear, tender-hearted, kindly, 
 benevolent, simple old thing. You believe in human nature; you 
 think that everybody is longing for the kingdom of Heaven; you 
 think that everybody would be comfortable in it; that everybody 
 longs for honesty. IJcforc I altered you and improved your face, 
 you were justice without mercy ; you were law without leniency ; 
 you wcro experience which knows that all men arc wicked by 
 choice when they get the chance ; you had no soft place any- 
 where; you held that society exists only for the preservation of 
 property. Oli ! you arc so much more lovable now — if you would 
 only think so — if you only knew. You believe in men and wom- 
 en — tliat is a wonderful advance — and you have done well to change 
 your old name to your new name. I think I should like you al- 
 ways to be Edmund Gray. Hut how am I to tell you? How, in 
 the name of wonder, am 1 to tell you that you are Edmund Gray ? 
 First of all, I must see you ; I must break the thing gently ; I 
 must force you somehow to recollect as soon as possible. I must 
 make you, somcliow, understand what has liappened." 
 
 She had promised to meet Mr. Edmiind Gray at his chambers 
 that evening at five. He showed his confidence in her by giving 
 her a latcli-key, so that she might let herself in if he happened not 
 to be in the chambers when she called at five. She would try, 
 
24 G 
 
 THE IVOIIV OATR 
 
 then, to brin^ liiin back to Iiimsolf. SIic pictured liis amazement 
 — liis shame — at finding iiinisclf in strancjc rooms, under anotlicr 
 name, preacliini; wild doctrines. It would be too much for him. 
 Better go to Mr. Dering, the real Mr. Dcring, and try to move 
 liim, in his own office, to recollect what had happened. Because, 
 yon sec, Elsie, unacquainted with these obscure forms of brain- 
 disease, imagined that she might, by artful question and sugges- 
 tion, clear that clouded memory, and show the lawyer his double 
 figuring as a Socialist. 
 
 She waited till the afternoon. She arrived at New Square about 
 three, two hours before her engagement at Cray's Inn. 
 
 Mr. Dcring received her with his usual kindness. He was aus- 
 terely benignant. 
 
 " I tried to see you last night," slic said untruthfully, because 
 the words conveyed the impression that she had called upon him. 
 
 " No, no. I was — I suppose I was out. 1 went out — " His 
 face clouded, and he stopped. 
 
 "Yes — you were saying, Mr. Dcring, that you went out." 
 
 " Last night was Sunday, wasn't it? Yes, I went out. Where 
 did I go?" He drummed the table with his fingers irritably. 
 " Where did I go ? Where? What does it matter?" 
 
 " Nothing at all. Only it is strange that you should not re- 
 member." 
 
 " I told you once before, Elsie," he said — " I suffer — I labor — 
 under curious fits of forgetful ncss. Now, at this moment, I — it 
 really is absurd — I cannot remember where I was last night. I 
 am an old man. It is the privilege of age to forget yesterday, 
 and to remember fifty years ago." 
 
 " I was talking last night to an old gentleman who said much 
 the same. He has chambers, where he goes to write; he has a 
 lecture-hall, where he preaches to the people — " 
 
 Mr. Dcring looked at her in mild surprise. What did she 
 mean ? Elsie colored. 
 
 "Of course," she said, " this has nothing to do with you." 
 
 " How I spent the evening I know very well," Mr. Dcring went 
 on. "Yet I forget. That is the trouble with me. My house- 
 keeper will not give me dinner on Sunday evening, and on that 
 day I go to my club. I get there about five or six. I read the 
 magazines till seven. Sometimes I drop ofiE to sleep — we old fel- 
 lows will drop off, you know — about seven I have dinner. After 
 
THE IVORY GATE 247 
 
 dinner I take my coflcc, and read — or talk, if there is any one I 
 know. About nine I walk home. Tliat has been my custom for 
 many years. Therefore, that is how I spent the evening of yes- 
 terday. But, you see, I cannot remember it. Breakfast I re- 
 member, and the churcli service afterwards. Lunclieon I remem- 
 ber; getting liome at ten I remember; but the interval between 
 I cannot remember." 
 
 " Do you forget other things ? Do you remember Saturday af- 
 ternoon, for instance ?" 
 
 " Yes — perfectly. I left the office about five. I walked straight 
 home. No, no — that isn't right. It was nearly eight when I got 
 home. I remember. The diimcr was spoiled. No, I did not go 
 straight home." 
 
 " Perhaps you stayed here till past seven ?" 
 
 "No — no. I remember looking at the clock as I put on 
 my hat. It was half-past five when I went out — five. What 
 did I do between half-past five o'clock and eight? I forget. You 
 see my trouble, Elsie — I forget. Perhaps I went to the club; 
 perhaps I strolled about ; perhaps I came back here. There arc 
 three hours to account for — and I have fortrottcn them all." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 WILL HE U E M E M n E R ? 
 
 SiioiTLD she tell him ? She could not. The way must, some- 
 how, be prepared. No, she could not tell him just so — in cold 
 blood. How would he look if she were to begin, " I have found 
 out the mystery. You arc P^dmund Gray. During the hours 
 that you cannot recall you are playing the part of a Socialist 
 teacher and leader ; you are actively propagating the doctrines 
 tliat you hold to be dangerous and misleading?" Wjjat would 
 he say? What would he feel when he realized the trnth? 
 
 On the table lay a copy of the Times — a fortnight-old copy — 
 open at the place where there was a certain letter from a certain 
 I'Almund Gray. Elsie pointed to it. Mr. Dering sighed. "Again," 
 he said, " they persecute me. Now it is a letter addressed to Ed- 
 
248 THE IVOKV GATE 
 
 mund Gray lying on my tabic; now it is the bill of a pernicious 
 lecture by Ivlimind Gray; to-day it is this paper, with the letter 
 that appeared a week or two ai;o. AVho brouijht it here ? Check- 
 ley says he didn't. Who put it on my table?" 
 
 Elsie made no reply. It was useless to test her former theory 
 of the boy under the tabic. 
 
 " As for the man who wrote this letter," Mr. Dcrincj went on — 
 " he bears the name of our forger, and writes from the same ad- 
 dress. Yet he is not the man — of that I am convinced. This 
 man is a fool, because he believes in the lionesty of mankind; he 
 is a generous fool, because he believes that people would rather 
 be good than bad. Nonsense ! They would rather be stealing 
 from each other's plates, like the moidvcys, than dividing openly. 
 He has what they call a good heart — that is, he is a soft creature 
 — and he is full of pity for the poor. Now, iu my young days 
 I was taught — what after-experience has only brought more home 
 to mc — that the poor arc poor in consecjuencc of their vices. Wo 
 used to say to them, 'Go away; practise thrift; be sober; work 
 hard. By exercising these virtues we rose out of your ranks. By 
 continuing to exercise them we remain on these levels. Go away. 
 There is no remedy for disease contracted by vice. Go away and 
 suffer.' That's what wc said formerly. What they say now is, 
 'Victims of greed! You are filled with every virtue possible to 
 luimanity. You are dowu-trodden by the capitalist. You arc 
 oppressed. Make and produce for others to enjo}'. We will 
 change all this. We will put the fruits — the harvest — of your 
 labor in your own hands, and you shall show the world your jus- 
 tice, your noble disinterestedness, your generosity, your love of 
 the common weal.' That's the new gospel, Elsie, but I prefer 
 the old." 
 
 Strange that a nuan should at one time hold, and preach with 
 so much fervor and earnestness, the very creed which, at another 
 time, he denounced as fiercely ! 
 
 "This man, and such as he," continued Mr. Dering, lifted out 
 of his anxieties by the subject, " would destroy property in order 
 to make the workman rich. Wonderful doctrine ! He would 
 advance the world by destroying the only true incentive and stim- 
 ulant for work, invention, civilization, association, and every good 
 and useful thing. lie would destroy property. And then ? can 
 he not see what would follow ? Why, these people do not know 
 
THE IVORY GATE 249 
 
 tlic very alphabet of tlic thing. By property, they incan the pos- 
 session by individuals of land or money. But that is only a part 
 of property. Take that away, and the individual remains. And 
 he has t^ot — what you cannot take away — the rest of his property, 
 by which he will speedily repair the temporary loss. Consider, 
 child, if you can, what does a man possess? Lie has, I say, prop- 
 erty — all his own — which cannot be taken from him or shared 
 with another — property in his brain, his trade, liis wit, his craft, 
 his art, his skill, his invention, his enterprise, his quickness to grip 
 an opportunity. Again, he has his wife and children — sometimes 
 a very valuable property ; he has, besides, his memories, his knowl- 
 edge, his experience, his thoughts, his hopes, his projects, and his 
 intentions; he has his past and he has his future; he has, or 
 thinks he has, his inheritance in the kingdom of Heaven. Take 
 away all these things bit by bit, what is left? Nuthing. Not 
 even the shadow of a man. Not even a naked fii^jure. This, 
 Elsie, is property. These things separate the individual from the 
 mass, and each man from his neighbor. A shallow fanatic, like 
 this Edmund Gray, thinks that wealth is the whole of property. 
 AVhy, I say, it is only a part of property ; it is the external and 
 visible side of certain forms of property. Take all the wealth 
 away to-day — even if yon make ten thousand laws, the same qual- 
 ities — the same forms of property — the same lack of those qual- 
 ities will produce like results to-morrow. Do you now under- 
 stand, child, what is meant by property ? It is everything which 
 makes humanity. AVcalth is only the symbol or proof of society 
 so organized that all these qualities — the whole property of a man 
 — can be exercised freely and without injustice." 
 
 " I see," said Elsie, gazing with wonder undisguised. Was 
 this last night's prophet ? Could the same brain hold two such 
 diverse views? 
 
 "You are surprised, child. That is because you have never 
 taken or understood this larger view of property. It is new to 
 you. Confess, however, that it lends sacrcdness to things which 
 we are becoming accustomed to have derided. Believe mc, it is 
 not without reason that some of us venerate the laws which have 
 been slowly, very slowly, framed ; and the forms which have been 
 slowly, very slowly, framed, as experience has taught us wisdom 
 for the protection of man — working man, not loafing, lazy man. 
 It is wise and right of us to maintain all those institutions which 
 11* 
 
250 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 encourage the best among us to work and invent and distribute. 
 By these forms alone is industry protected and enterprise encour- 
 aged. Tiien such ;is tliis Edmund Gray" — lie laid his hand again 
 upon the letter — " will tell you that pro[)crty — property — causes 
 certain crimes — ergo, property must be destroyed. Everything 
 desirable causes its own peculiar class of crime. Consider the 
 universal passion of love. It daily causes crimes innumerable. 
 Yet no one has yet proposed the abolition of love — eh?" 
 
 "I believe not," Elsie replied, smiling. "I hope no one will 
 —yet." 
 
 "No. But the desire for property, which is equally universal — 
 which is tlie most potent factor in the cause of law and order — 
 they desire and propose to destroy. I have shown you that it is 
 impossible. Let the com|)anics pay no dividends ; let all go to the 
 working-men ; let the lands pay no rent; the houses no rent; let 
 the merchants' capital yield no profit — to-morrow the clever man 
 will be to the front again, using for his own purposes the dull and 
 the stupid and the lazy. That is my opinion. Forgive this ser- 
 mon, Elsie. You started me on the subject. It is one on which 
 I have felt very strongly for a long time. In fact, the more I 
 think upon it the more I am convinced that the most important 
 thing in any social system is the protection of the individual — per- 
 sonal liberty; freedom of contract; right to enjoy in safety what 
 Lis ability, his enterprise, and his dexterity may gain for him." 
 
 Elsie made no reply for a moment. The conversation had 
 taken an unexpected turn. The vehemence of the upholder of prop- 
 erty overwhelmed her as much as the earnestness of its destroyer. 
 Besides, what chance has a girl of onc-and-twenty, on a subject 
 of which she knows nothing, with a man who has thought upon 
 it for fifty years? Besides, she was thinking all the time of the 
 other man. And now there was no doubt — none whatever — that 
 Mr. Dering knew nothing of Mr. Edmund Gray — nothing at all. 
 lie knew nothing and suspected nothing of the truth. And which 
 should she believe? The man who was filled with pity for the 
 poor, and saw nothing but their sufferings; or the man who was 
 full of sympathy with the rich, and saw in the poor nothing but 
 their vices? Are all men who work oppressed? Or are there no 
 oppressed at all, but only some lazy and stupid and some clever? 
 
 *' Tell me more another time," she said, with a sigh. *' Come 
 back to the case — the robbery. Is anything discovered yet?" 
 
THE IVORY GATE 251 
 
 " I have heard nothing. George refuses to go on with the case, 
 out of some scruple because — " 
 
 " Oh ! I know the cause. Very cruel things have been said 
 about him. Do you not intend to stand by your own partner, Mr. 
 Dcring?" 
 
 " To stand by him ? Why, what can I do ?" 
 
 "You know what has been said of him — what is said of him — 
 why I have had to leave home — " 
 
 " I know what is said — certainly. It matters nothing what is 
 said. The only important thing is to find out — and that they 
 cannot do." 
 
 "They want to connect Edmund Gray with the forgeries, and 
 they arc trying the wrong way. Checkley is not the connecting 
 link, nor is George." 
 
 "You talk in riddles, child." 
 
 " Perhaps. Do you think, yourself, that George has had any- 
 thing whatever to do with the business?" 
 
 "If you put it so, I do not. If you ask me what I have a right 
 to tbink — it is that everything is possible." 
 
 "That is what you said about Athclstan. Yet now his inno- 
 cence is established." 
 
 " That is to say, his guilt is not proved. Find me the man who 
 forged that check, and I will acknowledge that he is innocent. 
 Until tlien he is as guilty as the other man— Checkley — who was 
 also named in connection with the matter. Mind, I say, I do not 
 believe tliat my partner could do this thing. I will tell him so. I 
 liave told him so. If it bad to be done over again, I would ask 
 liim to become my partner. But all things are possible. My 
 brother is hot upon it. Well — let him search as he pleases. In 
 such a case the solution is always the simplest and the most un- 
 expected. I told him only this morning — lie had lunch with mo 
 — that he was on a wrong scent, but ho is obstinate. Let him 
 go on." 
 
 "Yes — let him divide a family — keep up bitterness between 
 mother ami son — make a life-long separation between those who 
 ought to love each other most — Oh ! it is shameful ! It is 
 shameful ! And you make no effort — none at all — to stop it.' 
 
 "What can I do? What can I say, more than I have said? 
 If they would only not accuse each other — but find out somc- 
 thinix!" 
 
252 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 " Mr. Dering — forgive mc — what I am going to say " — slic be- 
 gan with jerks. "Tlic lionor of my brotlicr — of my lover — arc 
 at stake.'' 
 
 " Say, child, what yoii please." 
 
 "I think that perhaps" — she did not dare to look at him — 
 *' if you could remember sometimes those dropped and forgotten 
 evenings — those liours when you do not know what you have said 
 and done — if you could only remember a little — we might find 
 out more." 
 
 He watched her face blushing, and her eyes confused, and her 
 voice stammering, and he saw that there was something behind — 
 something that she hinted, but would not or could not express. 
 He sat upright, suspicious and disquieted. 
 
 " Tell mc what you mean, child." 
 
 " I cannot — if you do not remember anything. You come late 
 in the morning — sometimes two hours late. You think it is only 
 ten o'clock when it is twelve. You do not know where you have 
 been for the last two hours. Try to remember that. You were 
 late on Saturday morning. Perhaps this morning. Where were 
 you ?" 
 
 His face was quite white. He understood that something was 
 going — soon — to happen. 
 
 " I know not, Elsie — indeed — I cannot remember. Where was 
 I?" 
 
 "You leave here at five. You have ordered dinner, and your 
 housekeeper tells mc that you come home at ten or eleven. Where 
 arc you all that time?" 
 
 " I am at the club." 
 
 " Can you remember? Think — were you at the club last night? 
 George went there to find you, but you were not there — and you 
 were not at liome. Where were you ?" 
 
 He tried to speak, but he could not. He shook his head — he 
 gasped twice. 
 
 "You cannot remember? Oh! try, Mr. Dering — try — for the 
 sake of everybody — to put an end to this miserable condition — 
 try." 
 
 " I cannot reraeraber," he said again feebly. 
 
 " Is it possible — just possible — that while you are away — during 
 these intervals — you yourself may be actually in the company r)f 
 this Socialist — this Edmund Gray ?" 
 
THE IVORY GATE 253 
 
 " Elsie ! wliat do you mean ?" 
 "I mean — can you not remember?" 
 
 " You mean more, child ! Do you know what you mean « If 
 wliat you suggest is true, then I must be mad-mad. Do you 
 mean It? Do you mean it? Do you understand what you say?" 
 Iry— try to remember," she replied. "That is all I mean. 
 iMy dear guardian, is there any one to whom I am more grateful 
 than yourself? You have given me a fortune, and my lover an 
 income. Try— try to remember." 
 She left him witliout more words. 
 
 He sat looking straight before him-the horror of the most 
 awful lung that can befall a man upon him. Presently he 
 touched his bell, and his old clerk appeared. 
 "Checklcy," he said, "tell me the truth."* 
 " I always do," he replied surlily. 
 
 " I have been suffering from fits of forgetful n ess. Have you 
 observed any impairing of the faculties? When a man's mental 
 powers are decaying he forgets things; he loses the power of 
 work; his old skill leaves him; he cannot distinguish between 
 good work and bad. He sliows his mental decay, I believe, in 
 physical ways-he shuffles as he walks; he stoops and shambles 
 -and in his speech-he wanders and he repeats-and in his food 
 and nianner of eating Have you observed any of these symptoms 
 upon me, Checkley ?" "^ ' 
 
 "Not one. You arc as upright as a lance; you cat like 
 five -and -twenty; your talk is as good and your work is as 
 good as when you were forty. Don't think such thincrs. To 
 be sure, you do forget a bit. But not your work. You only 
 forget sometimes what you did out of the office-as if that 
 matters. Do you remember the case you tackled yesterday af- 
 tcrnoon ? -^ j " 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "Do you tell me that any man-forty years younger than you 
 -could have tackled that case more neatly ? Gam ! Go Ion. '" 
 Checklcy went back to his office. "^ ' 
 
 V^ ho put her on to such a suspicion ? What did she mean by 
 .t? Of course its nonsense?" So reassuring himself, he vet 
 remained disquieted. For he could not remember 
 
 At half-past five or so Mr. Edmund Gray arrived at his cham- 
 
254 THE IVOKY GATE 
 
 bcrs. The outer door was closed, but he found liis disciple wait- 
 injj; for liirn. She had been there an hour or more, she said. She 
 was reading one of the books he had rcconimciided to her. With 
 the words of Mr. Dcring in her cars she read as if two voices were 
 speaking to her — talking to each other across her. 
 
 She laid down the book, and rose to greet him. "Master," she 
 said, " I have come from Mr. Dering. lie is your solicitor, you 
 told me." 
 
 " Assuredly. He manages my affairs." 
 
 "It is curious — I asked him if he knew you — and he said tliat 
 he knew nothing about you." 
 
 "That is curious, certainly. My solicitor for — for many years, 
 lie nmst liavc mistaken the name. Or — he grows old — perhaps 
 he forgets people.'' 
 
 " Do you often see him ?"' 
 
 " I saw him this morning. I took him my letter to the Times. 
 lie is narrow — very narrow — in liis views. \Vc argued the thing 
 for a bit. Ijiit, really, one might as well argue with a stick as 
 with Dering when property is concerned. So he forgets, does he? 
 Poor old chap I lie forgets — Well, wc all grow old together." 
 He sighed. " It is his time to-day and mine to-morrow. My 
 scholar, let us talk." 
 
 The scholar left her master at seven. On her way out she ran 
 against Checkley, who was prowling round the court. " You !" 
 he cried. " You ! Ah ! I've caught you, have I ? On Satur- 
 day afternoon I thought I see you going into No. 22. Now 
 I've caught you coming out, have I?" 
 
 "Checkley," she said, "if you are insolent I shall have to speak 
 to Mr. Dering," and walked away. 
 
 "There's another of 'em," Checkley murmured, looking after 
 lier — " a liardcncd one, if ever there was. All for her lover and 
 her brother ! A pretty nest of 'cm. And calls herself a lady !" 
 
TUE IVOUy OATE 266 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE LESSON OF THE STREET 
 
 "Child," said the master, "it is time that jou sliould talcc an- 
 other lesson." 
 
 " I am ready. Let us bei^in." She crossed her hands in her 
 lap, and looked up obedient. 
 
 "Not a lesson this time from books. A practical lesson from 
 men and women, boys and girls, cliildren and infants in arms. 
 Let us go forth, and hear the teaching of the wrecks and the 
 slaves. I will show you creatures who are men and women, mu- 
 tilated in body and mind — mutilated by the social order. Come. 
 I will show you, not by words, but by sight, why property must 
 be destroyed." 
 
 It was seven o'clock, when Mr. Bering ought to have been 
 thinking of Lis dinner, that Mr. Edmund Gray proposed this ex- 
 pedition. Now, since that other discourse on the sacredness of 
 property, a strange thing had fallen upon Elsie. "Whenever her 
 master spoke and taught, she seemed to hear, following him, the 
 otlier voice speaking and teaching exactly the opposite. Some- 
 times — this is absurd, but many true things are absurd — she 
 seemed to hear both voices speaking together; yet she lieard 
 them distinctly and apart. Looking at Mr. Dcring, she knew 
 what he was saying; looking at Mr. Edmund Gray, she heard 
 what he was saying. So that, no sooner had these words been 
 spoken, than, like a response in church, there arose the voice of 
 Mr. Dcring. And it said, "Come. You shall see the wretched 
 lives and the sufferings of those who are punished because their 
 fathers or themselves have refused to work and save. Not to 
 be able to get property is the real curse of labor. It is no evil 
 to work, provided one chooses the work and creates for one's self 
 property. The curse is to have to work for starvation wages at 
 what can never create property if the worker should live for a 
 thousand years." 
 
256 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 Of tlic two voices she preferred the one wliicli promised the 
 abolition of poverty and crime. She was young ; she was gener- 
 ous; any hope of a return of the Saturnian reign made her heart 
 glow. Of the two old men — the madman and the sane man — 
 she loved the madman. Who would not love such a man ? Why, 
 he knew how to make the whole world happy ! Ever since the 
 time of Adam wc iiavc been looking and calling out and praying 
 for such a man. Every year tlie world runs after such a man. 
 lie promises, but he docs not perform. The world tries his pat- 
 ent medicine, and is no bettor. Then, the year after, the world 
 runs after another man. 
 
 Elsie rose and followed the master. It was always willi a cer- 
 tain anxiety that she sat or talked with him. Always she dreaded 
 lest, by some unlucky acci<lcnt, he should awaken and be restored 
 to himself suddenly and without warning — .say in his lecture-hall. 
 IIow would he look? What should she say ? "See — in this place, 
 for many years past, you have, in course of madness, preached the 
 very doctrines which in hours of sanity you have most reprobated. 
 These people around you are your disciples. You have taught 
 them, by reason and by illustration, with vehemence and earnest- 
 ness, to regard the destruction of property as the one thing need- 
 ful for the salvation of the world. What will you say now? Will 
 you begin to teach the contrary ? — they will chase you out of the 
 hall for a madman. Will you go on with your present teaching? 
 — you will despise yourself for a madman." Truly a difficult 
 position. Habit, however, was too strong. There was little chance 
 that Edmund Gray among his own people, and at work upon liis 
 own hobby, would become Edward Dering. 
 
 They went out together. lie led her — wliither? It mattered 
 not. North and south and east and west you may find every- 
 wiiere the streets and houses of the very poor, hidden away behind 
 the streets of the working people and the well-to-do. 
 
 The master stopped at the entrance of one of those streets — it 
 seemed to Elsie as if she were standing between two men both 
 alike, with different eyes. At the corner was a public-house with 
 swinging doors. It was filled with men talking, but not loudly. 
 Now and then a woman went in or came out, but they were 
 mostly men. It was a street long and narrow, squalid to the last 
 degree, with small, two-storied houses on either side. The bricks 
 were grimy; the mortar was constantly falling out between them; 
 
THE IVORY GATE 257 
 
 tlic woodwork of doors and windows was insufTurably grimy; 
 many of the panes were broken in the windows. It was full of 
 cliildren ; they swarmed ; they ran about in tlie road, they danced 
 on the pavement, they ran and jumped and lauirhed as if their lot 
 was the happiest in the world and their fut\ire the bri-hte'^t 
 Moreover, most of them, thon-h their parents were steeped in 
 poverty, looked well-fed and oven rosy. " All these children " 
 said Mr. Edmund Gray, " will grow up without a trade; they will 
 enter life with nothing but tlieir hands and their legs and 'their 
 time. That is the whole of their inheritance. Thcv go to school 
 and they like school ; but as for the things they learn, they will 
 forget them, or they will have no use for them. Hewers of wood 
 and drawers of water shall they be; they arc condemned already 
 liiatisthe system; wc take thousands of children every year and 
 we condemn them to servitude— whatever genius may be I'yincr 
 a.nong then,. It is like throwing treasures into the sea, or bur "- 
 uv^ the fruits of the earth. Waste ! Waste ! Yet, if the system 
 IS to be bolstered up, what help?" 
 
 Said the other voice, "The world must have servants. These 
 are our servants. If they are good at their work they will rise 
 and become upper servants. If they arc good upper servants 
 thoy may nse higher. Their children can rise higher still, and their 
 grandchildren may join us. Service is best for them. Good ser- 
 vice, hard service, will keep them in health and out of tempta- 
 tion. To lament because they are servants is foolish and senti- 
 mental.' 
 
 Standing in the door-ways, sitting on the door-steps, talking to- 
 g.^her, were women-about four times as many women as tlierc 
 were houses. This was because there were as many families as 
 looms, and there were four rooms for every house. As they stood 
 at the end of the street and looked down, Elsie observed that 
 nearly every woman had a baby in her arms, and that there were 
 a great many types or kin.ls of women. That which docs not 
 surprise one in a drawing-room, where every woman is expected 
 to have her individual points, is noticed in a crowd, where, one 
 thinks, the people should be like sheep— all alike 
 
 " A splendid place, this street, for such a student as you should 
 
 be, my scholar. I he master looked up and down; he sniffed 
 
 he a„. which was stuffy, with peculiar satisfaction; he smiled 
 
 npon the grubby houses. " You should come often ; you should 
 
258 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 malcc flic acquaintance of tlic people; yon will find them so 
 human, so desperately iiunian, that you will prosetitiy understand 
 that these women arc your sisters. Change dresses with one of 
 them ; let your hair fall wild; take off your bonnet — " 
 
 "Shall I then be quite like them?" asked Elsie. "Like them, 
 master? Oh ! not quite like them." 
 
 The philosopher obeyed. " Not quite like thcni," lie said. 
 "No, vou could never talk like them." 
 
 lie walked about among the people, who evidently knew liim, 
 because they made way for him, nodded to him, and pretended, 
 such was their j)oliteness, to pay no attention to the young lady 
 who accompanied him. 
 
 "Every one of them is a study," he continued. "I could 
 preach to you on every one as a text. Here is my young friend, 
 Alice I'arden, for instance" — he stopped before a pale girl of 
 seventeen or so, tall and slender, but of drooping ligure, who 
 carried a baby in lier arms. " Look at her. Consider. Alice is 
 foolish, like all the Alices of this street. Alice must needs marry 
 licr chap a year ago, when she was sixteen and he was eighteen. 
 Alice should be still at her club in tlic evening and her work in 
 the daytime. But she must marry, and she is a child-mother. Is 
 he out of work still ?" Alice nodded, and liugged her baby 
 closer. Mr. Edmund Gray shook his head in admonition, but 
 gave her a coin, and went on. " Now, look at this good woman " 
 — he stopped before a door wliere an Amazon was leaning — a 
 woman five feet eight in height, with brawny arms and broad 
 sliouldcrs and a fiery furnace for a face — a most terrible and fear- 
 ful woman. "How arc you this evening, Mrs. Moss? And how 
 is your husband ?" 
 
 Long is the arm of coincidence. Mrs. Moss was just beginning 
 to repose after a row royal ; she was slowly simmering and 
 slowly calming. There had been a row royal — a dispute, an ar- 
 gument, a quarrel, and a figlit — with her liusband. All four were 
 only just concluded. All four had been conducted on the pave- 
 ment, for the sake of coolness and air and space. The residents 
 stood around ; the controversy was sharp and animated ; the lady 
 bore signs of its vehemence in a bruise, rapidly blackening, over 
 one eye, and abrasions on her knuckles. The husband had been 
 conducted by liis friends from the spot to the public-house at the 
 corner, where he was at present pulling himself together, and for- 
 
THE IVORY GATE 259 
 
 gcttinj^ tlic wciglit of his consort's fists, and solacing his spirit 
 with strong drink. 
 
 "How is my luisband?" tlic hidy repeated. "Oh! I'll tell 
 yon — I'll tell you, Mr. Gray, how my husband is. Oh I how is 
 lie ? Go look for him in the public-house. You shall sec how 
 lie is, and what he looks like." She descended two steps, still re- 
 taining the advantage of the lowest. Then, describing a semi- 
 circle with her right arm, she began an impassioned harangue. 
 The residents fled, right and left, not knowing whether in her 
 wrath she might not mistake the whole of them, collectively, for 
 her husband. The men in the public-house, hearing her voice, 
 trembled, and looked apprehensively at the door. But Mr. Gray 
 stood before her without fear. lie know lier better than to run 
 away. The lady respected his courage, and rejoiced in a sympa- 
 thetic listener. Presently she ran down ; she paused ; she gasped ; 
 she caught at her heart ; she choked ; she wept. She sat down 
 on the door-step — this great strong woman, with the brawny arms 
 and the fiery face — and she wept. The residents crept timidly 
 b.ack again, and gathercil round her, murmuring sympathy ; the 
 men in the public-house trembled again. Mr. Gray grasped her by 
 the hand, and murmured a few words of consolation ; for indeed 
 there were great wrongs, such as few wives, even in this street, ex- 
 pect, and undeniable provocations. Then he led his scholar away. 
 
 At the next house he entered, taking Elsie with hira to a room 
 at the back, where a woman sat, making garments. She was a 
 middle-agod woman, and, though very poorly dressed, not in rags; 
 the room was neat, except for the garments lying about. She 
 looked up cheerfully — her eyes were bright, her face was fine — 
 and smiled. " You here, Mr. Gray ?" she said. " Well, I was 
 thinking only yesterday how long it is since you came to sec mc 
 last. I mustn't stop working, but you can talk." 
 
 " This is a very special friend of mine," said the master. " I 
 have known her for ten years, ever since I began to visit the 
 street. She is always cheerful, though she has to live on sweat- 
 ing work and sweating pay; she never complains; she lives like 
 the sparrows, and eats about as much as a sparrow ; she is alwavs 
 respectable; she goes to church on Sundays; she is always neat 
 in her dress. Yet she must be always hungry." 
 
 "Ah!" said the woman, "you'd wonder, miss, if you knew 
 how little a woman can live upon." 
 
260 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 "Ob! but," said Elsie — "to bavc always to live on tbat 
 little !" 
 
 " Slie is tbc dauj^btcr of a man once tliought well-to-do." — 
 " He was most respectable," said tlie woman — " lie died, and 
 left iiotliincj but debts. The family were soon scattered, and — 
 You see this street contains some of those who have fallen low 
 down as well as those who are born low down. It is Misfortune 
 Lane as well as I'overty Lane. To the third and fourth genera- 
 tion, misfortune, when it begins — the reason of its begiiming 
 is the wickedness of one man — still persecutes and follows the 
 family." 
 
 "Thank you, miss," said the woman — "and if you will come 
 again sometimes — Oh ! you needn't be afraid. No one would 
 hurt a friend of Mr. Gray." So they went out. 
 
 On the next door-step, and the next, and the next, there sat 
 women old and young, but all of these had the same look and 
 almost the same features — they were heavy-faced, dull-eyed, 
 thick-lipped, unwashed, and unbrushod. "These," said the master, 
 " are the women who know of nothing better than the life they 
 lead here. They have no hope of rising; they would be unhappy 
 out of this street. They bear children, they bring tiicm up, and 
 they die. It is womanhood at its lowest. They want warmth, 
 food, and drink, and that is nearly all. They are the children and 
 grandchildren of women like tlieniselves, and they are the mothers 
 of women like themselves. Savage lands have no such savagery 
 as this, for the worst savages have some knowledge, and these 
 women have none. They arc mutilated by our system. We 
 liave deprived them of their souls. They are the products of our 
 system. In a better order these people could not exist; they 
 would not be allowed parents or birth. The boy would still be 
 learning his trade, and the girl would be working at hers. That 
 little woman who meets her troubles with so brave a heart has 
 been sweated all her life — ever since her misfortunes began ; she 
 takes it as part of the thing they call life ; she believes that it 
 will be made up to her somehow in another world. I hope it 
 will." 
 
 "All these people," said the other voice, "are what they are 
 because of the follies and the vices of themselves and their fathers. 
 The hoy-husband has no trade. Whose fault is that? The 
 rickety boy and the rickety girl bring into the world a rickety 
 
THE IVUllY GATE 2G1 
 
 baby. Whose fault is that ? Let them grow worse instead of 
 better, until they learn by sharper suffering that vice and folly 
 bring their punishment." 
 
 "You sec the children," continued the master, "and tlic 
 mothers. Yon do not sec any old men, because this sort mostly 
 die before they reach the age of sixty. Those who are past work 
 and yet continue to live go into the house. The girls you do not 
 sec, because those who arc not forced to work all the evening as 
 well as all the day are out walking with their sweethearts. Nor 
 the men, because they are mostly in the public-liouse. They are 
 all liand-to-mouth working-men — they live by the job when they 
 can get any. When they are out of work they live upon each 
 other. \Ve hide this kind of thing away in back-streets like 
 this, and we think it isn't dangerous. But it is. Formerly, the 
 wreckage huddled together bred plagues and pestilences, which 
 carried off rich and poor with equal liand, and so revenged it- 
 self, fti other ways the wreckage revenges itself still." 
 
 " This kind of people," said the other voice, " may be dan- 
 gerous. \\c have a police on purpose to meet ^l^e danger. 
 They would be quite as dangerous if you were to give them free 
 dinners and house them without rent. The class represents the 
 untamable clement. They are always a danger. To cry over 
 them is silly and useless." 
 
 They walked down the street. Everybody knew Mr. Edmund 
 (Jray. lie had a word for all. It was evident that he had been 
 a visitor in the street for a long time; he had the air of a pro- 
 prietor; he entered the houses and opened doors and sat down 
 and talked, his disciple standing beside him and looking on. lie 
 asked questions and gave advice — not of a subversive Socialistic 
 kind, but sound advice, recognizing the order that is, not the 
 order that sImjuM be. 
 
 All the rooms in this street were tenanted, mostly a family to 
 each. In many of thcra work was going on still, though it was 
 already eight o'clock. Sometimes it would be a woman sitting 
 alone in her room like a prisoner in a cell, stitching for dear life ; 
 sometimes throe or four women or girls, sitting all together, 
 stitching for dear life; sometimes a whole family, little children 
 and all, making matches, making canvas bags, making paper 
 bags, making card-bo.xes, all making — making — making for dear 
 life. Aud the fingers did not stop, and the eyes were not lifted. 
 
262 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 tliough tlic visitors opened the door and came in and asked ques- 
 tions, to- which one replied in the nanie of all the rest. 
 
 It is an old, old story — everybody knows the slum ; people go 
 to gaze upon it ; it is one of the chief sifjhts of Victorian London, 
 just as a hundred and fifty years aijo it was one of the slights 
 to see the women tlofrired at IJridewcll. Not such a very great 
 advance in civilization, j)crhaps, after all. 
 
 "It is a hive — the place is swarming witli life," said the girl, 
 whn had never bcfi>re seen such a street. 
 
 " Life means humanity. All these people are so like you, Tuy 
 seh'ilar, that you would be surprised. You would not be like 
 them if you were dressed in these things, but they are like you, 
 Tiiey want the same things as you — they have the same desires — 
 they suffer the same pains. What makes your happiness? Food, 
 warmth, suflicicncy, not too much work. These arc the ele- 
 ments for you as \w\\ as for them. In my system they will 
 liave all these — and then perhaps they will build up, as ymi have 
 done, an edifice of knowledge, art, and sweet thoughts. But they 
 are all like you. And most in one thing. For all women of all 
 classes, there is one thing needful. These girls, like you, want 
 love. They all want love. Oh, child ! they arc so like you — so 
 very like you — these poor women of the lowest class. So very 
 like their proud sisters." lie paused for a moment. Elsie made 
 no reply. " You see," he continued, " they are so hard at work 
 that they cannot even lift their eyes to look at you — not even at 
 vou, though they so seldom see a girl among them so lovely and 
 so well dressed. One would have thought — but there is the whip 
 that drives — that dreadful whip — it hangs over them and drives 
 them all day long without rest or pause. Their work pays their 
 rent, and keeps them alive. It just keeps them alive, and that is 
 all. No more. It must be hard to work all day long for an- 
 other person, if you come to think of it. Happily, they do not 
 think. And all this grinding poverty, this terrible work, that 
 one family may be able to live in a great house and to do noth- 
 ing." 
 
 " They are working," said the other voice, " because one man 
 has had the wit to create a market for their work. His thrift, 
 his enterprise, his clearness of sight, have made it possible for 
 these girls to find the work that keeps them. If they would have 
 the sense not to marry recklcbslv there would be fewer working- 
 
THE IVORY GATE 203 
 
 Cjirls, and wages would go up. If tlicir employer raised their 
 wages only a penny a day he would benefit them but little, and 
 would ruin himself. They must learn — if they can — the lesson 
 of forethought by their own sufferings. No one can help 
 them." 
 
 As Mr. Edmund Gray walked into the houses and out again 
 Elsie went with him, or she waited outside while he went in. 
 Sonietimes she heard the chink of coin ; sometimes she heard 
 words of thanks. The Socialist, whatever he taught, practised the 
 elementary form of charity possible only for those who have 
 money. Elsie remarked this little point, but said nothing. 
 
 " What you sec here," said the master, " is the lowest class of 
 all — if one ever gets to the lowest level. For my own part, I have 
 seen men and women so wretched that you would have called 
 them jiiiserrimi — of all created beings the most wretched. Yet 
 have I afterwards found others more wretched still. In this street 
 are those who make the lowest things; those who can make noth- 
 ing, and have no trade, and live on odd jobs; and those who can 
 neither make nor work, but thieve and lie about." 
 
 "I see all that; but, dear master, what will your new order do 
 for such people? Will it make those who will not work indus- 
 trious ?" 
 
 " It will give every producer the fruits of his own labor ; it 
 will teach a trade to every man, and find men work. And those 
 who cannot work, it will lock up until they die. They shall have 
 no chililren. Perhaps it will kill them all. It might be better. 
 We will have no human failures in our midst. That street is full 
 of lessons, all calling aloud for the destruction of property." 
 
 Then the other voice spoke : " The presence of the human fail- 
 ure is a lesson always before us — a warning and a lesson to rich 
 and poor alike. As he is, so all may be. None are so rich but 
 they may be brought to poverty ; none so poor but they may 
 be poorer. So far from hiding away the wreckage, it is always 
 in our sight. It prowls about tlie streets; we can never es- 
 cape it. And it fills all hearts with terror ; it spurs all men to 
 industry and invention and perseverance. The human failure in- 
 spires a never-ending hymn in praise of property." 
 
264 TUE IVOllY GATE 
 
 CIIArXER XXVIII 
 
 THE LESSON OF THE STREET— (Co»«nU€d) 
 
 Elsie's ccu'iJc stoppcil to tijrcct a woman wlioin lie knew. She 
 had the usual baby on her arm. Slic was a sad-faced woman, 
 with some refinement in licr looks ; she was wretchedly dressed, 
 thin, pale, and dejected. 
 
 " The san)e story ?" 
 
 *' Yes, "^ir. It's always the same," she sifrhcd liopelcssly. 
 " lint he would work if he could ^et anything to do. Nobody 
 will employ a man who's had a misfortune. It's hard — be- 
 cause such a thing may happen to anybody. It's like measles, 
 my husband says, lie can't get drunk, because there's no money. 
 That's my only comfort." 
 
 He gave her some money, and she passed on her way. 
 
 " Ilcr husband was a clerk," Mr. Gray explained, " who took to 
 drink and robbed his employer. His father was a barrister, who 
 died young. His grandfather was a well-known — almost a great 
 lawyer. I know the whole family history. I learned it" — he 
 stopped for a moment, as if his memory suddenly failed him — 
 "somehow — a long time ago. It is a story which shows how 
 our sins and follies fall upon our own children. This family 
 sprang from the gutter. First, the working-man ; then bis son, 
 the shopkeeiier; then his grandson, who became a great lawyer; 
 then his great-grantlson, not so great a lawyer. He, you see, is 
 the first of the family who begins life as a gentleman and is 
 brought up among gentlemen ; he inherited money ; he had a 
 practice ; he married in the class called gentle, and had children. 
 But he lost all his money, and in despair he killed himself. Cous- 
 inly affection is a cold thing at best. It helped the widow to a 
 pittance, and sent her boys to a cheap school. At fifteen they 
 had to take whatever employment they could get. Observe that 
 this branch of the family was now going downhill very fast. 
 The future of a bov who has been tauirlit no trade and haa eu- 
 
THE IVORY GATE 2G5 
 
 tcrcd no profession is black indeed. One of the boys went out to 
 New Zealand, whicli lias little to <rive a friendless boy. Another 
 enlisted, served three years, and has never got any work since. I 
 believe he carries boards about the street. Another became a 
 tenth-rate actor, and now starves on fifteen shillings a week, paid 
 irregularly. Another — the youngest — was put into a merchant's 
 olHoe. lie rose to a hundred and twenty pounds a year; he mar- 
 ried a girl of the clerkly class — that woman you saw ; he took to 
 drink; he embezzled his master's money; he went to prison; lie 
 is now liopelessly ruined, lie cannot get any lower in the social 
 scale. What will his cliildrcn do? They have no friends. They 
 will grow up like the children around them ; they will join the 
 hopeless casuals; they will be hewers of wood. Property, my 
 child — property has done this. He stole. In our society no- 
 body will be tempted to steal. He drank — with us he would be 
 kept judiciously under contiol until he could be trusted again. 
 That would be the care of the State. He is another victim of 
 property. When his grandfather was framing Acts of Parliament 
 for the protection of property, he did not dream that he was mak- 
 ing another engine for the oppression of his grandchildren." 
 
 Said the other voice: " We rise by our virtues. We sink by our 
 vices. Let these people suffer. Their sufferings should make the 
 rest of us wiser. Teach the children to rise again as their great- 
 grandfather rose. Do not contend against the great law which 
 metes out suffering in return for vice." 
 
 "Those," continued the Socialist professor, " who do most to 
 make a few men rich are the real enemies of what they suppose 
 themselves to be defending. Given a thousand women sweated 
 for one man, and there presently arises indignation cither among 
 the women or among the bystanders. From indignation we get 
 revolution, because the employer never gives way. He cannot. 
 He would lose, if he did, his wealth, which is his heaven. If you 
 divide the thousand women into companies of ten, each company 
 iiiidor its own sweater, and all the sweaters under other sweaters, 
 you make a hierarchy of sweaters, culminating in one at the top. 
 That was the old state of things. The man at the top was a 
 chief, a patriarch; he knew his people; he sweated them, but 
 kindly ; he tossed them crumbs ; he looked after the sick and the 
 old. Now all this is changing. The old family tic — such as it 
 was — is dissolved. The man at the top lias disappeared ; a board 
 12 
 
266 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 of directors has taken his place ; there is nothing left but the 
 board and its employees. The men who work are no longer in- 
 terested in the business of the firni, except so far as their pay is 
 conceniod. Their pay will go up, and the dividends will go down. 
 And with every increase of wages so much property is destroyed. 
 Let everything — everything — be turned into companies to help 
 the destruction of property." 
 
 Said the other voice : " Property is strengthened by being dif- 
 fused. Companies organize labor; they give capital its proper 
 power; they are not easily intimidated; they interest all who can 
 save anything. Let us turn into companies every industrial and 
 distributive business in the country." 
 
 "All times of change," the master went on, "are times of in- 
 terest. Wc arc living at a time when great changes arc impend- 
 ing — tiic greatest changes possible. Before great changes there 
 is always a period of unconscious preparation. The minds of 
 people are being trained. Without any perception of the fact, 
 old ideas are dying out and new ones are coming into existence. 
 When the revolution actually arrives everybody is ready for it, 
 and noboily is surprised. It was so with the Reformation. For 
 a hundred years and more the idea of the Great Revolt had been 
 slowly growing in men's minds. When it came at last there was 
 no surprise, and there were few regrets. For a hundred years and 
 more the ideas of the French Revolution had been talked about by 
 philosophers; these ideas sank down among the people. Nobody 
 was surprised, not even the nobles themselves, when the end 
 came. So with our revolution. It is coming — it is coming — its 
 ideas are no longer timidly advanced — here and there — by a fa- 
 natic here or a philosopher there; they are lying in the hearts of 
 the people, ready to spur them into action ; they are hel[)ing on 
 the cause by successive steps, every one of which means nothing 
 less than the abolition of property. These things are new to yon, 
 child. You were only born yesterday or the day before. I was 
 born a hundred years ago or thereabouts. Consider again " — he 
 leaned against a lamp-post for greater ease, and discoursed as one 
 addressing an audience — " consider, I say, this great question of 
 companies and their results. Formerly, one man made things 
 which he took to market — sold or exchanged, and went home 
 again. He, by himself, did everything. Then one man made, 
 and another man sold. The next improvement was for twenty 
 
THE IVORY GATE 267 
 
 men to work, for one to receive and to collect their work, and for 
 another to sell it. In this way the twenty remained poor, and the 
 two became rich. So they went on, and trade flourished, and the 
 twenty producers more and more fell into the power of the two, 
 who were now very rich and strong. Now the merchants are 
 forming themselves into companies, and the companies are amal- 
 gamating with each other, and the small people may contemplate 
 ruin. For these — now merchants, shopkeepers, manufacturers, 
 workmen — there will be nothing but service in the companies; 
 no possibility of acquiring property, nothing but service all their 
 lives. Now do you see how that helps the cause? They will be- 
 come accustomed to work, but not for themselves; they will grow 
 accustomed to work for a bare living, and no more ; they won't 
 like either, but they will ask why the second should go with the 
 first ; the two great obstacles to Socialism will be removed. Then, 
 cither the step I spoke of just now — the abolition of the divi- 
 dends — or, which is just as likely, a revolution, when the servants 
 of the companies shall make the State take over all and work them 
 for the good of all. Some there arc who think that the workman 
 will have hope and power for union crushed out of him. I think 
 not; but if so — woe to the rich I The Jacquerie and the French 
 llcvolution will be spoken of as mild ebullitions of popular feel- 
 ing compared with what will happen then. But I think not. I 
 do not believe that the working-man will sink again. lie has got 
 up so far. But he needs must climb higher. 
 
 "You th.ink it would be impossible" — by this time a small 
 crowd had got round them, but the speaker still addressed his 
 disciple as if no one else at all was listening — "for the State to 
 take over the great producing and distributing companies. ]]ut 
 it has been done already. The State has the post and the tele- 
 giapli services. They will deal with railways, steamers, coaches, 
 cabs, omnibuses, trams, canals, water, gas, electric light, brewer- 
 ies, bakeries, factories, shops, just as they have dealt with these 
 two. The State can take it all. The State will take the manage- 
 ment of all. But, you say, the shares of the company will be- 
 come funds. They will, and the funds will pay interest — but the 
 interest will become rapidly lower and lower, so that what was 
 once five per cent, is now but two and a half, and before long 
 shall be two — one and a half — one — and nothing at all. There 
 will be Do cry of spoliation, because the holders of stock will be 
 
2G8 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 forced gradually into joolcinj; more and more to their own efforts, 
 and because widows and sick people and old people, to whom the 
 stocks were once so useful, will be all provided for by the State 
 as a matter of right, and without any of the old humiliation of 
 paupcrdom. Pauper? Oh ! heavenly word ! Child, in the world 
 of the future — the world which you will help to mould — we shall 
 all be paupers — every one." 
 
 lie spoke with fine enthusiasm, his face lit up, liis eyes briij^ht. 
 The girl was almost carried away, until the other voice began, 
 coldly and judicially, 
 
 " Nothing is so good for man as to be ruled and kept in dis- 
 cipline, service, and subjection. It is a foolish and a mischievous 
 dream which supposes all men eager for advance. The mass of 
 mankind asks for no advancement. It loves nothing and desires 
 nothing but the gratification of the animal. Give it plenty of 
 animalism and it is satisfied. That condition of society which 
 keeps the mass down and provides for the rise of the ambitious 
 few is the only condition which is reasonable and tstablc. Base 
 your social order on the inertness of the mass. Make the work- 
 man do a good day's work ; pay him enough, so that he shall 
 have some of the comforts he desires; educate the clever boy, 
 and make him foreman, head-man, manager, or artist, journalist, 
 dramatist, novelist. Give him the taste for wealth. Let him 
 have some. Then he, too, will be ready to fight, if necessary, in 
 the army of order." 
 
 AYliile the other voice was speaking, there camr slouching 
 around the corner, into the street where he held the fifth — perl, ps 
 the tenth — part of a room — a really excellent specimen of the com- 
 mon or London thief — the habitual criminal. He was a young 
 man — the habitual criminal is generally young, because in middle 
 and elderly life he is doing long sentences ; he had a furtive look, 
 such as that with which the jackal sallies forth on nocturnal ad- 
 ventures ; he had a short, slight figure, a stooping and slouching 
 gait, and narrow shoulders. His eyes were bright, but too close 
 together; his mouth was too large, and his jowl too heavy; his 
 face was pale ; his hair was still short, though growing rapidly ; 
 his hands were pendulous ; his round hat was too big for his lit- 
 tle head ; he wore a long, loose overcoat. Uis face, his figure, his 
 look, proclaimed aloud what he was. 
 
 Ue stopped at the corner, and looked at the little crowd. Ev- 
 
THE IVORY GATE 2C9 
 
 crybody, for diflorcnt reasons, is attracted by a crowd. Trofcs- 
 sionals sometimes find in crowds golden opportunities. Tliis 
 crowd, however, was already dispersing. Tlic speaker had stopped. 
 Perhaps they had hoard other and more fervid orators on the So- 
 cialist side. Perhaps they were not in the least interested in the 
 subject. You see, it is very difficult to get the hand-to-mouth 
 class interested in anything except those two organs. 
 
 " This street," said the master, observing liim with professional 
 interest, "is full — really full— of wealth for the observer. Here 
 is a c:\se now — an instructive though a common case." The fel- 
 low was turning away, disappointed, perhaps, at the raelting of 
 the crowd and any little hope he might have based upon their 
 pockets. "My friend" — he heard himself called, and looked 
 round suspiciously — " you would like, perhaps, to cam a shilling 
 honestly, for once." 
 
 lie turned slowly ; at the sight of the coin held up before him 
 his sharp eyes darted right and left to see what chance there 
 might be of a grab and a bolt. Apparently, he decided against 
 this method of earning the shilling. 
 " What for f ' he asked. 
 
 "By answering a few questions. Where were you born." 
 " I dunno." 
 
 "Where were you brought up? Here? in this street? Very 
 well. You went to school with the other children ; you were 
 taught certain subjects up to a certain standard. What trade 
 were you taught ?" 
 
 " I wasn't taught no trade." 
 
 'Your father was, I believe, a thief?" The lad nodded. 
 "And your mother, too?" lie nodded again, and grinned. 
 " And you yourself and your brothers and sisters are all in the 
 same line, I suppose?" Uc nodded and grinned again. " Uere 
 is your shilling." The fellow took it, and shambled away. 
 
 " Father, mother, the whole family, live by stealing. Where 
 tliere is no property there can be no theft. In our world such 
 a creature would be impossible, lie could not be born ; such 
 parents as his could not exist with us ; he could not be devel- 
 oped; there would be no surroundings that would make such a 
 development possible. He would be what, I believe, men of sci- 
 ence call a sport; he would be a deformity. We should put him 
 in a hospital, and keep him there until he died." 
 
2*70 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 *' In tliat world," said the other voice, " there would be deform- 
 ities of even a worse kind than this — the dcforniitics of hypoc- 
 risy and shams. Ijv a thousand shifts and lies and dishonesties 
 the work of the world would be shifted on the shoulders of the 
 weak. The strong man has always used his strength to make 
 the weak man work for him, and he always will. The destruc- 
 tion of property would be fullowcnl by the birth of property on 
 the very self-same day. There is tiie power of creation — of in- 
 vention — which is also a kind of property. Laws cannot destroy 
 that power. Laws cannot make men industrious. Laws cannot 
 make the strong man work for the weak. Laws cannot prevent 
 the clever man from taking advantage of the stupid man. When 
 all the failures, all the deformities, Lave been killed off, the able 
 man will still prey upon the dull-witted. liettcr let the poor 
 wretch live out his miserable life, driven from prison to prison, an 
 example for all the world to sec." 
 
 It was at this point that Elsie discovered the loss of her purse. 
 ller pocket had been picked by one of the intelligent listeners in 
 the crowd. She cried out on finding what had happened, in the 
 unphilosophic surprise and indignation with which this quite 
 common accident is always received. 
 
 " Child," said the master, " when there is no longer any prop- 
 erty money will vanish; there will be no purses; even the j)ock- 
 et will disappear, because there will no longer be any use for a 
 pocket. Did the purse contain much? Suppose you had noth- 
 ing to lose and nothing to gain. Think of the lightness of heart, 
 the sunshine on all faces, which would follow. I fear you are 
 rich, child. I have observed little signs about you which denote 
 riches. Your gloves are neat and good ; your dress seems costly. 
 Better far if you had nothing." 
 
 "Master, if I wore like that girl on the other side would you 
 like me better? Could I be more useful to the cause if I dressed 
 like her?" 
 
 The girl was of the common type — they really do seem, at first, 
 all alike — who had on an ulster, and a hat with a feather, and 
 broken boots. 
 
 " If I were like her," Elsie went on, " I should be ignorant — 
 and obliged to give the whole day to work, so that I should be 
 useless to you — and my manners would be rough and my lan- 
 guage coarse. It is because I am not poor that I am what I am. 
 The day for poverty is not come yet, dear master." 
 
THE IVORY GATE 27l 
 
 "In the future, dear cbild, there shall be no poverty and no 
 riches. To have nothing will be the common lot. To have all 
 will be the common inheritance. Oh! there will be diflPerences; 
 men shall be as unlike then as now; we shall not all desire the 
 same things. You and such as you will desire art of every kind. 
 You shall have what you desire. In our world, as in this, like 
 will to like. You shall have the use for yourselves of pictures, 
 of musical instruments, of everything that you want. The rest 
 of the world will not want these things. If they do, more can 
 be made. You shall have dainty food — the rest of the world 
 will always like coarse and common fare. Think not that we 
 shall level up or level down. All will be left to rise or to sink. 
 Only they shall not starve, they shall not thieve, they shall not be 
 sweated. Oh ! I know thoy paint our society as attempts to make 
 all equal. And they think that we expect men no longer to de- 
 sire the good things in the world. They will desire them — they 
 will hunger after them— but there will be enough for all. The 
 man who is contented with a dinner of lierbs may go to a Car- 
 thusian convent, which is his place, for we shall have no place for 
 him in a world which recognizes all good gifts and assigns to 
 every man his share." 
 
 Then spoke the other voice, but sadly, " Dreams ! Dreams ! 
 There are not enough of the good things to go round — good 
 things would become less instead of more. Without the spur 
 there is no work. Without the desire of creating property all 
 that is worth anything in life will perish — all but the things that 
 are the lowest and the meanest and the commonest. Men will 
 not work unless they must. By necessity alone can the finest 
 work be ordered and executed. As men have been so will men 
 always be. The thing that hath been, that shall be again." 
 
 " You have learned some of the lessons of Poverty Lane, schol- 
 ar," said the master. " Let us now go home." 
 
272 TUE IVOUY GATE 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 " I KNOW THE MAN " 
 
 "Another cvcnlnc^ of mystery, Elsie?" said AUielstan. 
 
 " Yes, another, and perhaps another. l>nt \vc arc gcttinn; to 
 an end. I shall be able to tell you all to-day or to-morrow. The 
 thing is becoming too great for me alone." 
 
 " You shall tell us when you please. Meantime, nothing new 
 lias been found out, I believe. Chccklcy still glares, George tells 
 me. But the opinion of the clerks seems, on the whole, more 
 favorable, he believes, than it was. Of that, however, he is not, 
 perhaps, a good judge." 
 
 "They shall all be turned out," cried Elsie. "How dare they 
 so much as to discuss — " 
 
 "My sister, it is a very remarkable thing, and a thing little 
 understood, but it is a true thing. Peoi)k', j)eoplc — clerks and 
 le service generally — arc distinctly a branch of the great human 
 tribe. They are anthropoid. Therefore, they are curious and 
 prying and suspicious. Tiiey have our own faults, my dear." 
 
 All day Elsie felt drawn as with ropes to Mr. Dering's office. 
 ^Vas it possible that after that long evening among the lessons 
 of Poverty Lane he shuuld remember nothing? How was she 
 to get at him ? How was she to make him understand or believe 
 what he had done? Could she make the sane man remember the 
 actions and words of the insane man ? Could she make the in- 
 sane man do something which would absolutely identify him with 
 the sane man? She could always array her witnesses, but she 
 wanted more — she wanted to bring Mr. Dering himself to under- 
 stand that he was Mr. Edmund Gray. 
 
 She made an excuse for calling upon him. It was in the 
 afternoon, about four, that she called. She found him looking 
 aged, his face lined, his cheek pale, his eyes anxious. 
 
 "This business worries me," he said. "Day and night it is 
 with me. I am persecuted and haunted with this Edmund Gray. 
 
THE IVORY GATE 273 
 
 His tracts are put into my pockets; his papers into my safe; he 
 laughs at me ; he defies me to find him. And they do nothing. 
 They only accuse eacli other. They find nothing." 
 
 "Patience," said Elsie softly. "Only a few days — a day or 
 two — then — with your help — we will unravel all this trouble. 
 You shall lose nothing." 
 
 "Shall I escape this mocking devil — this Edmund Gray?" 
 
 "I cannot promise. Perhaps. Now, my dear guardian, I am 
 to be married next Wednesday. I want you to be present at my 
 wedding." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because things have been said about George; and because 
 your presence will effectually prove that you do not believe 
 them." 
 
 "Oh! believe them? I believe nothing. It is, however, my 
 experience that there is no act, however base, that any man may 
 not be tempted to do." 
 
 " Happily, it is my experience," said the girl of twenty-one, 
 " that there is no act of baseness, however small, that certain 
 men could possibly commit. You will come to my wedding, 
 then. Athclstan will give me away." 
 
 " Athelstan ? Yes, I remember. We found those notes, 
 didn't we .^ I wonder who put them into the safe I Athelstan ! 
 Yes. He has been living in low company, I heard — Cambcrwell 
 — rags and tatters." 
 
 "Oh!" Elsie stamped impatiently. "You will believe any- 
 thing — anything, and you a lawyer ! Athclstan is in the service 
 of a great American journal. Kags and tatters!" 
 
 "American? Oh! yes." Mr. Dering sat up and looked 
 interested. " Why, of course. How could I forget it. Had it 
 been yesterday evening I should have forgot. But it is four 
 years ago. He wrote to nie from somewhere in America. 
 Where was it? Pve got the letter. It is in the safe. Bring 
 me the bottom right-hand drawer. It is there, I know." He 
 look the drawer which Elsie brought him, and turned over the 
 papers. " Here it is among the papers of that forgery. Here 
 is the letter." He gave it to Elsie. " Read it. He writes from 
 America, you see. He was in the States four years ago — and — 
 and — What is it?" 
 
 " Oh !" cried Elsie, suddenly springing from her chair — " oh ! 
 12* 
 
274 THE IVORV GATE 
 
 do you know what you have given me? Oh ! do you know what 
 you liavc told nic? It is the secret — the secret of my fortune. 
 Oh ! Athelstan gave it to me — Athelstan — my brotlier !" 
 
 Mr. Dcring took tlie letter from Iicr, and ghmced at the con- 
 tents. " I ought not to have shown yon the letter," he said. "I 
 have violated confidence. I forgot, I was thinking of the trou- 
 ble — I forgot. I forget everything now — the things of yesterday 
 as well as the things of to-day. Yes ; it is true, child — your little 
 fortune came to you from ycnir brother. But it was a secret that 
 lie alone had the right to reveal." 
 
 " And now I know it — I know it. Oh ! what shall I say to 
 liim ?" The tears came to her eyes. "He gave me all he had 
 — all he had — because — oh! for such a simple thing — because I 
 would not believe him to be a villain. Oh ! my brother — my 
 poor brother I He went back into poverty again. lie gave me 
 all — because — oh I for such a little thing — Mr. Dcring!" — she 
 turned almost fiercely u[>ou him — "after such a letter, could you 
 believe that man to be a villain ? Could you? Tell me! After 
 such a deed and such a letter !" 
 
 "I believe nothing. My experience, however, tells me that any 
 man, whoever he is, may be led to commit — " 
 
 "A"o/ I won't have it said again — Now, listen, Mr. Dcr- 
 ing. These suspicions must cease. There must be an end, 
 Athelstan returned si.\ weeks ago — or thereabouts. That can be 
 proved. Before that time he was working in San Francisco on 
 the journal. That can be proved. While these forgeries, with 
 which he is now so freely charged, were carried on here, he was 
 abroad, I don't ask you to believe or to disbelieve or to bring 
 np your experience — oh ! such experience — one would think you 
 had been a police magistrate all your life." 
 
 " No, Elsie." Mr. Dering smiled grimly. " There was no 
 need to sit upon the bench ; the police magistrate does not hear 
 so much as the family solicitor. My dear, prove your brother's 
 innocence by finding out who did the thing. That is, after all^ 
 the only thing. It matters nothing what I believe — he is not 
 proved innocent — all the world may be suspected of it — until the 
 criminal is found. Remove the suspicions which have gathered 
 about your lover by finding the criminal. There is no other way." 
 
 "Very well, then. I will find the criminal, since no one else 
 can." 
 
THE IVORV GATE 275 
 
 Mr. Dcrinj; went on, without heeding lier words. 
 
 " They want to get out a warrant against Edmund Gra}'. I 
 think, for my own part, that the man Edmund Gray has nothing 
 to do with the business. He is said to be an elderly man and a 
 respectable man — a gentleman — wlio lias held his chambers for 
 ten years." 
 
 " They need not worry about a warrant," Elsie replied. " Tell 
 your brother, Mr. Dering, that it will be perfectly useless. Mean- 
 time — I doubt if it is any good asking you — but — if we want 
 your help, will you give me all the help you can?"' 
 
 "Assuredly. All tlie lielp I can. Why not? I am tlic prin- 
 cipal person concerned.'" 
 
 " You are, indeed," said Elsie gravely, " the principal person 
 concerned. Very well, Mr. Dering — now I will tell you more. 
 I know the — the criminal. I can put my hand upon him at any 
 moment. It is one man who has done the whole, beginning with 
 tlie check for which Athelstan was suspected — one man alone." 
 
 " Why, child, what can you know about it? What can you 
 do?" 
 
 " You were never in love, Mr. Dering, else you would under- 
 stand tliat a girl will do a great deal — oh ! a great deal more than 
 yon would think — for her lover — it is not much to think for him 
 and to watch for him — and for her brother — the brother wlio has 
 stripped himself of everything to give his sister — " She was fain 
 to pause, for the tears which rose again and choked her voice. 
 
 " But, Elsie, what does this mean? IIow can you know what 
 no one else has been able to find out?" 
 
 " That is my affair, Mr. Dering. Perhaps I dreamed it." 
 
 " Do you mean that you will get back all the papers — all the 
 transfers — the dividends that have been diverted — everything?" 
 
 "Everything is safe. Everytliing shall be restored. My dear 
 guardian, it is a long and a sad story. I cannot tell you now. 
 Presently, perhaps — or to-morrow. I do not know how I shall 
 be able to tell you. But for your property, rest easy. Every- 
 thing will come back to you — everything — except that which can- 
 not be stored in the vaults of the bank." 
 
 The last words he heard not, or understood not. 
 
 "I shall get back everything!" The eyes of the individualist 
 lit up, and his pale cheek glowed — old age has still some pleasures. 
 " It is not until one loses property that one finds out how pre- 
 
276 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 cions it has become Elsie, you remember what I told yon a day 
 or two ago — ah ! I don't forget quite everything — a man is not 
 the shivering naked soul only, but the complete figure, equipped 
 and clothed, armed and decorated, bearing with him his skill, his 
 wit, his ingenuity, his learning, his past and his present, his 
 memories and his rejoicings, his sorrows and his trials, bis suc- 
 cesses and his failures, and his property — yes, his property. Take 
 away from him any of these things, and lie is mutilated ; he is 
 not the perfect soul. Why, you tell me that my property is com- 
 ing back — I awake again ; I feci stronger already ; the shadows 
 arc flying before mc; oven the terror of tliat strange forgetful- 
 ness recedes, and the liauntiiig of E(hnnnd Gray. I can bear all, 
 if I get my property back again. As for this forger — this mis- 
 creant — this criminal — you will hale him before the judge — " 
 
 " Yes, yes. We will see about tlic miscreant afterwards. 
 The first tiling is to find the man, and recover your property, and 
 to dispel the suspicions vesting on innocent persons. If I do the 
 former you must aid me in the latter." 
 
 " Assuredly. I shall not shrink from that duty." 
 "Very well. Now tell me about yourself. Sometimes it does 
 good to talk about our own troubles. Toll me more about these 
 forgetful fits. Do they trouble you still ?" Her eyes and her 
 voice were soft and winning. One must be of granite to resist 
 such a voice and such eyes. 
 
 " Mv dear" — Mr. Dcring softened — "you are good to inter- 
 est yourself in an old man's ailments. It is Anno Domini that is 
 the matter with me. The forgetful fits are only symptoms — and 
 the disease is incurable. Ask the oak why the leaves are yellow. 
 It is the hand of winter. That is my complaint. First the hand 
 of winter, then the hand of death. Meantime, the voice of the 
 grasshopper sings loud and shrill." In presence of the simple 
 things of age and death even a hard old lawyer grows poetic. 
 " Tell me the symptoms, then. Do you still forget tilings?" 
 " Constantly. More and more. I forget everything." 
 " Where were you yesterday evening, for instance?" 
 " I don't know. I cannot remember. I have left off even try- 
 ing to remember. At one time I racked my brains for hours to 
 find out, and failed. Now I remember nothing. I never know 
 when this forgctfulness may fall upon me. At any hour. For 
 instance — you ask me about yesterday evening. I ordered din- 
 
THE IVORY GATE 277 
 
 ner at home. My housekeeper this mornlnof reminded me that I 
 did not get home last night till eleven. Where was I? Where 
 did I spend the evening?" 
 
 "At the club?" 
 
 " No — I took a cab this morning, and drove there under pre- 
 tence of asking for letters. I asked if I was there last night. 
 The hall-porter stared. But I was not there. I thought that I 
 miglit have fallen asleep here. I have done so before. Checkley 
 tells me that I went away before him. Where was I? — child !" — 
 he leaned forward, and whispered, with white checks — " I have 
 read of men going about with disordered brains doing wliat they 
 afterwards forgot. Am I one of those unfortunates? Do I go 
 about with my wits wandering? Oh! horrible! I picture to 
 myself an old man — such as myself — of unblemished reputation 
 and blameless life — wandering about the streets demented — with- 
 out conscience — without dignity — without self-respect — commit- 
 ting follies — things disgraceful — even things which bring men be- 
 fore the law — " lie shuddered. He turned pale. 
 
 "No, no," murmured Elsie. "You could not. You could 
 never — " 
 
 " Such tilings are on record. They have happened. They may 
 happen again. I have read of such cases. There was a man 
 once — he was, like myself, a solicitor — who would go out and 
 buy things, not knowing what he did. He bought new hats — 
 every day twenty new hats ; cricket-bats, though he was long 
 past the game of cricket; once he bought six grand pianos — six 
 — though he knew not the use of any instrument. Then they 
 gave him a companion, and he found out what he had done. The 
 shame and the shock of it killed him. I have thought of that 
 man of late. Good lieavens ! Think, if you can, of any worse 
 disaster. Let me die — let me die, I say, rather than suffer such 
 a fate — such an affliction. I see myself brought before the mag- 
 istrate — me — myself — at my age, charged with this and with 
 that. What defence? None, save that I did not remember." 
 
 " That could never be," said Elsie confidently, because she 
 knew the facts. " If such a thing were to befall, your character 
 would never be changed. You might talk and think differently, 
 but you could never be otherwise than a good man. You to 
 haunt low company? Oh! you could not even in a waking 
 dream. People who dream, I am sure, always remain themselves, 
 
278 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 however stratif^ely they may act. How could yon — you — after 
 such a life as yours, beconic a liaunter of low company? One 
 miijlit, perhaps, suppose that Atbelstan had been living among 
 profligates because he is young and untried — but you ? — yon ? 
 Oh ! no. If you iiad these waking dreams — perhaps you have 
 them — you would become — you would become — I really think 
 vou would become" — she watched his face — "such — such a man 
 as — as — Mr. Edmund Gray, who is so like yourself, and yet so 
 different." 
 
 He started. "Edmund Gray again? Good heavens! It is 
 always Edmund Gray I" 
 
 " He is now a friend of mine. I liave only known him for a 
 week or two. He does not think quite as you do. liut he is a 
 good man. Since, in dreams, we do strange things, you might 
 act and speak and think as Edmund Gray." 
 
 "/ speak and think as — But — am I dreaming? Am I for- 
 getting again? Am I awake? Edmund Gray is the man whom 
 \\c want to find." 
 
 " I have found him," said Elsie quietly. 
 
 " The forger — if he is the forger — " 
 
 "No, no. Do not make more mistakes. You shall have the 
 truth in a day or two. Would you like to see Edmund Gray ? 
 Will you come with me to his chambers? Whenever you call 
 you — you, I say — will find him at home." 
 
 " No, no. I know his doctrines — futile doctrines — mischievous 
 doctrines. I do not wish to meet him. What do vf)U mean by 
 mistake? There are the letters — there arc the forgeries. Arc 
 there two Edmund Grays?" 
 
 "No — only one. He is the man they cannot find. I will 
 show you, if you like, what manner of man he is." 
 
 "No. I do not want to see a Socialist. I should insult him. 
 You are mysterious, Elsie. You know this man — this mischievous 
 doctrinaire — this leveller — this spoliator. You tell me that lie is 
 a good man — you want me to see him. What, I ask, do these 
 things mean ?" 
 
 "They mean many things, my dear guardian. Chiefly they 
 mean that you shall get back your property, and that suspicion 
 shall be removed from innocent persons — and all this, I hope, 
 before next Wednesday, when I am to be married. We must all 
 be happy on my wedding-day." 
 
THE IVORY GATE 279 
 
 " Will — will Mr. Edmund Gray be there as well?" 
 
 "lie has promised. And now, my dear guardian, if you will 
 come round to Gray's Inn with me, I will show you the cham- 
 bers of Mr. Edmund Gray." 
 
 "No, no. Thank you, Elsie — I do not wish to make the per- 
 sonal acquaintance of a Socialist." 
 
 " He has chambers on the second floor. The principal room 
 is large and well furnished. It is a wainscoted room, with two 
 windows looking on the square. It is not a very pretty square, 
 because they have not made a garden or laid down grass in the 
 middle — and the houses are rather dingy. He sits there in the 
 evening, lie writes and meditates. Sometimes he teaches me, 
 but that is a new thing. In the morning he is sometimes there 
 between nine o'clock and twelve. He has an old laundress, who 
 pretends to keep his rooms clean." 
 
 She murmured these words softly, thinking to turn his mem- 
 ory back and make him understand what had happened. 
 
 *' They are pleasant rooms, are they not ?" He made no reply 
 — liis eyes betrayed trouble. She thought it was the trouble of 
 struggling memory. " He sits here alone, and works. He thinks 
 he is working for the advancement of the world. There is no 
 one so good, I think, as Edmund Gray." 
 
 He suddenly pushed back the chair, and sprang to his feet. 
 
 " My scholar ! You speak of me T' 
 
 It was so sudden that Elsie cried out, and fell backwards in her 
 chair. She had brought on the thing by her own words, by con- 
 juring up a vision of the chambers. But — the trouble was not 
 the struggle of the memory getting hold of evasive facts. 
 
 " Why, child," he remonstrated, " you look pale. Is it the 
 heat? Come, it is cooler outside. Let us go to the chambers 
 in Gray's Inn. This old follow — this Dcring — here he sits all 
 day long. It is Tom Tiddler's ground. It is paved with gold, 
 wliich he picks up. The place — let us whisper, because he must 
 be in the outer office — it reeks of property — reeks of property." 
 
 He took his hat and gloves. " My scholar, let us go.'' With 
 the force of habit he shut and locked the safe, and dropped the 
 bunch of keys into his pocket. 
 
280 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 athelstan's discovery 
 
 On the cvcninp; of that same day the same discovery was made 
 liy anotlier of the persons chiefly concerned. 
 
 Yoii liavc seen that Athelstan on his return made haste to find 
 out the cominissionnairc who had presented the forged check. 
 !Iap[)ily, the man remembered not only the circumstance itself, 
 hut also his employer on tliat occasion. A generosity far above 
 what IS commonly fo>ind among those who employ the services 
 of that corps endeared and preserved the memory of the day. 
 He had received, in fact, half a sovereign for an cightcenpcnny 
 job ; and the commissionnaire is not like the cabby, to whom such 
 windfalls are common. Not at all. With the former we observe 
 the letter of the law. 
 
 After eight years this man's memory was rewarded. This 
 thrice-blessed job produced yet more golden fruit. Heard one 
 ever of a more prolific job? 
 
 After breakfast, Athelstan was informed that a commission- 
 naire desired to speak with Iiim. It was his one-armed friend. 
 
 "Beg your pardon, sir," he said, saluting after the military 
 manner — "you said I was to come and tell you, first thing, if I 
 found your man for you." 
 
 " Certainly. I told you also that I would give you a five-pound 
 reward for finding my man, as you call him. Well — I will be as 
 good as ray word if you have found him." 
 
 " I saw him yesterday. The very same old gentleman that 
 sent me to the bank that day. He's older, and he doesn't look 
 so jolly, and he walks slower; but I knew him at once." 
 
 " Oh I are you quite sure ? Because a resemblance, you know — " 
 
 "Well, sir, I can swear to him. I remember him as well as I 
 remember anybody. He sat in the chair, and he laughed, and he 
 said, ' You've been quick over the job, my man. There's some- 
 thing extra, because you might have dropped the money down a 
 
THE IVORY GATE 281 
 
 grating-, or run away with it, or something,' he says. ' Here's 
 half a sovereign for you, my man,' says he; 'and I dare say you 
 can do with it.' 'I can so, sir,' I says, 'and with as many more 
 like them as I can pick up.' Then he laughed, and I laughed, 
 and we both laughed. And that's the same man that I saw yes- 
 terday evening." 
 
 "Oh! this is very curious. Are you quite sure?" 
 
 "I'd swear to him anywhere. A mnn can't say fairer." 
 
 "No — as you say — a man can hardly say fairer, can he? Now, 
 then, -when did you see him?" 
 
 "It was between six and seven. I'd !)ecn doing a messar.-e for 
 a gentleman in the Strand — a gentleman in the dining-room line 
 to a gentleman in Ilolborn in the sausage-and-tripe line — and I 
 was going back with a letter, and going through Lincoln's Inn 
 for a short cut. Just as I was getting near the gate to the Fields, 
 I saw coming out of the door at No. 12 the very man you want 
 to find. I wasn't thinking about liim, not a bit — I was thinkinf^ 
 of nothing at all, when lie come out of the door and walked down 
 the steps. Then I knew him. Lord ! I knew him at once. 'You're 
 the man,' I says to myself, ' as give me the half-sov. instead of 
 eighteenpence.' Well, I stood at the corner, and waited to see if 
 he would remember me. Not a bit of it. He stared at me hard, 
 but he never recollected me a bit — I could see that. Why should 
 he ? Nobody remembers the servant any more than they remem- 
 ber the private in the ranks. The very same old gentleman ; but 
 he's grown older, and he didn't look jolly any more. P'r'aps he's 
 lost his money." 
 
 "Came out of No. 12, did he? Why, Bering 6: Son's office 
 is there. What does this mean ?" 
 
 "I thought I'd like to find out something more about him; 
 and I thought that a five-pound note Avas better worth looking 
 after than eighteenpence — so I let the letter from the tripe-and- 
 sausage man lay a bit, and I followed my old gentleman at a 
 good distance." 
 
 "Oh ! you followed him. Very good. Did you find out where 
 he lived ? I can tell you that. He went to No. 22 South Square, 
 Gray's Inn." 
 
 "No, he didn't, sir. But you are not very far wrong. He 
 went through Great Turnstile; then he crossed Ilolborn and 
 turned into Featherstono Buildings, which is all lodging-houses. 
 
282 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 But he doesn't live there. lie walked through the Buildings, and 
 so into Bedford Row, and he stopped at a liousc there — " 
 
 "What! in Bedford Row?" 
 
 "Yes, in Bedford Row — and he pulls out a latch-key, and lets 
 himself in. That's where he lives. No. 49 Bedford Row, on 
 the west side, very near the bottom. lie lives in Bedford Row. 
 Well, sir, I like to do things proper, and so, to make the job 
 complete, I went to the Salutation, llolborn, where they keep a 
 directory, and I looked out his name. The gentleman that lives 
 at No. 49 Bedford Row is named Edward Dering — and among 
 the names of No. 12 New S(iuare, Lincoln's Inn, is the name of 
 Dering S: Son. So, sir, I don't think it is too much to say that 
 your man is Mr. Dering, who belongs both to Bedford Row and 
 Lincoln's Inn. He's the man who sent me to the bank eight 
 years ago." 
 
 Athelstan stared at him. " 7/r the man?" he cried. "You 
 are talking impossibilities. He can't be the man." 
 
 "Nobody else, sir. If that was Mr. Dering that I saw yester- 
 day walking home from New Square to Bedford Row — he's the 
 man who sent me for the money." 
 
 To this statement the man stuck firm. Nor could he be moved 
 by any assertion that his position was impossible. " For, my 
 friend," said Athelstan, " the man who sent you with the check 
 was the man who robbed Mr. Dering." 
 
 "Can't help that, sir. If the gentleman I saw yesterday walk- 
 ing from Lincoln's Inn to Bedford Row was Mr. Dering — then 
 he robbed liissclf." 
 
 "That's foolishness. Oh! there must be some explanation. 
 Look here! Mr. P^dwaid Dering leaves his office every evening 
 between six and seven. I will be in New Square on the west side 
 this evening at six. Yon be there, as well. Try not to seem as 
 if you were watching for anybody. Stand about at your ease." 
 
 " I'll make it sentry-go, sir," said the old soldier. " I'll walk 
 up and down in front of the door same as some of our chaps got 
 to do in front of shops. You trust me, sir, and I won't take 
 no notice of you." 
 
 This little plot, in fact, was faithfully carried out. At six o'clock 
 Athelstan began to walk up and down outside the gate which 
 opens upon Lincoln's Inn Fields — the commissionnaire at the same 
 time was doing sentry-go in front of No. 12, in New Square. 
 
TEIE IVORY GATE 283 
 
 When the clock struck six there uas a rush and a tramp of hurry- 
 ing feet; these were the clerks set free for the day. There are 
 not many solicitors' offices in New Square, and these once gone 
 the place becomes perfectly quiet. At half-past six there was the 
 footfall as of one man on the stairs, and he descended slowly. 
 lie came out of the door presently, an old bent figure with white 
 liair and slirivelled face. Paying no heed to the sentry, he walked 
 away with feeble step in the direction of Chancery Lane. Check- 
 ley this was, on his way to look after his tenants and his property. 
 Athelstan looked after him, through the gate. Then lie called 
 his old soldier. " See that man ?" he asked. " That's the man 
 who sent you to the bank." 
 
 " No, he isn't." The man was stout on that point. " Xot a 
 bit like him. That old man's a servant, not a gentleman. See 
 the way he holds his hands. Never a gentleman yet carried his 
 hands that way. You can always tell 'em by their hands. The 
 other day I met an old pal — seemed to forget me, he did. Want- 
 ed to make out that he'd never been in the army at all. So I lay 
 by for a bit. Then I gets up — and he gets up too. "Tention !' 
 says I, and he stood to 'tention like a good old Tommy Atkins. 
 You watch their hands, whatever they say. Always tell 'em by 
 their hands. That old man he's a servant. lie i.<n't a gentle- 
 man. He can't sit among the swells and order about the waiters. 
 He hasn't learned that way. He'd get up himself, if you asked 
 him, and put the napkin under his arm, and bring you a glass of 
 sherry wine. He's not my man. You wait a bit." 
 
 At a quarter to seven another footstep was heard cclioincr up 
 and down the empty building. Then an old man — erect, thin, 
 tightly buttoned, wearing neat gloves and carrying an umbrella — 
 came out of the door. His face was hard, even austere. His walk 
 was firm. The sentry, as this person walked out of the gate, fol- 
 lowed at a distance. When he was beside Athelstan, he whis- 
 pered, "That's the man, I'd swear to him anywhere. That's 
 the man that sent me to the bank." 
 
 Athelstan heard in unbounded astonishment. That the man ? 
 Why, it was Mr. Bering himself ! 
 
 "Let us follow him," he whispered. "Not together. On op- 
 posite sides of the road. Good heavens ! this is most wonderful. 
 Do not lose sight of him." 
 
 To follow him was perfectly easy, because Mr. Dcrin^if turned 
 
284 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 neither to the right nor to the left', but inarched straight on 
 through Great Turnstile, across llolborn, through Featherstone 
 Buildings, and into Bedford Row, At No. 49, his own house. 
 ^Vilere else should lie stop ? 
 
 Athclstan took out his purse and gave the man the iive pounds. 
 " I don't know what it means," he said. " I can't understand a 
 word. But I suppose you have told me the truth. 1 don't know 
 why you should make up a lie — " 
 
 " It's Gauspel truth," said the man. 
 
 "And therefore, again, I don't understand it. "Well — I've got 
 your name and your number. If I want you again I will send 
 for you." 
 
 The man saluted and walked away. Half a sovereign for an 
 cightccnpenny job, and eight years afterwards five pounds on ac- 
 count of the same job. Robbery, was it? Robber}' — and the old 
 man ])retending tu be rubbed and robbing himself. Now what 
 did that mean ? Laying it on to some poor, harmless, innocent 
 cove, the soldier guessed ; laying it on to some one as he had a 
 spite against — the old villain! — very likely this young governor — 
 most likely. Donations on account of that same job, very likely 
 — the old villain ! 
 
 As for Athelstan, he returned to Lincoln's Inn Fields, where, 
 the evening being fine and the sun warm and the place quiet ex- 
 cept for the children at play, he walked up and down the east or 
 sunny side for half an hour, turning the thing over in his mind: 
 
 For, you sec, if Mr. Dering went through the form of robbing 
 himself and finding out the robbery and coldly suffering the blame 
 to fall upon him — then Mr. Dering must be one of the most ])Iie- 
 nomenally wicked of living men. Or, if Mr. Dering robbed him- 
 self and did not know it — then Mr. Dering must be mad. 
 
 Again, if such a thing could be done on a small scale, it might 
 be done on a larger scale with the same result — namely, suspicion 
 to fall upon a blameless person ; obloquy to gather round his name 
 — for in some cases simply to be charged is almost as fatal as to 
 be convicted ; and perfect impunity for himself. " This is not my 
 own writing, but a forgery," said the man who had been robbed. 
 Then, who is the forger? You — you. None but you. The bare 
 suspicion becomes a certainty in the minds of those who were 
 once that man's friends. And his life is cankered at the outset. 
 He thought of his own life — the bitterness of alienation and exile. 
 
THE IVORY GATE 285 
 
 Never any time for ciglit years when he could explain the reasons 
 of his exile. Debt, the cultivation of wild oats, failure to pass 
 examinations — anything would do for such a reason except sus- 
 picion of forgery. Athelstan was a cheerful young man. He sel- 
 dom allowed himself to be cast down by the blows of fate. Nev- 
 ertheless, during his whole time of exile, the drop of bitterness 
 that poisoned his cup was that he could not tell the whole story 
 because the world would believe no more than half — that half, 
 namely, which contained the accusation. When one walks about 
 thinking, there conies a time when it seems no good to think 
 any longer. The mind can only get a certain amount out of a 
 case at one sitting. That amount absorbed, the best thing is to 
 go on to something else. Athelstan went on to dinner. He left 
 his sister to the care of her young man, and dined by himself. 
 He took a steak at a Holborn restaurant, with an evening paper, 
 which he considered professionally. After dinner he returned to 
 his subject. Perhaps he should get a step further. No — perhaps 
 on account of the sweet influence of dinner he got no further at 
 all. Here was an astonishing fact. How to account for it? You 
 have seen. By one of two ways — malignity unspeakable or mad- 
 ness — madness of a very curious kind — the madness of a man 
 whose calm, cool judgment had made him appear to his friends 
 as one with an intellect far above any ordinary weaknesses of hu- 
 manity. Mr. Dering mad ? Then the chancellor of the exchequer, 
 the speaker of the House of Commons, the president of the Hoval 
 Society, the president of the Institute of Civil Engineers, the Cam- 
 bridge professors of mathematics — all these men might be mad 
 as well. And nobody to know it or to suspect it. Mr. Derin^ 
 mad? — and yet, if not, what was he? 
 
 There was one way. He had tried it already once. He left 
 the restaurant, and turned eastward. He was going to try South 
 Square, Gray's Inn, again. Perhaps Mr. Edmund Gray would be 
 in his rooms. 
 
 He was not. The door was shut. Cut the opposite door stood 
 open, that of Freddy Carstonc. Athelstan knocked, and was ad- 
 mitted with eloquence almost tumultuous. 
 
 " Just in time," said the coach. " I've got a new brand of 
 whiskey, straight from Glasgow. You shall sample it. Have you 
 had dinner yet? So have I. Sit down. Let us talk, and smoke 
 tobacco, and drink whiskey-and-soda.'' 
 
286 TIIK IVORY GATE 
 
 "I will do the talkin;:; ami tlic tobacco, at any rate." 
 
 " I love Virtue," said Freddy. " She is a lovely goddess — for 
 if Virtue feeble were, Heaven itself would stoop to her. She has 
 only one fault. There is reproach in iier voice, reproach in her 
 eye, and rcjiroach in her attitude. She is an uncomfortable god- 
 dess. Fortunately, she dwells not in this venerable foundation. 
 Do not imitate ^'irtuc, old boy. Let me — That's right. We 
 shall then start fair upon the primrose path — the broad and flow- 
 cry wav — tliDUgh I may get farther down than you. Athelstan 
 the Wanderer — Melmoth the Wandurer — C'hiide Harold the Til- 
 grim — drink, and be human." Ho set the example. "Good 
 whiskey — very good whiskey. Athelstan, there's a poor devil 
 upstairs, starving for the most part — let's have him down. It's 
 a charity." He ran upstairs, and immediately returned with the 
 decayed advocate, wlio looked less hungry than usual, and a shade 
 less sliabby — you have seen how he borrowed of Mr. Edniund 
 Gray through Elsie. 
 
 " Now," said the host, " I call this comfortable — a warm Au- 
 gust evening; the window open ; a suspicion of fresh air from the 
 gardens; soda-and-wliiskcy ; and two men for talk. Most even- 
 ings one has to sit alone. Then there's a temptation to — to close 
 the evening too quickly." 
 
 " Freddy, I want to hear more about your neighbor. You told 
 me something, if you remember, a week or two ago." 
 
 " Very odd thing. Old Checkley at the Salutation is always 
 pestering about Mr. Edmund Gray. What has he to do with Mr. 
 Edmund Gray? Wanted me to answer his questions." 
 
 " And me," said Mr. Langhornc — " I did answer them." 
 
 "Well — Mr. Edmund Gray is — What is he? An old gen- 
 tleman, of cheerful aspect, who is apparently a Socialist. We 
 must all be allowed our little weaknesses. All I ask for is — " 
 He reached his hand for the whiskey. " This old gentleman car- 
 ries his hobbies so far as to believe in them seriously. I've talked 
 to him about them." 
 
 " I have heard him lecture at Camden Town," said the barris- 
 ter. " I go there sometimes on Sunday evening. They have a 
 tea-feast, with ham and cake and toast. It is a pleasant gathering. 
 It reminds one of the early Church." 
 
 " Well, Athelstan, what else can I tell you ? Hark !" There 
 was a step heard ascending the stairs. " I believe that is the old 
 
THE IVORY GATE 2S7 
 
 mail himself. If it is, you shall see liim. I will biiri;^ him 
 in." 
 
 He went out to meet the unknown footstep on the landing. 
 Tie greeted the owner of that footstep; he stopped him ; he per- 
 suaded him to step into the opposite room. " You must be 
 lonely, Mr. Gray, sitting by yourself. Come in, and have an 
 hour's talk. Come in. This way. The room is rather dark. 
 Here is Mr. Langhorne, your overhead neighbor, whom you know; 
 and here is Mr. Alhelstau Arundel, whom you don't know. Those 
 who do know him like him, except for his virtue, which is osten- 
 tatious in one so young." 
 
 It was now nearly nine o'clock. The lamp was not lit, and the 
 room lay in twilight. It is the favorite shade for ghosts. A 
 ghost stood before Athclstan, and shook hands with him — the 
 ghost of Mr. Dering. 
 
 "I am happy," the ghost held oat his banc], "to make your 
 acquaintance, Mr. Arundel. An old man, like myself, makes ac- 
 quaintances, but not friends. His time for new friendsiiips is 
 gone. Still, the world may be full of pleasant acquaintances." 
 
 He sat down, taking a chair in the window; the shade of the 
 curtain fell upon his face, so that nothing could be seen but a 
 white circle. 
 
 " Let us have candles, Freddy," said Athelstan. 
 
 " By all means." Freddy lit a lamp on the table and two can- 
 dles on the mantelshelf. By their light the lineaments and figure 
 of the ghost came out more distinctly. Athclstan gazed- on it 
 with bewilderment; his head went round ; he closed his eyes; he 
 tried to pull himself together. 
 
 He sat up; he drank half a glass of whiskey-and-soda ; he 
 stared steadily at the fiijurc he had not seen for eight years, 
 since — Good licavens I and this man had done it himself! 
 And he was as mad as a hatter. 
 
 Mr. Edmund Gray looked serenely cheerful. He lay back in 
 the long chair, his feet extended and crossed; his elbows on the 
 arms of the chair, his finger-tips touching; his face was wreathed 
 with smiles; he looked as if he had always found the world the 
 best of all possible worlds. 
 
 Athelstan heard nothing of what was said. His old friend 
 Freddy Carstone was talking in his light and airy way, as if noth- 
 ing at all mattered. He was nut expected to say anything. 
 
288 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 Freddy liked to do all the talkin;; for liinisclf — tliercfore he sat 
 watcbing a man uiulor an illusion so extraordinary that it made 
 him another man. Nothini>; was changed in him — neither feat- 
 ures nor voice nor dress — yet lie was another man. " Why," 
 asked Athelstan — "why did he write that check for seven hun- 
 dred and twenty pounds f 
 
 Presently Freddy stopped talkint;, and Mr. Edmund Gray took 
 up the conversation. AVhat he said — the doctrines wliich he ad- 
 vanced — we know already. " And these things," said Athelstan 
 to himself, "from those lips! Is it possible?" 
 
 At ten o'clock Mr. Edmund Gray rose. lie had to write a let- 
 ter ; he prayed to be excused. He offered his hand again to 
 Athelstan. "Good-night, sir," ho said. "To the pleasure of 
 seeing yon again." 
 
 " Have we never met before, Mr. Gray?" Athelstan asked. 
 
 " I think not. I should remember you, Mr. Arundel, I am 
 sure," Mr. Gray replied politely. " l^Jesides, I never forget a 
 face. And yours is new to me. Good-night, sir." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 CHECKLEY SEES A GHOST 
 
 To Checkley, watching every evening, though not always at 
 the same time, sooner or later the same discovery was certain to 
 come. It happened, in fact, on Friday evening, the day after 
 Athelstan shook hands with Mr. Edmund Gray. On that night 
 he left the office between six and s'^ven, walked to his lodgings 
 in Clerkenwell, made himself a cup of tea, and hurried back to 
 Gray's Inn. Here he planted himself, as usual, close to the pas- 
 sage in the northeast corner of South Square, so that he could slip 
 in on occasion and be effaced. Like many of the detective tribe, 
 or like the ostrich, fount of many fables, he imagined himself, by 
 reason of this retreat, entirely hidden from the observation of all. 
 Of course, the exact contrary was the result. The policeman re- 
 garded him with the liveliest curiosity ; the laundresses watched 
 him daily ; the newspaper vendor came every evening from the 
 
THE IVORY GATE 289 
 
 gateway to sec what this ancient spy was doing, and wliy he 
 lurked stealthily in the passage and looked out furtively. He 
 was one of the little incidents or episodes which vary the daily 
 routine of life in the inn. Many of these occur every year; the 
 people who come to their offices at ten and go away at live know 
 nothing about them ; the residents who leave at ten and return at 
 six or seven or twelve know nothing about them. But the ser- 
 vice know, and they talk and conjecture. Here was an elderly 
 man — nay, an old, old man, apparently eighty years of age. 
 AVhat did he want, coming night after night to hide himself in 
 a passage and peer out into the square? What, indeed? The 
 policeman, who had done duty in Hyde Park, could tell instruct- 
 ive stories from his own experience about frisky age ; the laun- 
 dresses remembered gentlemen for whom they had " done," and 
 pranks with which those gentlemen amused themselves; but no 
 one knew a case parallel to this. Why should an old man stand 
 in the corner, and secretly look out into the square ? He gener- 
 ally arrived at half-past seven, and he left his post at nine, when 
 it was too dark to see across the square. Then he went to the 
 Salutation, and enjoyed society, conversation, and a cheerful glass, 
 as you have seen. 
 
 The time he chose was unfortunate, because Mr. Edmund Gray, 
 when he called at his chambers, generally did so at half-past six 
 or seven, on his way to the Hall of Science, Kentish Town. 
 Therefore, Checkley might have gone on watching for a long 
 time — say an icon — watching and waiting in vain. But an acci- 
 dent happened which rewarded him richly for all his trouble. It 
 was on Friday. Elsie, provided by this time with a latch-key to 
 the chambers, arrived at Gray's Inn at six. She was going to 
 spend the evening with the master. She walked in, ascended the 
 staircase — Mr. Gray had not yet arrived — opened the door, shut 
 it behind her, and entered the room. 
 
 The hand of woman was now visible in the general improvement 
 of the room. The windows were clean and bright ; the wainscoted 
 walls had been cleaned; the ceiling whitewashed; the carpet had 
 been swept and the furniture dusted; there were flowers on the table; 
 there was an easel, on which stood Elsie's fancy portrait of Mr, Ber- 
 ing, so wonderfully like Mr. Gray — a speaking likeness; books lay 
 about the table — they were all books on the labor question, on the 
 social question, on the problems of the day ; all the books on all 
 13 
 
290 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 the questions with wliich men now torture themselves, and think 
 tlicrcby to advance the coming of the kingdom of Heaven. There 
 were new curtains — dainty curtains of lace — hanging before the 
 windows; and the window-blinds themselves were clean and new. 
 Elsie looked about her with a certain satisfaction ; it was her own 
 doing, the work of her own hand, because the old laundress was 
 satisfied to sit down and look on. " At the least," she said, "the 
 poor, dear man has a clean room." Then she remembered that 
 in a day or two she would leave him to his old solitude, and she 
 sighed, thinking how he clung to her, and leaned upon her, and 
 already looked upon her as his successor — "a clean room," she 
 said, "when I have left him. Perhaps he will leave the room, 
 too, and be all day long what he used to be. Sane or mad? I 
 love him best when he is mad." 
 
 The tabic was covered with manuscripts. These were part of 
 the great work which he was about to give to the world. 
 
 Elsie had never seen the room behind this. A guilty curiosity 
 seized her. She felt like the youngest of Bluebeard's wives. She 
 felt the impulse ; she resisted ; she gave way ; she opened the 
 door, and looked in. 
 
 She found a room nearly as large as the sitting-room. The 
 windows were black with dust and soot. She opened one, and 
 looked out upon a small green area outside, littered with paper 
 and bottles and all kinds of jetsam. The floor of the room was 
 deep with dust; the chairs and the dressing-table were covered 
 with it. The bed was laid, but the blankets were devoured by 
 moths; there was not a square inch left whole. It looked as if 
 it had been brought in new, and covered with sheets and blankets, 
 and so left, the room unopened, the bed imtouchcd, for the ten 
 years of Mr. Edmund Gray's tenancy. 
 
 Between the bedroom and the sitting-room was a small dark 
 room, containing a bath, a table for washing up, knives and forks 
 in a basket, teacups and saucers. 
 
 "The pantry," said Elsie, "and the scullery, and the house- 
 maid's closet, all together. Oh ! beautiful ! And to think that 
 men live in such dens — and sleep there contentedly night after 
 night in this lonely, ghostly old place. Horrible!" A rattling 
 behind the wainscoting warned her that ghosts can show them- 
 selves even in the daytime. She shuddered, and retreated to the 
 sitting-room. Here she took a book, and sat by the open win- 
 
THE IVORY GATE 291 
 
 dow, heedless of the fact tliat she could be scon by any one from 
 the square. 
 
 It was seven o'clock before Mr. Edmund Gray arrived. " Ah ! 
 child," he cried tenderly, " you are liere before me. I was de- 
 layed — some business. What was it? Pshaw! I forget every- 
 thing. Never mind — I am here ; and before we take a cab I 
 want you once more to go through with me the points of my 
 new catechism. Now, if you arc ready." 
 
 " Quite ready, master." 
 
 At half-past seven Checkley arrived at his corner and took a 
 preliminary survey of the square. "There he is," said the police- 
 man. "There he is again," said two laundresses, conversing on 
 a door-step. "There he is as usual," said the newspaper boy. 
 "Now," asked all in chorus, "what's he want there?" 
 
 Mr. Checkley looked out from his corner, saw no one in the 
 square, and retreated into his passage. Then he looked out 
 again, and retreated again. If any one passed through the pas- 
 sage, Checkley was always walking off with great resolution in the 
 opposite direction. 
 
 Presently, in one of his stealthy peerings, he happened to look 
 np. Then he started ; he shaded his eyes ; he looked his hardest. 
 Yes ; at the open window, freely displayed, without the least 
 attempt at concealment, he saw the head and face of Miss Elsie 
 Arundel. There ! There ! What more was necessary ? Ed- 
 mund Gray was Athelstan Arundel, or George Austin, or both — 
 and Elsie Arundel was an accomplice after the act. There ! 
 There ! lie retreated to the seclusion of the passage, and rubbed 
 liis liands. This would please Sir Samuel. He should hear it 
 that very night. This ought to please him very much, because it 
 made things so clear at last. There she was — upstairs; in the 
 chambers of Mr. Edmund Gray; in the very room! There! 
 There ! There ! 
 
 Perhaps he was mistaken. But his sight was very good — for 
 distant things. In reading a newspaper he might make mistakes, 
 because he was one of those elderly persons who enjoy their 
 newspaper most when they can nail it upon the wall, and sit 
 down to read it from the other side of a large room. He looked 
 up again. The setting sun shining on the window of the side 
 where be stood — the eastern side was reflected upon the windows 
 
292 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 of No. 22 — Elsie's sliapcly head — slic had taken off her hat — 
 was bathed in tlic reflected sunshine. No doubt about her at all. 
 There she was. There ! There ! There ! The old man was 
 fain to take a walk up Verulam Buildings and back again to dis- 
 guise his delight at this discovery, lie walked chuckling and 
 cracking his fingers, so that those who saw him — but there 
 arc not many in Ilaymond's Buildings on an August evening — 
 thought that he must be cither a little mad or a little drunk or a 
 little foolish. But nobody much regards the actions of an an- 
 cient man. It is only the respect of his grandchildren or the 
 thought of iiis possessions that gives him importance. Only the 
 strong .ire regarded, and an old man who looks poor gets no 
 credit even for foolishness and silly chuckles. Then Checkley 
 went back to his corner. Oh! what was that? lie rubbed his 
 eyes again; he turned pale; he staggered; he caught at the 
 door-posts. What was that? lie shaded his eyes, and looked 
 again — bent and trembling and shaking all over. Said the police- 
 man, " Looks as if he's going to get 'em again." Said the laun- 
 dresses, " lie looks Jis if he'd seen a ghost." The newspaper boy 
 stepped half-way across the square. "He's looking at Mr. Ed- 
 mund Gray and the young lady. Jealous — p'r'aps — knows the 
 young lady — wouldn't have believed it, prob'ly." 
 
 Yes, Checkley was looking at that window, No doubt of 
 that at all. He was not able to disguise his astonishment; he 
 Tio longer pretended to hide himself. For he saw, sitting in the 
 window, the young lady whom he believed to be an accomplice 
 in the crime; and standing over her, with an expression of fa- 
 therlv affection, was none other than Mr. Dering himself. 
 
 Yes, Mr. Dering. Most wonderful ! What did it mean ? Had 
 Mr. Dering resolved to clear up the mystery of Edmund Gray ? 
 Had he penetrated the chambers, and found there — not Edmund 
 Grav, but Elsie Arundel ? 
 
 " My friend," said the policeman, standing before him so that 
 the view of the window was intercepted, " you seem interested 
 over the way." 
 
 " I am. I am. Oh ! yes. Much interested," 
 
 " Well, don't you think you've looked at that old gentleman 
 long enough? Perhaps he wouldn't like so much looking at. 
 There's a young lady, too. It isn't manners to be staring at a 
 young lady like a stuck pig." 
 
THE IVORY GATE 293 
 
 "No, no, policeman — I've seen onouf^h, thank you." 
 
 "And, still talkin' in a friendly way, do you think Mr. Edmund 
 Gray over there would like it if he knew tlierc was a detective or 
 a spy watching every evening on the other side of the square? 
 What's the little game, guv'nor? Anything in our line? Not 
 with that most respectable old gentleman, I do hope — though 
 sometimes — Well, what is it? Because we can't have you 
 goin' on as you have been goin' on, you know." 
 
 "Policeman" — Checkley pulled him aside and pointed to the 
 little group at the window — " you sec that old gentleman tlicre 
 — do you know him ?" 
 
 "Certainly. Known liim ever since I came to the inn — two 
 years ago. The people of the inn have known him for ten years, 
 I believe. That's Mr. Edmund Gray. He's not one of the regu- 
 lar residents, and he hasn't got an office. Comes here now and 
 then when he fancies the place — Mr. Edmund Gray, tliat is. I 
 wish all the gentlemen in the inn were half as liberal as he is." 
 
 "Oh ! it's impossible! Say it again, policeman. Perhaps Fm 
 a little deaf — Vm very old, you know — a little deaf, perhaps. 
 Say it again." 
 
 " What's the matter with the man ?" For he was shaking vio- 
 lently, and his eyes stared. " Of course that is Mr. Edmund Gray." 
 
 " What does the girl do with hiiu? Why are they both there 
 together ?" 
 
 "How should I know why she calls upon him? She's a young 
 lady, and a sweet young thing, too. He's her grandfather, likely." 
 
 Checkley groaned. 
 
 "I must go somewhere and think this out," he said. "Excuse 
 me, policeman. I am an old man, and — and — Fve had a bit of 
 a shock, and — Good-evening, policeman." He shaded his eyes 
 again and looked up. Yes, there they were, talking. Then Elsie 
 rose, and he saw her putting on her hat. Then she retreated up 
 the room. But still he stood watching. 
 
 "Not had enough yet, guv'nor?" asked the policeman. 
 
 " Only a minute. I want to see her go out. Yes, there they are 
 — going out together. It is, after all — Oh ! there is no mistake." 
 
 "There is no mistake, guv'nor," said the policeman. "There 
 goes Mr. Edmund Gray, and there goes that sweet young thing 
 along of him. Ah ! there's many advantages about being a 
 gentleman. No mistake, I say, about them two. Now, old man, 
 
294 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 yon look as if you'd had a surprise. Hadn't you better go liomc 
 and take a drop of soniotliing." 
 
 It was earlier than Chcckley generally went to the Salutation. 
 Bnt lie delayed no longer, lie tottered across the square, show- 
 ing very much of extreme feebleness, looking neither to the right 
 nor to the left, his cheek white, his eyes rolling. The people 
 looked after him, expecting that he would fall. But he did not. 
 He turned into the tavern, hobbled along the passage, and sank 
 into an arm-chair in the parlor. 
 
 "Good gracious! Mr, Chcckley," cric<l the barmaid as he passed, 
 " whatever is the matter?" 
 
 Some of the usual company were already assembled, although 
 it was as yet hardly eight. The money-lender was there, sitting 
 in his corner, taking his tobacco and his grog in silence. The 
 decayed barrister was there, his glass of old and mild before him, 
 reading the morning newspa[)cr. The ex-M.l*. was there. When 
 Chcckley tumbled into .the room, they looked np in surprise. 
 When lie gazed about liim wildly and gasped, they were aston- 
 ished, for lie seemed like unto one about to have a fit. 
 
 "Give me something, Robert — give me something," he cried. 
 "Qnick — something strong. I'll have it short. Quick — quick!" 
 
 Robert brought him a small glass of brandy, which he swal- 
 lowed hastily. 
 
 " Oh !" he groaned, sitting up, " I've seen — I've seen — " 
 
 " You look as if you'd seen a ghost," said the barmaid, who had 
 come along with a glass of water, " Shall I bathe your forehead ?" 
 
 "No, no. I am better now — I am all right again. Gentle- 
 men" — he looked round the room solemnly — " Tve seen this 
 evening a good man — an old man — a great man — a rich man, 
 gentlemen, wrecked and cast away and destroyed and ruined 
 with a little devil of a woman to langh at him !" 
 
 "They don't generally laugh at the men when they are ruined," 
 said Mr. Langhorne. "They laugh while they are ruining tlicm. 
 It's fun to them. So it is to the men. Great fun it is while it 
 lasts. I dare say the little woman won't really laugh at him. In 
 my case — " 
 
 His case was left untold, because he stopped and buried his 
 head in his newspaper. 
 
 Then Shylock spoke. He removed his pipe from his lips and 
 spoke, moved, after his kind, by the mention of the words wreck 
 
THE IVORY GATE 295 
 
 and ruin, just as the vulture pricks up its feathers at the word 
 death : 
 
 "To see a rich man wrecked and ruined, Mr. Chcckley, is a 
 tiling whicli a man may see every day. The thing is, not to 
 lose by their wreck — to make money out of it. Rich men are 
 always being wrecked and ruined. What else can you expect if 
 men refuse to pay their interest and to meet their bills? The 
 melancholy thing — ah I the real sadness — is the ruin of a man 
 who has trusted his fellow-creatures and got taken in for his 
 pains. Only this morning I find that I've been let in by a swin- 
 dler — a common swindler, gentlemen — who comes round and 
 says he can't pay up — can't pay up — and I'm welcome to the 
 sticks. Which kind of man might your friend be, Mr. Checkley, 
 the man who's trusted his neighbor and got left, or the neighbor 
 who's ramped the man that trusted him ?" 
 
 " It isn't money at all," Checkley replied. 
 
 "Then, sir, if it isn't money," said the money-lender, "I don't 
 know why you come in frightening this honorable company out 
 of their wits. If it isn't money, how the devil can the gentle- 
 man be wrecked and ruined?" 
 
 For two hours Mr. Checkley sat in silence, evidently not listen- 
 ing to what was said. Then he turned to Mr. Langhorne, the 
 barrister: "You've known Mr. Edmund Gray a long time, I be- 
 lieve ?" 
 
 " Nine years — ten years — since he came to the inn." 
 
 "Always the same man, I suppose?" said Checkley. "Never 
 another man? — not sometimes a young man? — or two young men? 
 — one rather a tall young man, looks as if the world was all his? 
 — supercilious beast !" 
 
 "Never more than one man at once," replied the barrister, 
 with a show of forensic keenness, "lie might have been two 
 young men rolled into one, but not to my knowledge; always 
 the same man to look at, so far as I know — and the same man 
 to talk with." 
 
 '• Oh ! yes, yes. There's no hope left — none, lie's ruined 
 and lost, and cast away and done for." 
 
 He rose and walked out. The company looked after him and 
 shook their heads. Tiien they drew their chairs a little closer, 
 and the gap made by his departure vanished. 
 
29G THE IVOKY GATE 
 
 ClIArTEll XXXII 
 
 THE PAY AFTEU THE GHOST 
 
 "When Mr. Dcrin<T; arrived at liis office next morning he ob- 
 served that his table had not been arranged for him. Imagine 
 tlic snrprisc of the housewife, should she come down to break- 
 fast and lind the ham and the toast and the tea placed upon the 
 table without the decent cloth ! With such eyes did Mr. Dcring 
 gaze upon the pile of yesterday's letters lying upon his blotting- 
 pad, the pens in disorder, the papers heaped about anyhow, the 
 dust of yesterday cverywjierc. Such a tiling had never hap[)ened 
 before in liis whole experience of fifty-five years. He touched 
 his bell sharply. 
 
 "Why," he asked, hanging up his coat without turning round 
 — " why is not my table ])Ut in order?" lie turned, and saw his 
 clerk standing at the open door. " Good heavens ! Chcckley, 
 what is the matter?" 
 
 For the ancient servitor stood with drooping head an<l melan- 
 choly face and bent shoulders. His hands liung down in the 
 jittitude of one who waits to serve. But he did not serve. lie 
 stood still, and made no reply. 
 
 He understood now. Since the apparition of Soutli Square 
 lie had had time to reflect. He now understood the whole busi- 
 ness from the beginning to the end. One hand there was, and 
 only one, concerned with the ease. Now he understood the 
 meaning of the frequent fits of abstraction, the long silences, this 
 strange forgetfulncss which made his master mix up days and 
 hours, and caused him to wonder what he had done and where 
 he had been on tliis and that evening. And somebody else 
 knew. The girl knew. She had told her lover. She had told 
 her brother. That was why the new ])artncr laughed and defied 
 them. It was on his charge that young Arundel had been forced 
 to leave the country. It was he who declared that he had seen 
 him place the stolen notes in the safe. It was he who had 
 
THE IVORY GATE 297 
 
 charged young Austin, and whispered suspicions into the mind 
 of Sir Samuel. Now the truth would come out, and they would 
 all turn upon him, and his master would have to be told. Who 
 ■would tell him ? How could they tell him ? Yet he m-ust be 
 told. And what would be done to the jealous servant? And 
 how could the old lawyer, with such a knowledge about himself, 
 continue to work at his office? All was finished. He would be 
 sent about his business. Ills master would go home, and stay 
 there — with an attendant. How could he continue to live with- 
 out his work to do? What would he do all day ? With whom 
 ■would he talk? Everything finished and done witli. Every- 
 thing — 
 
 He stood, therefore, stricken dumb, humble, waiting for re- 
 proof. 
 
 "Are you ill, Checkley ?" asked Mr. Bering. "You look ill. 
 What is the matter?" 
 
 "I am not ill," he replied, in a hollow voice, with a dismal 
 shake of the head. " I am not exactly ill. Yes, I am ill. I 
 tried to put your table in order for you this morning, but I 
 couldn't, I really couldn't. I feel as if I couldn't never do any- 
 thing for you — never again. After sixty years' service, it's hard 
 to feel like that." 
 
 He moved to the table, and began mechanically laying the 
 papers straiglit. 
 
 " No one has touched your table but me for sixty years. It's 
 hard to think that another hand will do this for you — and do it 
 quite as well you'll think. Tbat's what we get for faithful ser- 
 vice." He put the papers all wrong, because his old eyes were 
 dimmed with unaccustomed moisture. Checkley had long since 
 ceased to weep over the sorrows of others, even in the most 
 moving situations, wlien, for instance, he himself carried oflE tlie 
 sticks instead of the rent. But no man is so old that he cannot 
 weep over his own misfortunes. Checkley's eye was therefore 
 dimmed with the tear of compassion, which is the sister of 
 charity. 
 
 " I do not understand you this morning, Checkley. Have you 
 had any unpleasantness with Mr. Austin — with any of the peoj)le?" 
 
 " No, no. Only that I had better go before I am turned out. 
 That's all. That's all " — he repeated the words in despair. 
 " Nothing but that." 
 13* 
 
298 THE IVOKY UATE 
 
 " Who is going to turn you out? What do yon mean, Check- 
 ley ? What the devil do you mean by going on like this? Am 
 I not master here? Who can turn you out?'' 
 
 " You can, sir, and you w ill — and I'd rather, if you'll excuse 
 the liberty, go out of my own accord. I'm a small man — only 
 a very small man — but, thank God ! I've got enough to give me 
 a crust of bread and cheese to live upon." 
 
 " I toll you what, Chcckley — you had better go home, and lie 
 down, and rest a little. You arc upset. Now, at our age we 
 can't afford to be upset. Go home, and bo easy. Old friends 
 don't part quite so easily as you think." Mr. Dering spoke kind- 
 ly and gently. One must be patient with so old a servant. 
 
 Chcckley sobbed and choked. Like a child he sobbed. Like 
 a child of four Chcckley choked and sniffed. "You don't un- 
 derstand," he said. " Oh, no — you can't understand. It's what 
 I saw last night." 
 
 "This is very wonderful. What did you sec? A ghost?" 
 
 " Worse than a ghost. Who cares for a ghost? Ghosts can't 
 turn a man out of his place and bring him to be a laughing- 
 stock. ,No, no. It was a man that I saw, not a ghost." 
 
 "If you can find it possible to talk reasonably" — Mr. Dering 
 took his chair, and tore open an envelope — " when you can find 
 it possible to talk reasonably, I will listen. Meantime, I really 
 think that you had better go home and lie down for an hour or 
 two. Your nerves are shaken ; you hardly know what you are 
 saying." 
 
 "I was in Gray's Inn yesterday evening — by accident — at 
 eight." lie spoke in gasi)s, watching his master curiously. "By 
 accident — not spying. No — by accident. On my way to my 
 club — at the Salutation. Walking through South Square. Not 
 thinking of anything. Looking about me — careless-like." 
 
 " South Square, Gray's Inn ? That is the place where the man 
 Edmund Gray lives; the man we want to find and cannot find." 
 
 "Oh! Lord! Lord!" exclaimed the clerk. "Is it possible?" 
 He lifted his hand, and raised his eyes to heaven, and groaned. 
 Then he resumed his narrative. 
 
 "Coming through the passage, I looked up to the windows of 
 No. 22 — Mr. Edmund Gray's chambers, you know." 
 
 " I believe so." Mr. Dering's face betrayed no emotion at all. 
 " Go on — I am told so. " 
 
THE IVORY GATE 299 
 
 " Tti the window I saw Mr. Edmund Gray himself — him- 
 self." 
 
 "Curious. Yon have seen him — but why not?" 
 
 " The man we've all been so anxious to find. The man who 
 endorsed the check, and wrote the letters, and got the papers — 
 tliere he was !" 
 
 " Question of identity. How did you know liim, since you had 
 never seen hiin before?" 
 
 This question Checkley shirked. 
 
 "lie came down-stairs five minutes afterwards, while I was still 
 looking up at the windows. Came down-stairs, and walked out 
 of the square — made as if he was going out by way of Ray- 
 mond's Buildings — much as if he might be going to Bedford 
 Row." 
 
 "These details arc unimportant. Again — how did you know 
 him ?" 
 
 " I asked the policeman who the gentleman was. He said it 
 was Mr. Ivlinund Gray. I asked the newspaper boy at the IIol- 
 born entrance, lie said it was Mr. Edmund Gray, and that every- 
 body knew him." 
 
 "So everybody knows him. Well, Checkley, I see nothing so 
 very remarkable about your seeing a man so well known in the 
 inn. It adds nothing to our knowledge. That he exists we 
 know already. What share, if any, he has had in this case of 
 ours remains still a mystery. Unless, that is, you have found out 
 something else." 
 
 Checkley gazed upon his master with a kind of stupor. " No, 
 no," he murmured. "I can't." 
 
 " What did you do, when yon found out that it was the man ?" 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 "You did nothing. Well, under the circumstances, I don't 
 know what you could have done." 
 
 " And he walked away." 
 
 " Oh ! lie walked away. Very important, indeed. But, 
 Checkley, this story does not in the least account for your strange 
 agitation this morning. Have you anything more to tell me? I 
 see that you have, but you seem to experience more than usual 
 difficulty in getting it out." 
 
 The clerk hesitated. " Do you," he asked at last — " do you 
 — happen — to know Gray's Inn ?" 
 
300 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 " I dare say I liave been there — years ago. Why ?" 
 
 " Oil ! you liaven't been there hitely, liave you ?" 
 
 " Not hitely — not for forty years, or some such inconsiderable 
 period. "Wiiy ?" 
 
 "I thouglit you might yourself have met Mr. Edmund Gray — 
 been to his chambers, perhaps." 
 
 Mr. Dering sat upright, and laid his hand upon his letters. 
 " Chcokley," ho said, " 1 am always willing to make allowance for 
 people in mental distress, but I think I have made allowance 
 enough. Come to the point. Have you lost any money ?" 
 
 " No, no ; not so bad as that — but bad enough. No, I couldn't 
 afford to lose money. I haven't got enough to spare any. IJut 
 I got a shock — kind of stroke — partly because of the man 1 met, 
 and partly because of the person with him." 
 
 "Oh ! who was that? Are we arriving at something?" 
 
 " I hadn't told you that. The person who was sitting at the 
 open window with him, who came down-stairs with him, and 
 walked out of the square with him, was no other than your own 
 ward — Miss Elsie Arundel herself !" 
 
 "Oh! why not?" asked Mr. Dering carelessly. "She told me 
 — yesterday, was it? — that she knows him." 
 
 "If it had been any one else she was with," he replied, mixing 
 up his grammar — " if it liad been any one else who was with her 
 — I wouldn't have been surprised. But to see the two together. 
 That gave me a turn that I can't get over." 
 
 "Still — why not? Miss Elsie Arundel has already told rac 
 that she is acquainted with Mr. Edmund Gray." 
 
 "What? She has told you — she has actually told you? Oh! 
 what has she told you? Oh! Lord! Lord! What is a man to 
 say or to do? She told you — What is best to do?" He wrung 
 his hands in his distress and his perplexity. 
 
 " I cannot understand, Checkley," said Mr. Dering, with em- 
 phasis, " the reason for this display of excitement. Why should 
 she not tell me, or anybody else? Do you suppose that my ward 
 is doing anything clandestine? She has told me that she is ac- 
 quainted with this man. She asserts further that we have made 
 a great mistake about him. What she means, I cannot under- 
 stand. She says, in fact, that this gentleman is a perfectly hon- 
 orable person. It is possible that he has deceived her. It is also 
 possible that the name of Edmund Gray had been wrongfully 
 
THE IVOHY GATE 301 
 
 used in the papers which belong to the case. Certainly it Avas an 
 Edniund Gray who endorsed the first check; and an Edmund 
 Gray having an address at 22 South Square whose name is con- 
 nected with the later business. Well, we shall see presently. 
 When do you take out the warrant for the arrest of this raan? 
 By the way, Elsie Arundel implores me not to allow that step. 
 When are you going to do it? 
 
 "This morning, I was going to do it. Everything is ready — 
 but—" 
 
 " But what r 
 
 " I can't do it now." 
 
 " The man is clean gone off his head." 
 
 " Leave it till to-morrow — only to-morrow — or Monday. Be- 
 fore then, something is certain to turn up. Oh ! certain sure it 
 is. Something must turn up." 
 
 "There is certainly something that you are keeping behind, 
 Checkley. Well — wait till Monday. To-day is Saturday. lie 
 can't do very much mischief between this and Monday. That's 
 enough about Edmund Gray. Now, here is another point, to 
 which I want a direct answer from you. My brother asserts, I 
 believe on your authority, that Athelstan Arundel has been living 
 in a low and profligate manner in some London suburb, and that 
 he was in rags and poverty early this year. What is your author- 
 ity for this?" 
 
 " Why, I heard him confess — or not deny — that lie'd been liv- 
 ing in Camberwell in bad company. It was at the Salutation I 
 heard it. He didn't see me. I'd got my head behind a paper. 
 Ue never denied it." 
 
 " Humph ! And about tlie rags ?" 
 
 " I don't know anything about the rags." 
 "Very likely there is as much foundation for the one charge 
 as for the other. Three or four years ago he was in America, to 
 my knowledge, lie wrote to me from America. I now learn, 
 on the authority of his sister, that he only came back a month 
 ago, and that he has been and is still in the service of an Amer- 
 ican paper. What have you got to say to that?" 
 
 " Nothing. I don't feci as if I could say anything. It's all 
 turned upsy-down. That won't do, I suppose, no more than the 
 rest." 
 
 " But, my friend, if that is true, your theory of conspiracy and 
 
302 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 confederacy, which you took so ranch pains to build up, falls to 
 the ground as far as Atliclstan is concerned." 
 
 " Yes. Oil ! I liavcn't nothing to say." It was a mark of the 
 trouble which possessed him that liis language reverted to that of 
 liis young days, before he had leaniod the art of correct speech 
 from the copying of legal documents. Ue preserved the same at- 
 titude with bent head and hanging hands, a sad and pitiful object. 
 
 " Since Atliclstan was not in London during the months of 
 March and April, he could have had no hand in the later for- 
 geries. And it is acknowledged that the same hand was con- 
 cerned both in the earlier and the later business." 
 
 " Yes, yes — the same hand. Oh ! yes — the same liand," he 
 repeated with pathos unintelligible to his master. "The same 
 band — the same hand ; yes, yes — the same hand — that's the devil 
 of it — same hand done it all." 
 
 "Then what becomes of your charge against my young part- 
 ner ? You were extremely fierce about it. So was my brother. 
 You had no proofs — nor had lie. If the same hand was in both 
 forgeries, it could not have been the hand of George Austin. 
 What do you say to that?" 
 
 "Nothing. I'm never going" — still standing, hands hanging 
 — " to say anything again as long as I live." 
 
 " But you were very fierce about it, Checkley. You must 
 either find more proofs or withdraw your accusation." 
 
 "Oh! if that's all, I withdraw — I withdraw everything." 
 
 " AVhy did you bring that charge then, Checkley ? You've 
 been making yourself very busy over the character of my part- 
 ner. You have permitted yourself to say tilings in the office 
 before the clerks about him. If it turns out that he has had 
 nothing to do with the business you will be in a very serious 
 position." 
 
 " I withdraw — I withdraw everything," the old clerk replied, 
 but not meekly. Ue was prepared to withdraw, but only because 
 he was forced. 
 
 " Remember, too, that it was you who brought the charge 
 against young Arundel." 
 
 " I withdraw — I withdraw everything." 
 
 " You went so far as to remember — the other day — having 
 seen him replace the notes in the safe. "What do you say to 
 that?" 
 
THE IVORY GATE 303 
 
 " I withdraw." 
 
 " But it was a direct statement — tlic testimony of an eye-wit- 
 ness. Was it true or not? — I don't know you tliis morning, 
 Clieckley. First, you appear shaking and trembling; then you 
 tell me things which seem in no way to warrant so much agita- 
 tion. Next, you withdraw an accusation which ouglit never to 
 have been made except with tlie strongest proof. And now you 
 wish to withdraw an alleged fact." 
 
 Checkley shook his head helplessly. 
 
 " I acknowledge that the business remains as mysterious as be- 
 fore. Nothing has been found out. But there remains an evi- 
 dent and savage animosity on your part towards two young gen- 
 tlemen in succession. Why? What have they done to you?" 
 
 Checkley made reply in bold words, but still standing witli 
 hanging hands, " I withdraw the animosity. I withdraw every- 
 thing. As for young Arundel, he was a supercilious beast. We 
 were dirt beneath his feet. The whole earth belonged to him. 
 lie used to imitate my ways of speaking, and he used to make 
 the clerks laugh at me. I hated him then. I hate him still. It 
 was fun to him that an old man, nigh seventy, with no education, 
 shouldn't speak like a young gentleman of Oxford and Cambridge 
 College. He used to stick his hat on the back of his head as if it 
 was a crown, and lie'd slam the door after him as if he was a 
 partner. I hated him. I was never so glad as when he ran away 
 in a rage. lie was coming between you and me, too — oh ! I saw 
 it. Cunning he was. Laying his lines for to come between you 
 and me." 
 
 " Why — yon were jealous, Checkley." 
 
 *' I was glad when he ran away. And I always tliought he'd 
 done it, too. As for seeing him put the notes back in the safe, I 
 perceive now that I never did see him do it. Yet I seemed to think 
 at the time that I'd remembered seeing liim do a kind of a sort of 
 a something like it. I now perceive that I was wrong. He never 
 done it. He hadn't the wits to contrive it. That sort is never 
 half sharp. Too fine-gentleman for such a trick. Oh ! I know 
 what yon are going to say next. ' How about the second young 
 fellow V I hate him, too. I hate him because he's the same super- 
 cilious beast as the other, and because he's been able to get round 
 you. He's carneyed you — no fool like an old fool — and flattered 
 you — till you've made hiin a partner. I've worked for you, heart 
 
304 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 and soul, for sixty years and more, and this boy comes in and cuts 
 me out in a twelvemonth." 
 
 "Well! but, Clicckley — hang it! — I wouldirt make you a 
 partner." 
 
 " You didn't want no partners. You could do your work, and 
 I could do mine and yours too, even if you did want to go asleep 
 of an afternoon." 
 
 " This is grave, however. You hated Mr. Austin, and there- 
 fore you bring against hira this foul charge. Tiiis is very grave, 
 Checklcy." 
 
 " No, I thought he was guilty. T did, indeed. Everything 
 pointed that way. And I don't undirstand about young Arundel, 
 because he came into the Salutation with the Cambridge gentle- 
 man wlio gets drunk there every night, and he said that he'd lived 
 at Caniberwcll for eight years with bad company as I wouldn't 
 name to you, sir. I thought he was guilty. I did, indeed." 
 
 " And now?" 
 
 "Oh! now it is all over. Everything's upsy-down. Nobody's 
 guilty. I know now that he hasn't had anything to do witli it. 
 lie's a young man of very slow intelligence and inferior parts. 
 lie couldn't have had anything to do with it. We ought to have 
 known that." 
 
 " Well, but wlio lias done it, after all ?" 
 
 " That's it." Clieckley was so troubled that he dropped into a 
 chair in the presence of his master. " That's it. Who's done it? 
 Don't you know who done it? No, I see you don't so much as 
 suspect. No more don't I. Else — what to do — what to say — 
 Lord only knows I" He turned and ran ; he scuttled out of the 
 room, banging the door behind him. 
 
 " He's mad," said Mr. Bering. *' Poor man ! Age makes men 
 forgetful, but it has driven Checkley mad." 
 
THE IVORY GATE 305 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 THE THREE ACCOMPLICES 
 
 On that same evening the three accomplices — probably on the 
 proceeds of their iniquities — were dining together at the Savoy. 
 After dinner they sat on the veranda overlooking the river and 
 tlic Embankment. 'Tis sweet, what time the evening shades 
 prevail, while one is still in the stage of physical comfort and 
 mental peace attendant upon an artistic little banquet, to view 
 from the serene lieights of a balcony at that liotel the unquiet 
 figures of those who flit backwards and forwards below. They 
 — alas! — have not dined so well, or they could not walk so fast, 
 or drag llieir limbs so hopelessly, or lean over the wall so sadly. 
 
 Elsie leaned her head upon her hands, looking down upon this 
 scene, though not quite with these thoughts. Young ladies who 
 are quite happy, and are going to be married next week, do not 
 make these comparisons. Happiness is selfish. When one is 
 quite happy, everybody else seems quite happy too — even Laz- 
 arus and the leper. We must never be happy if we do not wish 
 to be selfish. 
 
 Coffee was on the table. Athelstan had a cigar. They were 
 all tliree silent. During dinner they had talked gayly, because 
 everybody knows that you cannot talk with strange people listen- 
 ing. After dinner they sat in silence, because it is only when 
 the waiters are gone that one is free to talk. 
 
 "Elsie," said George presently, "you liave something to tell 
 us — something you have discovered. For my own part, since I 
 handed the case over to anybody else, I feel as if I were not in- 
 terested in it. But still, one would like to know — just for curi- 
 osity's sake — when Chcckley is to be ' run in.' " 
 
 "Yes," said Elsie, "I must tell you. Perhaps I ought to have 
 told you before. Yet there was a reason. Now — you will be 
 greatly astonished, George." 
 
 "Before you begin, Elsie" — Athelstan removed his cigar — "I 
 
306 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 must tell yoii tbat yesterday cvenini; I, too, made a discovery — 
 what the Americans call a pivotal discovery — a discovery that dis- 
 covers cvcrythini;. I should have told you last night, but you 
 announced your communications for this evening, and I thought 
 we would expose our discoveries at the same time." 
 
 " You have found out, too !" Elsie cried. " I see by your face 
 that you have. Well, Athelstan, so much the better. Now, tell 
 your discovery first, and I will follow." 
 
 "It is this. I have discovered Edmund Gray. I have sat 
 with him, and discoursed with him, in Freddy Carstone's cham- 
 bers. He came in, sat beside me, and conversed for more than 
 an hour." 
 
 "Oh !" said Elsie. " Then you know all — as much as I know." 
 
 "Observe," George interposed, "that /know nothing as yet." 
 
 " Wait a moment, George. Learn that I have myself known 
 Mr. Edmund Gray for a fortnight. You will think, perhaps, that 
 I ought to have told you before. Well — but there is a reason — 
 besides, the way, to begin with, did not lie quite clear before me. 
 Now the time has come when you should advise as to the best 
 course to follow." 
 
 " You have certainly been more mysterious than any oracle, 
 Elsie. Yet you will bear witness, if it comes to bearing witness, 
 that I accepted your utterances and believed in them." 
 
 "You certainly did, George. And now, Athelstan, tell him 
 the whole." 
 
 " In one word, then — Edmund Gray, the man we have been 
 looking after so long, is none other than Edward Dcring, of 12 
 New Square, Lincoln's Inn, solicitor." 
 
 "I don't understand," said George, bewildered. "Say it all 
 again." 
 
 Athelstan repeated his words. 
 
 " That is my discovery, too," said Elsie. " Now you know all, 
 as you understand." 
 
 " But I don't understand. How can one man be another 
 man ?" 
 
 " I sat beside one man," Athelstan added, " for an hour and 
 more; and lo ! all the time he was another man." 
 
 " And still I am fogged. What does it mean ?" 
 
 " It means, George, what you would never suspect. The one 
 man received mc as a stranger. He knew nothing about me ; he 
 
THE IVORY GATE 307 
 
 had never heard my name, even. Yet the other man knows ine 
 so well. It was very odd at first. I felt as if I was talking to a 
 sleep- walker." 
 
 "Oh!" cried George, "I know now. You have seen Mr. Ber- 
 ing in a kind of sleep-walking state — I, too, liave seen him thus. 
 But tlie said nothing." 
 
 "Ton may call it sleep-walking if you like. But, George, 
 there is another and a more scientific name for it. The old man 
 is mad. He has fits of madness, during which he plays another 
 part, under another name. Now, do you understand?" 
 
 " Yes ; but — is it possible ?" 
 
 " It is more than possible ; it is an actual certainty. Wait. 
 Let Elsie tell her story." 
 
 Then Elsie began, with a little air of triumph, because it is not 
 given to every young lady to find out what all the men have 
 failed to find. 
 
 " Well — you see — I was always thinking over this business, 
 and wondering why nothing was found out about it, and watch- 
 ing you look this way and that, and it occurred to mc that the 
 first thing of all was to find out this Mr. Edmund Gray, and lay 
 hands upon him. At first I thought I would just go and stand 
 outside his door all day long and every day until he came. But 
 that seemed a waste of time. So I remembered how you found 
 his door open, and went in, and spoke to the laundress. I 
 thought that I would do the same thing, and sit down there, and 
 wait until he should come. But I was afraid to sit in the rooms 
 of a strange man all alone — no, I could not do it. So I just 
 found out the old woman — the laundress — as you did, George, 
 and I gave her money, and she told me that Mr. Gray was at his 
 chambers almost every Saturday afternoon. Very well ; if any- 
 body chose to wait for him all Saturday afternoon, he would cer- 
 tainly be found. So on Saturday afternoon I took a cab and 
 drove to Ilolborn, and got to the place before his arrival. But 
 again, as it was not quite nice to stand at an open doorway in a 
 public square, I thought I would wait on the stairs. So I 
 mounted — the doors were all closed — nobody was left in the 
 place at all — I thought I should be perfectly safe and undis- 
 turbed, when I heard the noise of footsteps overhead — a tramp, 
 tramp, tramp up and down, with every now and then a 
 groan — like a hungry creature in a cage. This kept on for 
 
308 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 a long time, and friglitcncJ nic horribly. I was still more 
 frightened when a door overhead opened and shut, and the foot- 
 steps came down-stairs. They belonged to a man — an elderly 
 roan — who seemed as much frightened at seeing me as I was at 
 seeing him. lie asl;cd me whether I wanted any one; and when 
 I said I wanted Mr. Edmund Gray, he said that he was a friend 
 of Mr. (Jray's, and that, since I was a friend too, I might act for 
 Edmund Gray, and lend him some money. He looked desper- 
 ately poor and horribly hungry, and tliin and shabby, the poor 
 old man I" 
 
 "So you acted for Edmund Gray. That was old Lnnghornc. 
 lie is a barrister, who lives in the garret, and is horribly down on 
 his luck. Go on." 
 
 "Poor Elsie I" said George. "Think of her, all alone on the 
 staircase !" 
 
 " \Vhcn he was gone, there was no sound at all. The place 
 was perfectly quiet. The time passed so slowly — oh ! so slowly. 
 At last, however, I heard a step. It came up the stairs. Oh ! 
 my heart began to beat. Suppose it shuuld be Mr. Edmund 
 Gray ? Suppose it was some uther person ? Suppose it was some 
 horror of a man ? But I had not long to wait, because Mr. Ed- 
 mund Gray himself stood on the landing. He stared at me, 
 rather surprised to find a young lady on the stairs, but he showed 
 no sign of recognition whatever. I was a complete stranger to 
 him." 
 
 "And was the man Mr. Dering?" 
 
 "He was — Mr. Dering. There was just the least little change 
 in him. He wore his coat open instead of buttoned. He had 
 no gloves, his hat was not pulled over his eyes, and his face was 
 somehow lighter and brighter than usual." 
 
 "That is so," said Athelstan. "Exactly with these little 
 changes he presented himself to me." 
 
 " Perhaps there is another man in the world exactly like him." 
 
 " Futile remark ! Go on, Elsie." 
 
 "Then I guessed in a moment what it meant. I stepped for- 
 ward, and asked him if he was Mr. Edmund Gray. And then I 
 followed him into his rooms. George, there is no manner of 
 doubt whatever. Mr. Dering has periods — whether regular or not 
 I cannot tell — when he loses himself, and becomes in imagination 
 another man. He is mad, if you like, but there is method in his 
 
THE IVORY GATE 309 
 
 niatlncss. Tlic other man is just himself turned inside out. Mv. 
 Deriiig believes in the possible wickedness of everybody ; the 
 other man believes in the actual goodness of every man. Mr. 
 Dering considers property the only stable foundation of society ; 
 the other man considers property the root of all evil. Mr. Der- 
 ing is hard and jealous; the other man is full of geniality and 
 benevolence. Mr. Dering is Justice ; the other man is Mercy." 
 
 " Very neatly put, Elsie. There is quite an eighteenth-century 
 balance about your sentences and sentiments. So far" — Athel- 
 stan contributed his confirmation — " so far as I could judge, 
 nothing could be more true. I found my man the exact oppo- 
 site of himself." 
 
 " Can such a thing be possible ? If I were to speak to him, 
 would he not know mc?" 
 
 "You forget, George. You liave seen him in that condition, 
 and he did not know you." 
 
 "Nothing is more common" — Athelstan, the journalist, began 
 to draw upon the encyclopaedic memory which belongs to his 
 profession — "than such a forgetfulness of self. Have you ever 
 been into a lunatic asylum? I have — for professional purposes. 
 I have discoursed with the patients, and been instructed by the 
 physicians. Half the time many of the patients are perfectly ra- 
 tional ; during the other half they seem to assume another mind 
 with other memories. It is not real possession, as the ancients 
 called it, because they never show knowledge other than what they 
 have learned before. Thus, a sane man who cannot draw would 
 never in insanity become an artist. So Mr. Dering, when he is 
 mad, brings tlic same logical power and skill to bear upon a dif- 
 ferent set of maxims and opinions. Said a physician to mc at 
 this asylum of which I speak, 'There are thousands of men and 
 women, but especially men, who are mad every now and then, 
 and don't know it. Most of the crimes are, I believe, committed 
 in moments of madness. A young fellow steals money — it is 
 because at the moment he is so mad that he even persuades him- 
 self that borrowing is not stealing; that he is only borrowing; 
 that he can get it back, and put it back, before it is found out. 
 What is uncontrollable rage but sudden madness? There are 
 the men who know that they are mad on some point or other, 
 and cunningly hide it, and are never found out. And there are 
 the men who are mad, and don't know it. In their mad times 
 
310 TlIK IVOUY GATE 
 
 they commit all kinds of cxtrava2;anccs and follies, yet somehow 
 they escape detection.' So he talked ; and he told me of a man 
 who was a lawyer in one town with a wife and family, and also 
 a lawyer in anotlier with a different wife and family. But one 
 hiwycr never found out the other; and the thinj^ was only dis- 
 covered when the man got a paralytic stroke and died in a kind 
 of hewildermcnt, because, when the time came for him to be the 
 other man, he found liimself lying in a strange bedroom with a 
 strange family round him. I had long forgotten tlie asylum. I 
 did the place for my paper three or four years ago, and scored 
 by the description. Since last night I have been recalling my 
 experience, and applying it. You see, there can never be any 
 physical change. This is no llyde and Jekyll business. AVhat- 
 cvcr happens must be conducted with the same body and the 
 same mind. The same processes of mind in which the man is 
 trained remain, but his madness requires a new setting." 
 
 "One cannot understand," said Elsie. 
 
 " No. Hut then one cannot understand everytliing. That's 
 the real beauty of this world ; wc arc planted in the midst of 
 things; wc can give names to them — Adam began that way, 
 didn't he ? — but wc can't understand any of them ; and most 
 people think that when we have given a name we have succeeded 
 in understanding. Well, Klsic — we don't understand. But wc 
 may find out something. I take it that the other man grew up 
 by degrees in his brain, so that there is no solution of the con- 
 tinuity of thought and recollection. The Edmund Gray devel- 
 oped liimself. lie has been developed for nearly ten years, since 
 he has occupied the same chambers all the time." 
 
 "But about the forgeries?" George sprang to his feet. "I 
 declare," he cried, " I had quite forgotten the real bearing on our 
 case." 
 
 " Edmund Gray," said Elsie, " says that his own lawyer who man- 
 ages his affairs is Edward Dering. If he were to write letters 
 while Edmund Gray, he would not impose upon Edward Dering." 
 
 " lie cannot write to two men," said Athclstan. "There must 
 be a border-land between the waking and the dreaming, when the 
 two spirits of Edmund Gray and Edward Dering contend for the 
 mastery, or when they command each other — when Edmund Gray 
 endorses checks and Edward Dering writes letters and conducts 
 transfers for his client — his double — himself." 
 
THE IVORY GATE 311 
 
 " I have seen him in such a state," said George. " At tlie time 
 I never suspected anything but a passing trouble of mind, which 
 caused him to be so wrapped up in his thoughts as not to be able 
 to distinguish anything. He was then, I doubt not now, carrying 
 out the instructions of Edmund Gray, or he was Edmund Gray 
 acting for himself. Checkley whispered not to disturb him. He 
 said that he had often seen liim so." 
 
 " I have never tried to understand," said Elsie ; " but I saw 
 that Edmund Gray was Mr. During gone mad, and that he liim- 
 sclf, and nobody else, was the perpetrator of all these forgeries ; 
 and I have been trying to discover the best way — the kindest 
 way to him — the surest way for us — of getting the truth known. 
 George, this is the secret of my mysterious movements. This is 
 why I have not given you a single evening for a whole fortnight. 
 Every evening — both Sund;iys — I have spent with this dear old 
 man. He is the most delightful — the most gentle — the most 
 generous — old man that you ever saw. He is full of ideas— oh ! 
 quite full — and they carry you out of yourself, until you awake 
 next morning to find that they are a dream. I have fallen in 
 love with him. I have had the most charming fortnight — only 
 one was always rather afraid that lie might come to himself, 
 which would be awkward." 
 
 " Well, lillsie, have you found a way?" 
 
 " I think I have. First, I have discovered that when he is sur- 
 rounded with things that remind him of Edmund Gray, he re- 
 mains Edmund Gray. Next, I have found out that I can, by 
 talking to him even at his office, when he has his papers before 
 him, turn liim into Edmund Gray." 
 
 "You arc a witcli, Elsie." 
 
 "She is," said George, looking ;it her in the foolish lover's 
 way. " You sec what she lias turned me into — a long time ago 
 — and she has never turned me back again." 
 
 " I have been thinking too," said Athclstan. " For our pur- 
 poses, it would be enough to prove the identity of Edmund Gray 
 and Edward Dcring. That exj)lains the resemblance of the hand- 
 writing and of the endorsement. My commissionnaire's recollec- 
 tion of the man also identities the check as drawn by himself for 
 himself under another name. It explains tlic presence of the 
 notes in the safe. It also shows that the long series of letters 
 which passed between him and the broker were written by him- 
 
312 THE IVOKY GATE 
 
 self for liiinsclf. Here, however, is a tlifliciilty. I can understand 
 Edward Dering believing himself to be Edmund CJra}', because I 
 have seen it. But I cannot understand Edward Dering believing 
 himself to be the solicitor to Edmund (Jray and writing at his 
 command." 
 
 " JUit I have seen him in that condition," said Elsie. "It was 
 while he was changing from one to the other, lie sat like one 
 who listens. 1 think that Edmund Gray was at his elbow 
 speaking to him. I think I could make him write a letter 
 by instruction from Jvlmund Gray. That he should believe 
 himself acting for a client in writing to the broker is no more 
 wonderful than that lie should believe himself another man alto- 
 gether." 
 
 "Show me, if you can, the old man acting for an imaginary 
 client. Meantime, 1 mentioned the point as a diflioulty. Prove, 
 liowever, to Mr. Dering and to the others concerned that he is Ed- 
 mund Gray, and all is proved. And this we can do by a host of 
 witnesses." 
 
 " I want more than this, Athelstan," said Elsie. " It would .still 
 be open to the enemy to declare that George, or you, or I, had 
 made use of his madness for our own purposes. I want a history 
 of the whole case written out by Edmund Gray himself — a thing 
 that we can show to Mr. Dering and to everybody else. I)ut I 
 dreail his discovery. Already he is suspicious and anxious, I 
 sometimes think that he is half conscious of his condition. We 
 must break it to him as gently as we can. But the shock may 
 kill him. Yet there is no escape. If the forgeries were known 
 only to ourselves, wc might keep the discovery a secret; and 
 only, if necessary — but it would not be necessary — keep some 
 sort of watch over him and warn the bank. But Checkley lias 
 told the clerks and the people at the bank, and there are our- 
 selves to think of, and my mother and llihla. No; we must let 
 them all know." 
 
 " And, if one may mention one's self," said Athelstan, " my 
 own little difficulty presses. Becau.sc, you see, I don't know how 
 long I may be kept here. Perhaps to-morrow I might go on to 
 St. Petersburg or to Pekin. Before I go, Elsie, I confess that I 
 should like my mother to understand that — that she was a little 
 basty — that is all." 
 
 " You arc not going to St. Petersburg, brother." Elsie took 
 
THE IVORY GATE 313 
 
 his Jiand. "You arc not going to leave us any more. You arc 
 going to stay. I have made another discovery." 
 
 " Pray, if one may ask — " 
 
 "Oh ! you may ask. I have seen a letter — Mr. During showed 
 it to me. It was written from the States three or four years ago. 
 Tt showed where you were at that time — and showed me more, 
 Athcistan — it showed inc how you lost the pile of money that 
 you made over that silver mine — you remember, Athelstan ?" 
 
 He made no reply. 
 
 "Oh! do you think that I am going to accept this sacrifice? 
 George, you do not know. The donor of that great sum of 
 money which Mr. Dcring held for me — we have often wondered 
 who it was — I have only found out to-day — it was Athelstan. 
 lie gave me all lie had — for such a trifling thing — onlv because 
 I would not believe that he was a villain — all he liad in the world 
 — and went out again into the cold, lie said he dropped his 
 money down a gully or a grating on the prairie — some nonsense. 
 And he sent it all to me, George. What shall we do ?" 
 
 "Is this really true, Athelstan? Did you really give up all this 
 money to Elsie?" 
 
 " She says so." 
 
 " It is quite true, George. I saw the letter — Mr. Dering 
 showed it to me — in which he sent that money home, and begged 
 Mr. Dcring to take care of it, and to give it to me on the day 
 when I should be one-and-twenty. lie cannot deny it. Look at 
 him. He blushes — he is ashamed — he hangs his head — he blows 
 tobacco-smoke about in clouds, hoping to hide his red cheeks. 
 And he talks of going on to St. Petersburg, when we know this 
 secret and have got the money ! "What do you call this conduct, 
 George ?" 
 
 "Athcistan — there is no word for it. But you must have it 
 back. You must and shall. There can be no discussion about 
 it. And there is not another man in the world, I believe, who 
 would have done it." 
 
 " Nonsense. I should only liave lost it if I had kept it," Ath- 
 elstan replied, after tlie Irish fashion. 
 
 "You hear, Athelstan. It is yours. There can be no discus- 
 sion. That's what I like a man for. While we women are all 
 talking and disputing the man puts down his foot, and says, 
 ' There can be no discussion.' Then we all stop, and the right 
 14 
 
314 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 thino; is done. It is yours, brotlicr ; and you sliall have it, and 
 you shall stay at home with us always and always," She laid 
 bcr hand upon his shoulder, and iicr arm round his neck, carcss- 
 inix him with liand and voice. 
 
 The man who had wandered alone for cifi;lit years was not ac- 
 customed to sisterly caresses. They moved him. The thino; itself 
 moved liim. 
 
 " All this belongs to another chapter," he said huskily. *' We 
 will talk of it afterwards, when the business in hand is despatched." 
 
 " \\'ell, then — that is apjreed. You are to have your money 
 back; my mother is to take her suspicions back; Mr. Derinj^ is 
 to have his certificates back and his dividends; Checkley is to 
 take his lies back ; Sir iSamucl is to have his changes back ; George 
 and I arc going to have our peace of mind back. And we arc 
 all going to live happy ever afterwards." 
 
 "As for Wednesday, now," said George — "it is not an iiniiii- 
 portant day for us, you know." 
 
 " Everything is ready. On Sunday morning my mother is al- 
 ways at home before church. I will sec her then, and acquaint 
 her with the news that the wedding will take place, as originally 
 proposed, at her house. This will astonish her very much, and 
 she will become angry and polite and sarcastic. Then I shall tell 
 her to prepare not only for a wedding-feast but also for a great, 
 a very great surprise. And I sliall also inform her that I shall be 
 given away by my brother. And then — then — if I know my 
 mother aright — she will become silent. I shall do that to-morrow 
 morning. In the evening, George, you will get your best man, 
 and I will get your sisters, my bridesmaids, and wc will come 
 liere, or go to Richmond or somewhere — and have dinner and a 
 cheerful evening. Am I arranging things properly?" 
 
 " Quite properly. Pray go on." 
 
 "Sunday afternoon I have promised to spend with my master — 
 Edmund Gray. He is going to read me a new paper he has just 
 finished, in which he shows that property can be destroyed by a 
 painless process — Athclstan, put all your money into your pocket, 
 and keep it there — in less than a twelvemonth, and with it all 
 crime, all sweating, all injustice. No, Athelstan, he is not mad. 
 When he argues on this theme he is persuasive and eloquent. 
 He convinces everybody. I shall hear him out, and then I shall 
 try to make him write down all that has happened. If wc can 
 
THE IVORY GATE 315 
 
 only get such a confession, it would be better than anything else. 
 But it may be difficult, lie docs not like being questioned about 
 liiniself. If I do succeed — I don't know quite what I ought to 
 do next, lie must be told. Some time or other he must have 
 the truth. I thought of asking all the people mentioned to meet 
 at his office on Monday at noon, when Mr. Bering is always him- 
 self. On Sunday I would not. lie has to address his people on 
 Sunday evening. Let him do so undisturbed. I will leave him 
 in happiness that one night longer. But you two — you will be 
 anxious. Come on Sunday evening — between eight and nine — 
 to the Hall of Science. Then you will hear him and see me. 
 And I will let you know how I have prospered." 
 
 "Sunday evening," said Ceorge. "Monday comes next, then 
 Tuesday; and before Wednesday, my Elsie, the character of these 
 two convicts has to be completely whitewashed, even to the satis- 
 faction of Hilda herself. Are we not running it pretty close?" 
 
 "Unbeliever! Doubter! I tell you that you shall be married 
 with all your friends round you, and that Athelstan shall give me 
 away. And you shall go away on your holiday with a quiet heart 
 and nothing to trouble you. What a foolish boy not to be able 
 to trust his bride even for such a simple thing as getting a con- 
 fession out of a madman !" 
 
 " Do you sport a crest, old man V asked Athelstan. 
 
 " I believe there is some kind of a sort of a thing somewhere 
 around. But crests are foolishness." 
 
 " Not always. Take a new one, George — a real one. Stamp 
 it on your spoons and forks, and in your books, and on your car- 
 riage. Let it be simply the words, ' Dux Foemina Facti.' " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 ELSIE AND HER MOTHER 
 
 "Can you spare me a few minutes, mother?" 
 
 Mrs. Arundel looked up from the desk where she was writing 
 a letter, and saw her daughter standing before her. She started 
 and changed color, but quickly recovered, and replied coldly, " I 
 
316 THE IVOHY GATE 
 
 did not bear you conic in, Elsie. ^Vllat do you want with 
 roe?" 
 
 Outside, the bells were ringing for church ; it was a quarter to 
 eleven ; Mrs. Arundel was already dressed for church. She was 
 one of those who do not sec any incongruity between church and 
 a heart full of animosities. She was bitter against her daughter 
 and hard towards her son, and she hated her son-in-law elect with 
 all the powers of her passionate nature. But, my brothers, what 
 an array of bare benches should we sec in every place of wor- 
 ship were those only admitted who came with hearts of charity 
 and love ! 
 
 "Do you wish to keep me long, IClsie? If so, we will sit down. 
 If not, I am ready for church, and I do not like to arrive late. 
 People in our position should show a good example." 
 
 *' I do not think that I shall keep you very long. But if you 
 sit down, you will be so much more comfortable." 
 
 " Comfort, Elsie, you have driven out of this house." 
 
 "I will bring it back with me, then. On Monday evening, 
 mother, I am coming back." 
 
 " Oh ! What do you mean, child ? lias the blow really fallen ? 
 I heard that it was impending. Is the young man — is he — a 
 prisoner ?" 
 
 "No, mother. You are quite mistaken. You have been mis- 
 taken all along. Yet I shall come back on Monday." 
 
 " Alone, then ?" 
 
 " I shall leave it to you whether I come back alone, or with the 
 two men whom I most regard of all the world — my lover and my 
 brother." 
 
 " You know my opinions, Elsie. There has been no change 
 in them. There can be none." 
 
 " Wednesday is my wedding-day." 
 
 *' I am not interested in that event, Elsie. After your wed- 
 ding with such a man, against the opinions, the wishes, the com- 
 mands of all whom you are bound to respect, I can only say that 
 you are no longer ray daughter." 
 
 "Oh I how can you be so fixed in such a belief? Mother, let 
 me make one more appeal to your better feelings. Throw off 
 these suspicions. Believe me, they are baseless. There is not the 
 shadow of a foundation for this ridiculous structure they have 
 raised. Consider. It is now — Low Ions ? — three weeks since 
 
THE IVORY GATE 31 7 
 
 tlicy hrouglit this charge, and they have proved notliing — abso- 
 lutely notliiiig. If you would only be brought to see on what 
 false assumptions the whole thing rests." 
 
 "On solid foundations — hard facts — I want no more." 
 
 " If I could prove to you that Athelstan was in America until 
 a month ago?" 
 
 " Unhappy girl ! He is deceiving you. He has been living 
 for eight years in proiligacy near London. Elsie, do not waste 
 my time. It should be enough for me that my son-in-law, Sir 
 Samuel Dering, a man of the clearest head and widest experience, 
 is convinced that it is impossible to draw any other conclusions." 
 
 " It is enough for me," Elsie rejoined quickly, " that my 
 heart tells me that my brother and my lover cannot be such 
 creatures." 
 
 "You have sometliing more to say, I suppose." Mrs. Arundel 
 buttoned her gloves. The clock was now at five minutes before 
 eleven. 
 
 " Yes. If it is no use at all trying to appeal to — " 
 
 " No use at all," Mrs. Arundel snapped. " I am not disposed 
 for sentimental nonsense." 
 
 " I am sorry, because you will be sorry afterwards. Well, 
 then, I have come to tell you that I have made all the prepara- 
 tions, with George's assistance, for Wednesday." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 " Yes. The wedding-cake will be sent in on Tuesday. My 
 own dress — white satin, of course, very beautiful — is finished, and 
 tried on. It will be sent in on Monday evening. The two brides- 
 maids' dresses will also come on Monday. George has arranged 
 at the church. lie lias ordered the carriages and the bouquets, and 
 has got the ring. The presents you have already in the house. 
 We shall be married at three. There will be a little gathering of 
 the cousins after the wedding, and you will give them a little 
 simple dinner in the evening, which will, I dare say, end with a 
 little dance. George has also seen to the red cloth for the steps, 
 and all that. Oh ! and on Thursday evening you will give a big 
 dinner-party to everybody." 
 
 " Are you gone quite mad, Elsie?" 
 
 " Not mad at all, my dear mother. It is Sir Samuel who is 
 mad, and has driven you and Hilda mad. 0I» ! everything will 
 come off exactly as I tell you. Perhaps you don't believe it?" 
 
318 THE IVOUY GATE 
 
 *' You arc mad, Elsie. You are certainly mad." 
 
 " No, my dear motlicr, 1 am not mad. Oli ! it is so absurd, if 
 it were not so serious. But we arc determined, George and I, not 
 to make this absurdity tiic cause of lasting bitterness. Therefore, 
 my dear mother, I do not want to be married from my brother's 
 lodgings, but from your house. You will come to my wedding, 
 I prophesy, full of love — full of love" — her eyes filled with tears 
 — " for inc and for George and for Athelstan — full of love and 
 of sorrow and of self-reproach. I am to be given away by my 
 brother — you will come, I say, with a heart full of love and of 
 pity for him.'' 
 
 Mrs. Arundel gazed at her stonily. 
 
 " Everybody will be there, and you will receive all your friends 
 after the wedding. I have taken care of the invitations. Hilda 
 will be there too, horribly ashamed of herself. It will be a lovely 
 wedding, and we shall go away with such good wishes from 
 yourself as you would not in your present state of mind believe 
 possible. Go now to church, my dear mother, prepared for a 
 happy and a joyful day." 
 
 " I sometimes believe, Elsie," said Mrs. Arundel, more coldly 
 still, " that you have been deprived of your senses. So far from 
 this, I shall not be present at your wedding. I will not interfere 
 with your holding your marriage here if you like ; you may fill 
 the bouse with your friends if you please. I shall myself take 
 shelter with my n)ore dutiful daughter. I refuse to meet my un- 
 liappy son. I will not be a consenting party to the tie which will 
 entail a lifelong misery — " 
 
 "My dear mother — you will do everything exactly as I have 
 prophesied. Now, do not say any more, because it will only 
 make our reconciliation a little more dillicult. I ought to go to 
 church on the Sunday before my wedding, if any <]ay in the week. 
 If you would only recover your trust in my lover's honor, I could 
 go to church with you and kneel beside you. But without that 
 trust — Oh ! go, my dear mother. You will find my prophecy 
 come true, word for word — believe mc or not." 
 
 Mrs. Arundel went to church. During the service she felt 
 strange prickings of foreboding and of compunction and of fear, 
 anxiety, and hope, with a little sadness, caused by the communi- 
 cation and the assurances of her daughter. Even in such a case 
 as this the thinker of evil is sometimes depressed by the arrival 
 
TFIE IVORY GATE 319 
 
 of tlic prophet of good. When Mrs. Arundel came away from 
 church, she became aware that she had not heard one single word 
 of the sermon. Not that she wanted very much to hear tlie ser- 
 mon, any more than the first or second lesson — all three being 
 parts of the whole which every person of respectability must hear 
 once a week. Only, it was disquieting to come away after half 
 an hour's discourse with tlie feeling that she did not remember a 
 single syllabic of it. She took her early dinner with the other 
 daughter, to whom she communicated Elsie's remarkable con- 
 duct, and her prediction and her invitation. It was decided be- 
 tween them that her brain was alfected — no doubt, only for a 
 time — and that it was not expedient for them to interfere ; that 
 it was deplorable, but a part of what might have been expected; 
 and that time would show. Meanwhile, Sir Samuel reported 
 that it had been resolved to get a warrant for the arrest of the 
 man Edmund Gray, who hitherto had eluded all attempts to find 
 him. 
 
 "Ue appears to be a real person," the knight concluded — "an 
 elderly man, whose character, so far as we can learn, is good. It 
 is, however, significant that nothing lias been discovered concern- 
 ing his profession or calling. That is mysterious. For my own 
 part, I like to know how a man earns his daily bread. I have 
 even consulted a person connected with the police. Nothing is 
 known or suspected about him. But we shall see as soon as he 
 is before the magistrate." 
 
 " And Wednesday is so close ! Oh 1 my dear Sir Samuel, hurry 
 them up. Even at the last moment — even at the risk of a terrible 
 scandal — if Elsie could be saved !" 
 
 " Well," said Sir Samuel, "it is curious— I don't understand it 
 — we had arranged for the application for a warrant for Friday 
 morning. Would you believe it? that old donkey Chcckley 
 won't go for it — wants it put off — says he thinks it will l)e of 
 no use. What with this young man Austin at first, and this old 
 man Checkloy next, we seem in a conspiracy to defeat the ends 
 of justice, liut to-morrow I shall go myself to my brother. It 
 is time this business was finished." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Mrs. Arundel. " And, my dear Sir Samuel, 
 before Wednesday — let it be before Wednesday, I ituplurc you, 
 for all our sakes !" 
 
 " My dear madam, it shall be to-morrow." 
 
320 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 At noon, Elsie returned to Half Moon Street, where George 
 was waiting for her. 
 
 "I liavc made one more attempt," she said, with tears, "but 
 it was useless. Her head is as hard about you as ever it was 
 about Athelstan. It is wonderful that she should have so little 
 faith. I suppose it comes of going into the City and trying to 
 make money. Edmund (Jray would say so. I would have told 
 lier all, but for the t>ld man's sake. He knows nothing ; he sus- 
 pects nothing; and I want to make the case so complete that 
 there shall be no doubt — none whatever — possible in the minds 
 of the most suspicious. Even Checkley must be satisfied. I shall 
 finish the work, I hope, this afternoon. Oh ! George — is it pos- 
 sible? Is our wcdding-(hiy next Wednesday — actually next Wed- 
 nesday ? And the hateful cloud shall be blown away, and — and 
 — and — " 
 
 For the rest of this chapter look into the Book of Holy Kisses, 
 where you will very likely find it. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 PLENARY CONFESSION 
 
 Early on Sunday afternoon Elsie started upon her mission. 
 She was anxious, because she was entering upon a most impor- 
 tant business, and one requiring the greatest delicacy in the liand- 
 ling. It was enough — more than enough — tliat her witnesses 
 should be able, one after the other, to identify Mr. Bering with 
 Mr. Edmund Gray ; but how much more would lier hands be 
 strengthened if slie could produce a full and complete narrative 
 of the wliole affair, written by the hand which had done it all ? 
 To get that narrative was her business with the master that 
 afternoon. But she was hopeful, partly because she knew her 
 power over the philosopher ; and partly because, like every woman 
 who respects herself, she had always been accustomed to get ex- 
 actly what she wanted, either by asking, coaxing, flattering, or 
 taking. 
 
 The master was waiting for licr — one should never keep a 
 
THE IVORY GATE 321 
 
 master waiting — and she was a little late. lie was impatient; he 
 had so much to talk about and to teach — one point suggested 
 another in his mind — so much to say ; he grudged the least de- 
 lay ; he walked about the rootn, chafing because the hour ap- 
 pointed was already five minutes in the past; he would scold her; 
 she must really learn to be punctual ; they had only about five 
 short hours before them for all lie had to say. Was this the zeal 
 of a student? But at that point she opened the door, and ran in, 
 breathless, smiling, eager, holding out both her hands, a dainty, 
 delicate maiden all his own — his disciple — his daughter — the 
 daughter of the New Humanity — and he forgot his irritation, and 
 took her hands in his, and kissed her forehead. "Child," he 
 sighed, " you are late. But never mind. You are here. AVhy, 
 you have grown so precious to me that I cannot bear you to be a 
 minute late. It is such a happiness — such a joy in the present — 
 such a promise for the future — that I have snch a disciple ! Now 
 sit down — take off your bonnet. I have put a chair for you at 
 the window — and a table for you to write. Here is your note- 
 book. Now — you have thought over what I taught you last? 
 That is well. Let us resume at the point where we left off — the 
 rise of the co-operative spirit, which is the rise of the New Hu- 
 manity." 
 
 He talked for two hours — two long, eloquent hours ; he walked 
 about the room; or he stopped before his disciple, emphasizing 
 with the forefinger of admonition — repeating — illustrating by 
 anecdote and memory — he had a prodigious memory. The 
 scholar listened intelligently. Sometimes she asked a question ; 
 sometimes she made notes. You must not think that she was a 
 sham scholar; her interest in the master's system was not simu- 
 lated. Above all things she loved to hear this enthusiast talk 
 — who would not love to hear of the New Jerusalem? Always 
 he made her heart to glow with the vision that he conjured up 
 before her eyes of a world where there should be no more sorrow 
 nor crying, nor any more pain, nor any of the former things. He 
 made her actually sec — what others only read of — the Foursquare 
 City itself, with its gates open night and day, its jasper walls, and 
 its twelve foundations of precious stones. " Why," he said, "the 
 gates are open night and day because there is no property to de- 
 fend ; and the walls are of jasper because it is the most beautiful 
 of minerals, and because it can be polished like a mirror, so that 
 14* 
 
322 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 the country around is reflected on its surface, which shows that it 
 all belongs to the city ; and the precious stones arc the twelve 
 cardinal virtues of Humanity, on which the Order of the Future 
 shall rest — namely, Faith, IJrothcrly Love, Obedience, Patience, 
 Loyalty, Constancy, Chastity, Couran^o, Hope, Simplicity, Tender- 
 ness, and Industry. It is an allegory — the whole book is an alle- 
 gory — of Humanity." And she saw, beside the city, the river of 
 life with the tree of life for the healing of all nations. 
 
 Then she clean forgot the purpose for which she had come; 
 she was carried away ; her heart beat — her cheek glowed. Oh ! 
 lovely vision! Oh! great and glorious proj)hct! lie made a 
 heaven, and place<l it on this eartli. Now the mind of man can 
 conceive of no other happiness but that which humanity can 
 make out of the actual materials found upon this earthly ball. 
 The lieaven, even of the most spiritual, is a glorified world ; the 
 liell, even of the most gentle, is a world of fleshly pain ; no other 
 heaven attracts; no other hell terrifies; there is no promise or 
 hope or prospect or inheritance that man desires or poet can 
 feign or visionary can preach but an cartiily heaven ; it must be a 
 heaven containing sunshine and shower, kindly fruits in due sea- 
 son, love and joy and music and art, and men and women who love 
 each other and labor for each other. Such a world — such a New 
 Jerusalem — the master drew every day; he loved it and lingered 
 over it; he painted over and over again this splendid vision. lie 
 was never tired of painting it, or his hearers of gazing upon it. 
 But to-day he spoke with greater fulness, more clearly, more 
 brilliantly, more joyously than ever. Was the prophet really a 
 man of seventy years and more? For his mind was young — the 
 enthusiast, like the poet, never grows old. His voice might have 
 been the voice of a boy — a marvellous boy — a Shelley — preach- 
 ing the glories of the world when property should be no more. 
 
 He ceased, and the vision which he had raised quickly faded 
 away. They were back again in the dingy old inn ; they were 
 among the solicitors and the money-lenders and the young fel- 
 lows who have their chambers in the place. The inn is about as 
 far from the New Jerusalem as any place under the sun ; it is 
 made over bodily and belongs — every stair — every chamber — to 
 the interests of property. 
 
 He ceased his prophecy, and began to argue, to reason, to chop 
 logic, which was not by any means so interesting. At last he 
 
THE IVORY GATE 323 
 
 Stopped this as well. "Yon liavc now, dear cliild," he said, 
 "heard quite as much as you can profitably absorb. I have 
 noticed for the last two or three minutes your eyes wandering 
 and your attention wearied. Let us stop — only remember what 
 I have just said about the diseases of the body politic. They are 
 akin to those that affect the human body. By coraparino- the 
 two we may learn not only cause, but also effect. We have our 
 rheumatisms, gouts, asthmas, neuralgias, colds and coughs, fevers, 
 and other ills. So has the body politic. Whence come our dis- 
 eases? From the ignorance, the follies, the vices, the greed and 
 gluttony of our forefatliers. So those of the body politic. Take 
 away property, and you destroy greed. With that, half the dis- 
 eases vanish." 
 
 Elsie heard, and inclined her head. It did occur to her that 
 perhaps property in the body politic might be represented by 
 food in the body human, but she forbore. The master was one 
 who did not invite argument. Nearly all the great teachers of 
 the world, if you think of it, have conveyed their wisdom in 
 maxims and aphorisms. 
 
 lie took out his watch. "It is nearly four," he said. "Shall 
 we go on to the hall ?" 
 
 "Not yet. There is no need for us to be there before six. 
 We have two good liours before us. Let ns use them more 
 pleasantly than in sitting alone in the hall— you must own that 
 it is stuffy. We will talk about other things — about ourselves — 
 not about me, because I am quite an insignificant person, but 
 about you, dear master." She was now about to enter upon lier 
 plan of duplicity. She felt horribly ashamed, but it had to be 
 done. She strengthened herself; she resolved; she suppressed 
 the voice of conscience. 
 
 "About me?" asked the master. "But what is there to talk 
 about?" 
 
 " Oh ! there is ever so much." She took his right hand in her 
 own and lield it, knowing that this little caress pleased and moved 
 him. " Master — what a wonderful chance it was that brought me 
 here ! I can never sufficiently wonder at it. I have told George 
 —George Austin — my lover, you know ; and Athelstan— he is my 
 brother." She looked at him sharply, but there was no sign of 
 recognition of those two names. Edmund Gray had no remem- 
 brance of cither. " I have told them about you, and of your great 
 
324 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 work, and how you arc Icachini; me, and everything. But wlicn 
 they ask me wlio you arc, where you have lived, and all about 
 yon, I can tell them nothing. Oh ! I know it matters nothing 
 about me and my own friends ; but, my dear master, we have to 
 think of the future. When the cause has spread, and spread, and 
 spread, till it covers the whole world, people will want to know 
 all about the man who first preached its principles. Who will be 
 able to tell them ? No one. You are alone ; you have no wife 
 or children. Your name will remain forever attached to tlie 
 cause itself. I>ut you — you — the man — what will y<>u be? Noth- 
 ing. Nothing but a name. You ought to write an autobiog- 
 rapliy." 
 
 " I have sometimes thought I would do so" — his face became 
 troubled ; " but— but— " 
 
 " But you arc always occupied with working for the world. 
 You have no time, of course. I quite understand that; and it 
 wurries you — docs it not? — to be called upon to turn your 
 thoughts from the present back to the past." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; it docs — it docs. Elsie, you exactly express the 
 difficulty." 
 
 " And yet — you must own — you must confess — it is natural 
 for the world to want to know all about you. Who was the 
 great Edmund Gray ? Why, they will want to know every par- 
 ticular — every single particular: where you were born — where 
 you were educated — who were your masters — what led you to 
 the study of humanity and its problems — where you lived — if 
 you were married, and to whom — what you read — who were your 
 friends. Oh ! there is no end to the curiosity of the world about 
 their great men." 
 
 " Perhaps." lie rose, and looked out of tlie window. When 
 men are greatly pleased they must always be moving. " I con- 
 fess that I have never thought of these things at all. Yet, to be 
 sure — you are right." He murmured and purred. 
 
 " No, but I have thought of them, ever since I had the happi- 
 ness of being received by you. Master, will you trust me? Shall 
 I become your biograplier? You cannot find one more loving. 
 You have only to give me the materials. Now — let me ask you 
 a few questions, just for a beginning — just to show you the kind 
 of thing I shall want to know." 
 
 He laughed, and sat down again. " Why, my life has not got 
 
THE IVORY GATE 325 
 
 in it one single solitary incident or episode or adventure. There 
 are no misfortunes in it. There is not such a thing as a disease 
 in it. I have always been perfectly well. There is not even a 
 love episode or a flirtation in it. There are not even any relig- 
 ious difficulties in it. Without love, ill-health, misfortune, relig- 
 ious doubts — where is the interest in the life, and what is there 
 to tell ?" 
 
 " Well, a life that has no incident in it must be the life of a 
 student. It is only a student who never falls in love." 
 
 " Or," said the philosopher, " a money-getter." 
 
 " llappily, there are not many students, or we women should 
 be disconsolate indeed. Do you know, master, that you can only 
 be excused such a dreadful omission in your history by that one 
 plea? Sit down again, master," for again he was walking about 
 restlessly, partly disturbed by her questions, and partly flattered 
 and pleased by her reasons. She opened her note-book, and be- 
 gan to ask questions about himself — very simple questions, such 
 as would not introduce any disturbing points, lie answered 
 readily, and she observed with interest that he gave correctly the 
 facts of his own — Edward Bering's — history. 
 
 He was born, he said, in that class which upholds property — 
 the better class — meaning the richer. His father was a wealthy 
 solicitor, who lived in Bedford Row. He was born in the year 
 1815 — Waterloo year. lie was the eldest of a family of five — 
 three daughters and two sons. lie was educated at Westmin- 
 ster. On leaving school, his father offered him the advantage of 
 a university course, but he refused, being anxious to begin as 
 early as possible his life's work — as he thought — in the defence 
 of property. He was therefore articled to his father, and at the 
 age of twenty-two he passed his examination and was admitted. 
 
 " And then you were young — yon were not yet a student — 
 you went into society. You saw girls, and danced with them. 
 Yet you never fell in love, and were never married. How strange! 
 I thought everybody wanted love. A nian's real life onlv begins, 
 I have always been taught, with love and marriage. Love means 
 everything." 
 
 " To you, my child, no doubt it does. Such as you arc born 
 for love," he added gallantly. "Venus herself smiles in your 
 eyes and sits upon your lips. But as for me, I was always stu- 
 dious more or less, though I did not for long find out mv true 
 
320 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 line. I worked hard — I went out very little. I was cold by 
 nature, perhaps. 1 had no time to think about sueh things. 
 Now, wlien it is too late, I regret the loss of the experience. 
 Doubtless if I had that experience I should have gained greatly 
 in the power of persuasion. I should have a much more potent 
 influence over the women among my hearers. If I were a mar- 
 ried man I sIkiuM be much more in sympathy with them." 
 
 "No — n — no — " Elsie licsitatcd a little. " I'erhaps women — 
 cspeciallv the younger kind — get on better with unmarried men. 
 However, you were not niarried." 
 
 "At first, then, I was a solicitor with my father. Then — pres- 
 ently — " His face put on the troubled look again. 
 
 "You continued," Elsie interrupted quickly, "to work at your 
 profession, though you took up other studies?" 
 
 " No, no — not fjuite that." 
 
 "You began to take up social problems, and gradually aban- 
 doned your profession ?" 
 
 " No, no — not that cither — quite." 
 
 " You found you could not reconcile your conscience any longer 
 to defending property ?" 
 
 " No — I forget exactly. It is strange that one sliould forget a 
 thing so simple. I am growing old, I suppose. Well — it mat- 
 ters not. I left the profession. That is the only important thing 
 to remember. That I did so, these chambers prove. I came out 
 of it. Yes, that was it. Just at the moment, my head being full of 
 other things, I cannot remember the exact time or the manner of 
 my leaving the profession. I forget the circumstances, probably 
 because I attached so little importance to it. The real point is 
 that I came out of it and gave myself up to these studies." 
 
 She noted this important point carefully, and looked up for more. 
 
 "There, my dear child, is my whole life for you — without an 
 incident or an episode. I was born ; I went to school ; I became 
 a solicitor; I gave up my profession; I studied social economy; 
 I made mv great discovery ; I preached it. Then — did I say my 
 life was without an episode and without love? No, no — I was 
 wrong. My daughter — I have at last found love and a child — 
 and a disciple. What more have I to ask ?" 
 
 " My master!" No daughter could be more in sympathy with 
 him than this girl. 
 
 " It is all most valuable and interesting," she saiil, " though the 
 
THE IVORY GATE 327 
 
 facts are so few. Books will be written, in tlic future, on these 
 facts, which will be filled out with conjecture and inference. Even 
 the things that you think of so little importance will be made the 
 subject of comment and criticism. "Well — but my biography of 
 you will be the first and best and most important. I shall first 
 make a skeleton life out of the facts, and then fill in the flesh and 
 blood, and put on the clothes, and present you, dear master, just 
 as you are." 
 
 "Ask me what you will, but not too often. It worries rae to 
 remember the past. My dear, I am like a man wlio has made 
 himself — who has risen from the gutter. lie cannot deny the 
 fact, but he doesn't like to be talking about it ; and he is insulted 
 if any one charges him with the fact, or alludes to it in any way 
 in his presence. That is my case exactly. I have made myself. 
 I have raised myself from the gutter — the gutter of property. I 
 actually worked in defence of property till I was sixty years old 
 and more. Now I am rather ashamed of that fact. I do not 
 deny it — you must put it into your biography — but I do not like 
 talking about it." 
 
 "You were once a solicitor, and you are now a prophet. "What 
 a leap ! What a wonderful leap ! I quite understand. Yet some- 
 times, now and then, for the sake of the curious, impertinent 
 world, look back and tell me wliat you see." 
 
 " I suppose it is because I am so absorbed in my work that it is 
 difficult for me to remember things. Why, Elsie, day after day, 
 from morning to evening, I sit here at work. And in the even- 
 ing I remember nothing of the flight of time. The hours strike, 
 but I hear them not. Only the books on the table show what 
 has been my occupation. Ami you want me to go back, not to 
 yesterday, but ten, twenty, thirty years ago. My dear child, I 
 cannot. Some of the past is clear to me — a day here and there I 
 remember clearly. All my evenings at the Hall of Science ; my 
 lessons with you — those I remember. But to recall days passed 
 in meditation and absorbing study is not possible. No, no — I 
 cannot even try." 
 
 He spoke with a little distress, as if the very thought of tlie 
 necessary effort troubled him. 
 
 " Believe me, my dear master," said Elsie, " I would not vex 
 you. Only for some of the things which you do remember. For 
 instance, the world always wants to know about the private fort- 
 
328 TnE IVORY GATE 
 
 unes of its great men. Your own affairs, you told mc once, are 
 in the hands of a — Mr. — Mr. — what is his name ?" 
 
 "Dcrini^ — Dering. A very well-known solicitor. Ills office is 
 in New Square, Lincoln's Inn — he mana<Tos my money matters. 
 I am, I believe, what the world calls wealthy." 
 
 " That gives you independence and the power of working for 
 humanity, does it not?" 
 
 " It does," said the scourge and destroyer of property, uncon- 
 scious of the incongruity. " Dering, my solicitor, is, I believe, a 
 very honest man. Narrow in his views — wedded to the old scliool 
 — quite unable to sec the advance of the tide. But trustworthy. 
 He belongs to a tribe whiih is indispensable so long as property 
 is suffered to exist." 
 
 "Yes — only so long. Property and lawyers will go out liand 
 in liand." 
 
 " And magistrates," lie added, with enthusiasm. " And courts 
 of justice and prisons. And criminals, because the chief incentive 
 to crime will be destroyed. What a glorious world without a law, 
 or a lawyer, or a policeman !" 
 
 " Mr. Dering, is it? Why, my dear master, I know something 
 about Mr. Dering. My brother Athelstan was articled to him. lie 
 became a managing clerk for him. Then there was trouble about 
 a check. Something was wrong about it. He was unjustly 
 blamed or suspected, and he left the house. I wonder, now, 
 whether you could throw any light upon that business of the 
 check ?" 
 
 " I, my dear child ? A single solitary check at a lawyer's office ? 
 IIow should I possibly know anything about it?" 
 
 " Oh I but you might remember this check, because, now I 
 think of it, your own name was connected with it. Yes — it was. 
 I am certain it was. The check was drawn in March, in the year 
 1883 — a check for seven hundred and twenty pounds, payable to 
 vour order — the order of Edmund Gray." 
 
 " A check for seven hundred and twenty pounds ? In March, 
 1883? That must have been — Yes, yes — that was about the 
 time. Now, this is really most remarkable, child, most remarka- 
 ble that you should actually hit upon a check — one of thousands 
 issued from that office — which I should remember perfectly. Life 
 is full of coincidences — one is always hearing odd things said, 
 meeting faces which one knows. Well, it is most remarkable, 
 
THE IVORY GATE 329 
 
 because I received a check for lliat very amount at that very time 
 from Bering. Oh ! I remember perfectly. It was wlien I had a 
 scheme. I thouglit it then — being younger than I am now — a very 
 good scheme indeed. It was intended for the gradual destruction 
 of property. I did not understand at that time so fully as I do 
 now the rising of the tide and the direction of the current which 
 is steadily advancing to overwhelm property without any feeble 
 efforts on ray part. Yet my scheme was good so far as it went, 
 and it might have been started with good effect, but for the apathy 
 of the workers. You see, they were not educated up to it. I had 
 already begun upon my scheme by advancing to certain working- 
 men suras which should make them independent of their em- 
 ployers until they should have produced enough to sell directly, 
 without the aid of an employer, at their own co-operative stores. 
 Unfortunately, most of them drank tlie money ; the few who 
 used it properly, instead of backing up their fellow-workmen, be- 
 came themselves employers, and are now wealthy. Well, I thought 
 I would extend this method. I thought that if I got together a 
 chosen band — say, of seventy or so — and if, after teaching them 
 and educating them a bit, I gave them, say, ten pounds apiece, to 
 tide them over the first few weeks, that I might next open a dis- 
 tributive and co-operative store for them, and so take the first step 
 to abolishing the middle-man — the man of trade." 
 
 " I sec ; and so you drew the money for that purpose." 
 
 "Yes. But, as I told you, I was obliged to abandon my 
 scheme. The men were not sufficiently advanced. They listened; 
 they professed great willingness to receive the money ; but they 
 gave me no encouragement to hope that they would carry out my 
 plan. So it fell through. And the men remain to this day with 
 their employers. And so — you sec — I never used the money. I 
 remember that I had the check cashed in ten-pound notes for the 
 purpose." 
 
 " What became of the notes?" 
 
 " I don't know. They are in the bank, I suppose — wandering 
 about the world. I gave them back to Dering." 
 
 "Oh ! my dear master" — Elsie sprang to her feet, and laid a 
 sheet of paper on the table — "this is most providential, I can- 
 not tell you what a dreadful cause of trouble this check has been 
 to us. It has half ruined my brother's life. For Heaven's sake, 
 write it all down for me. Quick ! quick ! before you forget it all." 
 
330 THE IVOKY GATE 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 PLENARY CONFESSION — (Continuftf) 
 
 " I SHALL not forj^et it. Nevertheless, Elsie, if a statement 
 of the facts can be of any uso to you" — he changed his seat 
 and took np the pen — "certainly I will write it for you." 
 
 "I am requested," he wrote, "by Miss I'^l.sie Arundel, my 
 scholar, to state wliat I know of a certain transaction which took 
 place in March, 1883. The facts are as fc^llows: I had need of a 
 sum of seven hundred and twenty pounds. For certain purposes 
 I wanted it in ten-pound notes. I asked my ai^eiit, Mr. Doriiii,', 
 to give me a check; and as I thought that I should want the 
 money immediately, perhaps in an liour or so, I asked liim 
 to make it payable to my order, and not to cross the check. 
 lie drew the check, and gave it to mc in his oflice. I then 
 went to the hotel where I was stopping — a place in Norfolk 
 Street, Strand, and sent a commissionnaire to the bank for the 
 money. He brought it, as I had requested, in ten-pound notes. 
 In a few days I discovered that my plan could not be even com- 
 menced without the greatest danger of defeating its own object. 
 I therefore took the notes to Mr. Bering's office, and placed them 
 in liis safe. I suppose that lie has long since returned them to 
 the bank." 
 
 "There, child," he said, reading the statement aloud. "That 
 is what I recollect about the matter," 
 
 "Sign it." Elsie gave him the pen again. "Sign it, dear 
 master! Oh! thanks — thanks a thousand times! You don't 
 know — oh! you will never know or understand — I hope — how 
 precious this document will be for me " — she folded the paper in 
 an envelope, and placed it in lier hand-bag — " and for my people 
 — my brother and all. Oh ! my dear master!" She stooped and 
 kissed liis liand, to hide the tears in her eyes. Athelstan's name 
 was safe now, whatever happened. lie would be completely 
 cleared at last. 
 
THE IVOKY GATE 331 
 
 " Why, my dear scholar — my dear daug-liter." Mr. Edmund 
 Gray was moved himself almost to tears at this unexpected burst 
 of feeling, " As if there was anything I would not do for you 
 if I could. I, who have never loved any woman before, love one 
 now. She is my daughter — my grandchild. So your brother 
 ■will be helped by this little reminiscence — will he? Actually, 
 your brother! I wonder if there is anything more that I could 
 remember for you in this uneventful life of n)ine." 
 
 " Oh no ! — that would be too mucli to hope. Yet there is a 
 chance — just a chance. I wonder if I may tell you. There is 
 still time before us. If we are at the hall by six wo shall do 
 very well. It is no more than half-past four. Shall I tell you 
 the trouble ! Oh ! But it is a shame. And you with this great 
 work laid upon you ! No, no — I must not." Oh ! Delilah ! oh ! 
 Circe ! for she looked as if, in spite of her unwilling words, she 
 wanted to tell it very badly indeed. 
 
 " Nay, my dear. You must, and you shall. What? You are 
 in trouble, and you will not tell me what it is? You — my scholar 
 — my clear-eyed disciple, who can see what these dull creatures 
 of clay around us can never understand — you are in trouble, 
 and you hesitate to tell me? Fie! fie! Speak now. Tell me 
 all." 
 
 " I have told you that I have a lover, and that I am engaged to 
 be married." 
 
 " Yes, yes. Ilis name, too, you have told me. It is George 
 — George Austin. There were Austins once — I seem to remember 
 — but that does not matter." 
 
 " We are to be married on "Wednesday." 
 
 "So soon? But you have promised that I shall not lose my 
 pupil ?" 
 
 " No, dear master. As soon as we come back from our holi- 
 day I will come and see you again and learn of you. Do not 
 doubt that. I can never a^ain let you go out of my life. I shall 
 bring my — my husband with me." 
 
 " If I thought your marriage would take you away from me, 
 I should be the most unhappy of men. But I will spare you for 
 a month — two months — as long as you please. Now, tell me 
 what is on your mind." 
 
 "George was one of Mr. Dcring's managing clerks — your Mr. 
 Dcring, you know." Mr. Edmund Gray nodded gravely. '* Uc 
 
332 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 had no money when we were engaged, and we thought that we 
 were going to be quite a poor and liuinblc pair. But a great 
 piece of good fortune happened to him, for Mr. Dering made 
 him a partner." 
 
 " Did he? Very hicky for your friend. But I always tliought 
 tliat Dering ought to have a partner. At his ago it was only 
 prudent — necessary, even." 
 
 " So we were made very happy, and I tliought wc were the 
 luckiest couple in the world. But just then there was a discov- 
 ery made at the office — a very singular discovery — I hardly 
 know how to describe it, because it is not quite clear to me even 
 yet. It was concerned with the buying or selling or transfer of 
 certain stocks and shares and coupons, and that kind of thing. 
 Mr. Dering seems not to remember having signed the papers con- 
 cerned. There is a fear that they arc in wrong hands. There is 
 susj)icion of forgery, even. I am ashamed even to mention such 
 a thing to you, but my lover's name has been connected with 
 the business; and Mr. Dering's clerk, Chcckley — you know Check- 
 ley ?— " 
 
 " Certainly — Dering's old servant." 
 
 " Has openly charged George — on no evidence, to be sure — 
 of having forged the letters, or of having assisted in the forgery." 
 
 " This is very serious." 
 
 " It is very serious, but we do not intend to let the thing 
 interfere with our wedding. Only, unless I can remove the last 
 ray of suspicion before Wednesday, wc shall spend our honey- 
 moon at home, in order to watch the case from day to day." 
 
 " Buying or selling stocks ? Dering would be constantly doing 
 that." 
 
 " It appears that these transactions were the only things of the 
 kind that he has done this year. That is to say, he denies having 
 done these." 
 
 " Well — as for these having been tlic only transactions of the 
 kind, he managed a good bit of such business for me this last 
 spring." 
 
 " Did he ? Do you remember the details of that business?" 
 
 "Clearly. It was only yesterday, so to speak." 
 
 " Was it the purchase or transfer of stock or shares ?" 
 
 "Certainly. To a very large amount. I have told you about 
 my industrial village, have I not ? The village where all arc to 
 
THE IVORY GATE 333 
 
 be equal — all are to work for a certain time every day, and no 
 longer — all are to be paid in rations and clothes and houses, and 
 there is to be no private property — my ideal village." 
 
 " I know. A lovely village." 
 
 " It was early in the spring that I finished my designs for it. 
 Then it occurred to me that it would be well if, instead of always 
 going to my lawyer for money, I had a large sum at my com- 
 mand lying at my bank. So I instructed Bering to transfer to 
 my name a great quantity of stocks lying in his name. lie was 
 a trustee or a — well — it is rather unusual, but I like having all 
 ray business affairs managed for me, and — But this will not in- 
 terest you" — this with the look of irritation or bewilderment 
 which sometimes passed over his face. " The important thing 
 is that it was done, and that my bank received those transfers, 
 and has instructions to receive the dividends." 
 
 " Oh 1 And has all the papers, I suppose ?" 
 
 " It had them. But I thought that perhaps ray old friend 
 might think it looked like want of confidence if I left them there, 
 so I sent for them, and took them to his office. They are now in 
 the safe. I put them there myself with ray own hand, or he did 
 with his own hand — I forget. Sometimes — it is very odd — when 
 I think of things done at that office I seem to have done it myself, 
 and sometimes I think that he did it. Not that it matters." 
 
 " Not at all. The papers are actually in the safe again V 
 
 " Certainly. I — that is — he — he or I — put them tliere.'' 
 
 " Oh ! my dear master " — Elsie clapped her hands — " this is 
 even more important than the other. Yon do not know — you 
 cannot guess — what mischiefs you are able to stop. If I had 
 only been able to talk to you about these things before ! The 
 paper you have already written is for ray brother. Now sit down, 
 ray master, and write another that will do for roe." 
 
 " I will do anything you ask me — and everything. But as for 
 this, why not ask Dering ? llis memory never fails. His mind 
 is like a box which holds everything and can never be filled. 
 Perhaps he would not like these private affairs — as between solic- 
 itor and client — to be talked about." 
 
 " We cannot go to Mr. Dering. There are certain reasons 
 which would not interest you. All we want is a clear, straight- 
 forward statement, an exact statement, of what happened. Sit 
 down now and write me a full account of each transaction." 
 
334 THE IVOUY GATE 
 
 " Certainly ; if it will be of tlic least use to you." 
 
 " Early in the present year," he began, " I found that my plan 
 of an industrial village, if it was to be carried into effect, would 
 want all the money I could command. It occurred to me that it 
 would be well to transfer a certain sum from the liands of my 
 agent, and to place it in my own bank ready to hand. I began 
 then, in March, with a sum of six thonsan<l pounds, which 
 Dcring, by my instructions, handed over to my bank in the form 
 of shares and stocks. I believe they were transfers of certain 
 stocks held by him in liis own name, but forming part of my 
 fortune — my largo private fortune. The bank was instructed to 
 receive the dividends in that sum. A month or so later I ob- 
 tained from Bering other stock to the value of twelve thousand 
 pounds, the papers of which were also given to my bank. And 
 after that I took out papers representing twenty thousand pounds; 
 so that I had in my hands, ready to be sold out and used at a 
 moment's notice, no less than thirty-eight thousand pounds. All 
 this money I intended to devote to my industrial village. The 
 scheme is still one in which I put my wliolo confidence. But it 
 has not yet been carried into effect, in consequence of the difli- 
 culty of finding working-men eijual to the situation. They undcr- 
 fitand working for the nian who has the money ; they do not 
 understand working for the man who has none — that is, for each 
 other and for themselves. For my own part, I could only find 
 working-men of that stamp. Perhaps I am too much in the 
 study. I do not go about enough among working-men. There 
 must be some advanced to my stage of development. Well, for 
 want of men, I could not start my village, and I have not used 
 the money. As for the papers, I have taken them out of the 
 bank and placed them in Dering's safe." 
 
 Elsie looked over his shoulder, reading every word. " The 
 letters which Mr. Dering wrote to the stock-broker in accordance 
 with your instructions. They were written for him — perhaps — 
 by you. It is unusual, but — " 
 
 " I told you," he replied sharply. " Wiiat is the use of saying 
 things twice? There are some things which confuse a man. I 
 wrote them — he wrote them — he acted for me — or I acted for 
 myself. What matter? The end is as I have written down for 
 you. Now, will this paper be of any use to you?" 
 
 " Of the greatest use. Please sign it, dear master." 
 
THE IVOKY GATE 335 
 
 lie obeyed, and signed " Edmund Gray." 
 
 " There is one thing more." Elsie saw in his face signs of 
 disquiet, and hastened on. " You have got your bank-book 
 here?" 
 
 "Yes. The manager sent it licre witli an impertinent note 
 about references, whicli I have sent on to ]J)ering. Wliat do you 
 want with the bank-book ? It is in one of those drawers. See 
 — here it is — check-book too." 
 
 " If I were you, master, I would liave no more trouble about 
 the money. You have given Mr. Dering the transfers and papers 
 — why not give him back the money as well ? Do not be 
 bothered with money-matters. It is of all things important to 
 you to be free from all kinds of business and money-matters. 
 Wlio ever heard of a prophet drawing a check ? You sit liere, 
 and work and meditate. You go to the Ilall of Science, and 
 teach. It is the business of your friends to see that all your 
 necessities are properly supplied. Now, if you will in these minor 
 matters suffer your friends to advise — " 
 
 " Surely. I ask for nothing else." 
 
 " Then, dear master, here is your check-book, and here your 
 bank-book. Draw a check, payable to the order of Edward 
 Dering, for all the money that is lying here — I see it is seven 
 hundred and twenty-three pounds five shillings and threepence. 
 I will take care of the check — so. Oh ! you have signed Edward 
 Dering — careless master ! Draw another — now sign it Edmund 
 Gray. That will do. And you had better at the same time write 
 a letter to the bank, asking the manager in future to receive the 
 dividends for the account of Mr. Dering. I will write the letter, 
 and you shall sign it. Now — no, no — not Edward Dering — 
 Edmund Gray. Your thoughts are wandering. There ! Now, 
 dear master, you arc free from everything that might trouble 
 you." 
 
 The master pushed back the blotting-pad with impatience, and 
 rose from the chair. Elsie took possession of the signed checks, 
 the check-book, the bank-book, and the letter. She had all — the 
 statement in Ednuind Gray's own handwriting — all — all — that 
 was wanted to clear up the business from the beginning to the 
 end. She put everything together in her hand-bag. She glanced 
 at her companion ; she perceived tliat liis face was troubled. "I 
 wish," he said fretfully, " that you had not worried me with 
 
336 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 those questions about the past. They disturb me. The current 
 of mv tlioughts is clicckcd. I am full of Bering and iiis ofFicc 
 and his safe — his safe — and all — " 
 
 Elsie trembled. His face was changing — in a minute he would 
 have returned to Mr. Bering, and she would have had to explain. 
 "Master," she cried, laying her hand upon his arm, "think. We 
 are going to the Hall of Science — your Hall of Science — yours. 
 The people arc waiting for their prophet. You are to address 
 them. To-night you must surpass yourself, because there arc 
 strangers coming. Tell us — once again — all over again — of that 
 world where there is no crime, no suffering, no ini^iuity, no sin, 
 no sorrow — where there arc no poor creatures deprived by a cruel 
 social order of liberty, of leisure, of comfort, of virtue, of every- 
 thing — poor wretches born only to toil and to endure. Think of 
 them. Speak for them. Tlan for them. Make our hearts burn 
 within us for shame and rage. Oh ! master " — for his face was 
 troubled still and doubtful, as if he were hovering on the border- 
 land between himself and his other self — " no one can speak to 
 them like you ; no one has yuur power of speech ; make tlicm 
 feel that new world — make them see it — actually see it with their 
 earthly eyes — make them feel it in their hearts." 
 
 "Child" — he siglied; his face fell back into repose — "you 
 comfort me. I was falling — before you came to me I used often 
 to fall — into a fit of gloom — I don't know why. Something 
 irritates me; something jars; something awakens a feeling as if 
 I ouijht to remember — remember — what? I do not know. lam 
 better now. Your voice, my dear, at such a moment is to me 
 like the sound of Bavid's harp to Saul. It chases away the 
 shadows. Oh ! I am better already. I am well. If you want to 
 ask any other questions, do so. As for those transactions — they 
 are perfectly correct in form and everything. I cannot for the 
 life of me understand why Bering, who is a practical man — " 
 
 " Never mind Bering, ray dear master — or those transactions. 
 Think only of the world of the New Humanity. Leave the 
 transactions and the papers to me. I hope that you will never 
 find out why they were wanted, or how they were to be used. 
 Now let us start. We shall be in excellent time." 
 
 The Hall of Science was half full of people — the usual gather- 
 ing — those who came every Sunday evening and took the simple 
 feast of fraternity. The table was spread with the white cloth, 
 
THE IVORY GATE 337 
 
 on which were laid out the toast and muffins, the ham and 
 shrimps, and bread and butter and watercrcsses ; and on the 
 appearance of tlie chief the tea was broutflit up, and they all sat 
 down. Now, it had been observed by all that since the adhesion 
 of this young lady the leader's discourses had been much more 
 confident, his manner had been clearer, his points more forcibly 
 put. This was because, for the first time, he had had an oppor- 
 tunity of discussing his own doctrines with a mind able to follow 
 him. Nothing so valuable to a teacher of new things as a sym- 
 pathetic woman for listener and disciple. Witness the leadinof 
 example of the Prophet Mohammed. Also, their leader had 
 never before been so cheerful — so hopeful — so full of life and 
 youth and spring. lie was young again ; he talked like a young 
 man, though his hair was gray. This was because he loved a 
 woman, for the first time in his life; he called it paternal affec- 
 tion ; whatever kind of love it was, it worked in him the same 
 miracle that love always works in man — young or old — it gave 
 him back the fire of youth. 
 
 This evening he sat at the head of the table, dispensing his 
 simple hospitality with a geniality and a heartiness unknown be- 
 fore the arrival of this young lady. He talked, meantime, in the 
 lofty vein, above the style and manner common to his hearers, 
 but not above their comprehension ; he spoke of a hiofher life 
 attainable by man at his best, when the victory over nature 
 should be complete, and every force should be subdued and made 
 slave to man, and all diseases should be swept away, and the per- 
 fect man should stand upon the earth at last, lord and master of 
 all — Adamus Redivivus. When that time should come there 
 would be no property, of course ; everything was to be in com- 
 mon ; but the new life would be full of love and joy ; there 
 would be long-continued youth, so that none should be made to 
 rise from the feast unsatisfied ; nay, it seemed to this dreamer 
 that every one should continue at the feast as long as he pleased, 
 till he was satiated and desired a change. Long-continued youth ; 
 all were to be young and to keep young ; the girls were to be 
 beautiful and the men strong ; he pronounced — he — the hermit 
 — the anchorite — the celibate who knew not love — a eulo^-y on 
 the beauty of women ; and he mourned over those men who miss 
 their share of love. 
 
 The hearts of those who heard were uplifted, for this man had 
 15 
 
388 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 the mesmeric faculty of compelling those who heard him to feel 
 what he wanted them to feel. Most of them had been accustomed 
 to regard their leader as a man of benevolent manners but austere 
 principles. Now he was tender and human, full of svinpathy 
 even with those weak vessels who fall in love, and for the sake 
 of love arc content to be all their lives slaves — yea, even slaves 
 to property. 
 
 After tea, the tables being cleared, the chief pronounced his 
 weekly address or sermon. It was generally a discourse on the 
 principles, which all professed, of equality and the abolition of 
 property. To-night, he carried on the theme on which ho had 
 spoken at tea-time, and discoursed on the part which should be 
 played by love in the New Humanity. Never before had he 
 spoken so convincingly. Never had orator an audience more in 
 sympathy with him. 
 
 Sliurtly after the beginning of the address, there arrived two 
 gentlemen, young and well dressed, who sat down modestly, just 
 within the door, and listened. The people turned, and looked at 
 them with interest. They were not quite the kind of young man 
 peculiar to the street or to the quarter. 
 
 AVhen the lecture was over, and the audience crowded together 
 to talk before they separated, Elsie slipped across to the new- 
 comers, and led them to the lecturer. " Master," she said, " this 
 is my brother Athelstan." 
 
 Mr. Edmund Gray shook hands with him. " Why, Elsie," he 
 said, " your brother and I have met already in Gray's Inn." 
 
 " And this is my friend George Austin, partner of Mr. Dering." 
 
 *' Mr. Austin," said Mr. Edmund Gray, " I am glad to meet the 
 man who is about to enter into the most sacred of all bonds with 
 one whom I venture to love, sir, as much as you yourself can do, 
 though I love her as my daughter, and yon love her as your bride. 
 You will be the happiest of men. Take care, sir, that you deserve 
 your happiness." 
 
 " This day," said Elsie, " you have rendered us all such a ser- 
 vice as can never be acknowledged or repaid or forgotten. Yet 
 we hope and pray that somehow you will never understand how 
 great it is." 
 
TUE IVORY GATE 339 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 LE CONSEIL DE FAMILLE 
 
 " CiiECKLEY," said Mr. Dering on Monday morning, " here is a 
 note from Miss Elsie Arundel. She makes an appointment with 
 me at four o'clock this afternoon. Keep me free for that hour. 
 Her brother Athclstan is coming with her. Wliat's the matter, 
 man ?" 
 
 "It's coming, then. I knew it would come." Chcckley 
 groaned. " It's all over at last." 
 
 " What is all over ?" 
 
 "Everything. But don't you believe it. Tell 'em it's a lie 
 made up to screen themselves. They can't prove it. Nobody 
 can prove it. I'll back you up. Only don't you believe it. Mind 
 — it is a lie — a made-up lie." 
 
 "I don't know what has been the matter with you for the last 
 day or two, Chcckley. What am I not to believe? What is a 
 lie? Who is making up a lie which cannot be proved?" 
 
 " Oh ! I can't say the word — I can't. It's all over at last — at 
 last." He ran out of the room, and slammed the door behind 
 him. 
 
 "My dear mother" — Hilda drove to Pcmbridge S(]uare direct- 
 ly after breakfast — ■" I have had a most curious letter from Elsie. 
 What does it mean ? She orders — she does not invite — she posi- 
 tively orders — Sir Samuel — actually orders Sir Samuel ! — and my- 
 self to attend at Mr. Bering's office at four. We are ordered to 
 assist, she says, at the demolition of the structure we have so care- 
 fully erected. What structure ? What docs she mean ? Here is 
 the letter." 
 
 " I too, dear, have had a letter from her. She says that at four 
 o'clock this afternoon all the wrongful and injurious suspicions 
 will be cleared away, and tliat if I value the affection of my son 
 and herself — the affection of herself — I must be present. Hilda, 
 
340 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 wliat docs this mean? I am very much troubled about the letter. 
 On Saturday, she came here and informed mc that the wcddini* 
 would be iicld on Wcdnoday just as if nothini; had happened; 
 and she foretold that we should all be present, and that Athelslan 
 would give iier away — Athelstan. It is a very disijuietinj^ letter, 
 because, my dear, do you think we couhi all of us — could we pos- 
 sibly be wronjj, have been wronj; from the very beginnintj, in 
 Athelstan's case! Could Sir Sanjuel be wrong in CJeorge's 
 
 " My dear mother, it is impossible. The case, unhaj>pily, is too 
 clear to admit of any doubt. Sir Samuel, with his loni; experience, 
 could not be wroni;." 
 
 **Then, Hilda dear, what can KIsie mean?" 
 
 " \Vc have been talking about it all through breakfast. The 
 only conclusion wc can come to is that there is goirjg to be a 
 smothering up of the whole busines-s. Mr. I)ering, who has been 
 terribly put out with the case, must have consented to smother 
 up the matter. Wc think that the papers have been returned 
 with the money received on dividends and coupons, and that Mr. 
 leering has ai;ree<l to t;ike no further proceedings. Now, if ho 
 would do that, Athclstan, of course, would come under the Act of 
 Indcnmity; and as the notes were never used by him, but were 
 returned to their owner, it becomes as easy to recognize his inno- 
 cence as that of the other man. Do you sec ?" 
 
 "Yes. But that will not make them innocent." 
 
 "Certainly not. Hut it makes all the difTercncc in the world. 
 Oh I there are families everywhere who have had to smother up 
 tilings in order to escape a scandal. Well, I hope you will agree 
 with us, and accept the invitation." 
 
 " I suppose I must. But how about removing all the sus- 
 picions f 
 
 " Oh ! that is only Elsie's enthusiastic way. She will go on, if 
 she likes, believing that George had nothing to do with it. He 
 will have every inducement to live honestly for the future. We 
 can easily pretend to believe that Athelstan was always innocent, 
 and we can persuade him — at least I hope we can persuade him — 
 to go abroad. Sir Samuel kindly says that lie will advance a hun- 
 dred pounds in order to get rid of him. Then there will be no 
 scandal, and everybody will be satisfied. As for onr relations 
 with Elsie and her husband, wc can arrange them afterwards. 
 
THE IVORY GATE 341 
 
 Perhaps they will agree to live in a distant suburb — say Redbill, 
 or Chisleburst, or Walthamstow — so that there may be a good 
 excuse for never having them to the house. Because — smother- 
 ing or no smothering — I can no longer have the same feelings 
 towards Elsie as before. Her obstinate infatuation for that man 
 exasperates me only to think of it. Nor have I the least inten- 
 tion of being on intimate relations with a forger who has only 
 just escaped being a convict. Sir Samuel entirely agrees with 
 me." 
 
 The mother sighed. " I could have wished that we were mis- 
 taken. Perhaps, after all, there may be something that Elsie has 
 found out, some unexpected — " 
 
 " Say a miracle at once, my dear mother. It is just as likely 
 to happen." 
 
 The first to arrive at the office in the afternoon was Elsie her- 
 self, carrying a hand-bag. 
 
 " You were going to bring your brother, Elsie," said Mr. Ber- 
 ing. " Where is he? And wliat is your important business with 
 me ? I suppose it is something about this wretched forgery, which 
 really seems destined to finish me off, I have heard of nothing 
 else — I think of nothing else — ever since it happened." 
 
 "First, has anything new been discovered?" 
 
 " I hardly know," Mr. Bering replied wearily. " They seem to 
 have found the man Edmund Gray; but Checkley has suddenly 
 cooled. Formerly, he clamored perpetually that we must lose no 
 time in getting a warrant for his arrest; he now wants to put it 
 off and put it off. He was going on very strangely this morning. 
 My dear, I sometimes think that my old clerk is off his head." 
 
 "And you yourself — have you had any return of your forget- 
 fulness?" 
 
 " Worse — worse. Every day, worse. I now know when to 
 look for a return of these fits. Every morning I ask myself what 
 I did the day before. Always there are the same hours of forget- 
 fulness — the morning and the evening. Last night, where was I? 
 Perhaps somebody will find out for me — for I cannot remember." 
 
 "Shall I find out for you, Mr. Bering? If I were to tell 
 you where you spent the evening yesterday, would you — would 
 you ?— " 
 
 " W^hat? IIow can you find out?" 
 
342 THE IVORY QATB 
 
 Elsie bent her head. Tlie moment had almost arrived, and she 
 was afraid. She had come with the intention of clearini^ her 
 brother and her lover at the cost of letting her guardian know 
 that he was insane. A dreadful price to pay for their honor. 
 But it had to be paid. And it must be done in the sight of all, 
 so that there should be no possible margin left for malignity or 
 suspicion. 
 
 "This business," she said, "concerns the honor of the two men 
 who arc dearer to me than all the world beside. Remember that 
 — nothing short of that would make me do what I have been do- 
 ing — what I am now doing. Their honor — oh ! their honor. 
 Tliink what it means to them. Self-respect, dignity, everything; 
 the happiness of their homes; the pride of their children. Com- 
 pared with one man's honor, what matters another man's humilia- 
 tion ? What matters the loss of that man's self-respect? What 
 matters his loss of dignity ? Their honor, Mr. Dering, think of 
 that — their honor !" 
 
 He bowed his head gravely, wondering what was to follow. 
 
 " A man's honor, as you say, Elsie, is the greatest thing in the 
 world to him. Compared with that, another man's self-respect 
 need not, I should say, as a general principle, be considered at all. 
 Self-respect may be regained unless honor is lost." 
 
 " Reiiicnibcr that, then, Mr. Dering, when you hear what I have 
 to say. Promise me to remember that. Oh! if there were a thou- 
 sand reasons, formerly, why I would not pain you by a single word, 
 there are ten thousand now — although you understand them not." 
 
 " Why, Elsie, you are troubling your little head about trifles. 
 You will not offend me, whatever you say." 
 
 " It is so important a thing," she went on, " that I have asked 
 my mother and sister and Sir Samuel to meet us here at four 
 o'clock, in order that they, too, may hear as well as you. Atliel- 
 stan is with George. They have one or two persons to introduce 
 to yon." 
 
 " All this seems to promise a meeting of some interest, and, so 
 far as one may judge from the preamble, of more than common 
 importance. Well, Elsie, I am quite in your hands. If you and 
 your brother between you will kindly produce the forger and give 
 me back my property, I shall be truly grateful." 
 
 " You shall see, Mr. Dering. But as for the gratitude — Oh ! 
 here is Sir Samuel." 
 
THE IVORY GATE 343 
 
 Tlie City knight appeared, large and important. He shook 
 hands with Elsie and his brother, and took up his position on the 
 hearth-rug, behind his brother's chair. " Well, Elsie," he said, 
 " we are to hear something very important indeed, if one may 
 judge by the tone of your letter, which was imperative." 
 
 " Very important indeed. Sir Samuel." 
 
 The next to arrive were Mrs. Arundel and Hilda. They wore 
 thick veils, and Hilda was dressed in a kind of half-mourning. 
 They took chairs at the open window, between the historic safe 
 and the equally historic small table. Lastly, George and Athclstan 
 walked in. They received no greetings. 
 
 Mr, Bering rose. " Athelstan," he said, " it is eight years since 
 you left us." He held out liis hand. 
 
 "Presently, Mr. Dering," said Athelstan. He looked round 
 the room. His mother trembled, dropped her head, and put her 
 handkerchief to her eyes, but said nothing. His sister looked out 
 of the window. Sir Samuel took no notice of him at all. Athelstan 
 took a chair — the clients' chair — and placed it so as to have his 
 mother and sister at the side. He wasn't therefore compelled to 
 look at them across the table. He sat down, and remained in 
 silence and motionless. 
 
 The court was now complete. Mr. Dering sat in his chair be- 
 fore his table, expectant, judicial. Sir Samuel stood behind him. 
 Mrs. Arundel and Hilda, the two ladies, sat at the open window. 
 Elsie stood opposite to Mr. Bering, on the other side of the table, 
 her hand-bag before her. She looked like counsel about to open 
 the case for plaintiff. Athclstan — or plaintiff — naturally occupied 
 the clients' chair on Mr. Bering's left ; and George, as naturally 
 — the other plaintiff — stood behind him. 
 
 " Now, Elsie, if you please," Mr. Bering began. 
 
 " I shall want your clerk, Checkley, to be present, if you 
 please." 
 
 Mr. Bering touched his bell. The clerk appeared. He stood 
 before them like a criminal, pale and trembling. He looked at 
 his master appealingly. His hands hung beside him. Yet not a 
 word of accusation had been brought against him. 
 
 "Lord! man alive!" cried Sir Samuel, "what on earth has 
 come over you ?'' 
 
 Checkley shook his head sadly, but made no reply. 
 
 " I want to ask you a question or two, Checkley," said Elsie 
 
344 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 quietly. "You have told Mr. Dering — you Lave told Sir Samuel 
 — that you saw my brother furtively put a parcel — presumably the 
 stolen notes — into the safe at the very nionient when you were 
 charging him with forgery. Now, consider. That was a very 
 serious thing to say. It was a direct statement of fact. Before, 
 the charge rested on suspicion alone ; but this is fact. Consider 
 carefully. You may have been mistaken. Any of us may make 
 a mistake." 
 
 " It was true — Gospel truth — I sec him place a parcel — edging 
 .ilong sideways — in the safe. The parcel we found afterwards in 
 the safe containing all the notes." The words were confident, 
 but the manner was iialting. 
 
 "Very well. Next, you told Sir Samuel that my biollier had 
 been living in some low suburb of London with profligate com- 
 panions, and that he had been even going about in rags and tat- 
 ters." 
 
 "Yes, I did. I told Sir Samuel what I heard. Mr. Carstone 
 told me. You'd better ask him. I only told what 1 heard." 
 
 George went out, and returned, bringing with him Mr. Freddy 
 Carstone. He looked round the room, and stared with surprise at 
 Mr. Dering, but said nothing, lie had been warned to say noth- 
 ing, except in answer to questions. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Carstone," Elsie asked him, "how long is it since 
 you met my brother after his return to England ?" 
 
 "About three weeks ago I met him. It was in Ilolborn. I 
 invited him into the Salutation Tavern." 
 
 "Did you tell Mr. Checkley here anything about his way of 
 living?" 
 
 "I remember saying, foolishly, that he looked too respectable 
 to have come from America; and I said in joke that 1 believed 
 he had been in Camberwell all the time." 
 
 " Nothing about profligacy ?" 
 
 " Nothing at all." 
 
 "Nothing about rags and tatters?" 
 
 "Certainly not. In fact, 1 knew nothing at all about Athel- 
 stan's life during the eight years that he has been away." 
 
 " Have you anything to say, Checkley ? You still stick to the 
 parcel story, do you? Very well; and to the Camberwell and 
 profligacy story ?" 
 
 Checkley made no answer. 
 
THE IVORY GATE 345 
 
 "Now, then. There is another question. You made a great 
 point about certain imitations of Mr. Dering's writing found in a 
 drawer of Athelstan's table ?" 
 
 " Well, they were there, in your brother's hand." 
 "George, you have something to say on this point." 
 "Only this. I was not long articled at that time. The table 
 was taken from the room in which I sat, and placed here for 
 some special work. Now, the imitations of Mr. Dering's hand- 
 writing were made by myself and another clerk in joke. I re- 
 member them perfectly. They were written at the back of a 
 letter addressed to me." 
 
 Mr. Dering went to the safe, and produced the bundle contain- 
 ing all the papers in the case. He unrolled the bundle, and placed 
 the contents on the table. 
 
 Everybody was now serious. Lady Dering looked out of 
 the window no longer. Mrs. Arundel had drawn her chair to the 
 table. 
 
 Elsie picked out the paper containing the imitations. "Tell 
 me," she said, "if you remember — mind, everybody, this bundle 
 of papers has never been shown to George — tell me the name of 
 your correspondent." 
 
 " It was Leonard ITenryson." 
 
 She gave the paper to Mr. Dering. " You see," she said. 
 The lawyer gave it to his brother, who passed it on to his wife, 
 who gave it to her mother. Mrs. Arundel laid it on the table, and 
 raised her veil. 
 
 "The next point," said Elsie, "is about Athelstan's where- 
 abouts during the last eight years. One letter was received bv 
 you, Mr. Dering, four years ago. You have already shown it to 
 me. "Will you let me read this letter aloud for all to hear ?" It 
 was in the bundle with the stopped notes. lie bowed assent, 
 and she read it. 
 
 "Twelve thousand pounds!'' cried Sir Samuel — "twelve thou- 
 sand pounds ! All he had ! Good heavens I" 
 
 " All he had in the world," said Elsie. " And all for a child 
 who refused to believe that her brother could be a villain ! All 
 he had in the world!" Her eyes filled with tears — but she dashed 
 them aside, and went on. " He was in the States four years ao-o. 
 That, I suppose, will no longer be denied. The ne.\t question is 
 — when did he return to this country ?" 
 15* 
 
340 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 George left the room again, and returned with a young gentle- 
 man. 
 
 " Til is gentleman," Elsie continued, "comes from Messrs. 
 Clienery <fc Sons, bankers, of New York and London. lie baa 
 brougbt a letter witb bim. Will you kindly let me sec it, sir? 
 It is," slie explained, "a letter of credit brougbt over by my 
 brolber from California. You see tbe date — June 20tb of this 
 year." 
 
 Mr. Dering read it, and gave it to bis brotber, wbo gave it to 
 his wife as before. 
 
 " It says that Mr. Atbelstan Arundel, one of tbe staff of a cer- 
 tain Californian paper, will leave New York on June tbe 21st by 
 tbe Shamion, and that be is authorized to draw on Messrs. 
 Cbenery ct Sons for so much. Thank you." The young gentle- 
 man retired. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Dering, are you satisfied that Atbelstan was in 
 America four years ago ; that be left America two months ago, 
 and that be was then on the staff of a Californian [)aper?" 
 
 "There seems no reason to doubt these facts. Jjut" — he put 
 his forefinger on the check payable to tbe order of Edmund 
 Gray — "arc we any nearer to the forger of this check?" 
 
 " I am coming to that presently. I am going to show you all, 
 so that there shall be no doubt whatever, who is the forger — the 
 one band — in tbe business. ^Vait a little." 
 
 Strangely enough, every eye fell upon Checkley, wbo now 
 trembled and shook with every sign of terror. 
 
 " Sit down, Checkley," said bis master. " Elsie, do we want 
 this gentleman any longer? His name I have not the pleasure of 
 knowing." 
 
 " Ob ! come," said Mr. Carstone, wbo was nearest. " You know 
 my name, surely." 
 
 George warned bim with a look, and be subsided into si- 
 lence. 
 
 " I think I shall want you, Mr. Carstone," Elsie replied, *' if you 
 will kindly take a chair and wait. Now, Sir Samuel, I think I am 
 right in saying that your belief in tbe guilt of George rested 
 entirely on tbe supposed complicity of Atbelstan. That gone, 
 what becomes of your charge? Also, there is no doubt, I believe, 
 that one band, and one band alone, has committed the whole long 
 list of letters and forgeries. If, therefore, Atbelstan could not 
 
THE IVORY GATE 347 
 
 execute the second business, how could be do the first? But I 
 have more than arguments for you." 
 
 Sir Samuel coughed. Mrs. Arundel sighed. 
 
 "As regards tlic charge against George, apart from his sup- 
 posed intimacy with an imaginary criminal, the only suspicious 
 thing is that he may have had access to the open safe. Well, 
 Checkley also may have had access. Don't be afraid, Checkley — 
 we are not going to charge you with the thing at all. You are 
 not the forger. In fact, there was a third person who had access 
 to the safe." 
 
 She opened her hand-bag and took out a packet of papers. 
 
 Then she sat down, with these in her hand, and, leaning over 
 the table, she looked straight and full into Mr, Bering's eyes, and 
 began to talk slowly in a low and murmuring voice. And now, 
 indeed, everybody understood that something very serious indeed 
 was going to be said and done. At the last moment a way had 
 occurred to Elsie. She would let them all see for themselves 
 what had happened, and she would spare her guardian the bit- 
 ter shame and pain of being exposed in the presence of all 
 this company. 
 
 " Mr. Dering," she began, " you have strangely forgotten that 
 you know Mr. Edmund Gray. IIow could you come to forget 
 that ? Why, it is ten years at least since you made his acquaint- 
 ance, lie knows you very well. He does not pretend to have 
 forgotten you. You are bis solicitor. You have the manage- 
 ment of bis property — bis large, private fortune — in your hands. 
 You are his most intimate friend. It is not well to forget 
 old friends, is it ? You must not say that yon forget Edmund 
 Gray." 
 
 Mr. Dering changed color. His eyes expressed bewilderment. 
 He made no reply. 
 
 " You know that Edmund Gray leaves this room every evening 
 on his way to Gray's Inn ; you remember that. And that be 
 comes here every morning, but not till eleven or twelve — two 
 hours after the time that you yourself used to come. His head 
 is always so full of his thoughts and his teaching that he forgets 
 the time between twelve and four, just as you forget the evening 
 and the morning. You are both so much absorbed that you 
 cannot remember each other." 
 
 Mr. Dering sat upright, the tips of bis fingers touching. He 
 
848 THE IVORV QATB 
 
 listened at first cjravely — though anxiously. Presently a remark- 
 able change passed over his face ; he became full of anxiety. He 
 listened as if he were trying to remember — as if he were trying 
 to understand. 
 
 "Edmund Gray," he said, speaking slowly. "Yes, I re- 
 member my client Edmund Gray. I have a letter to write for 
 him. What is it? Excuse me a nioinent; I must write that 
 note for liiin," lie took pen and paper, and hastily wrote a note, 
 which Elsie took from him, read, and gave to Sir Samuel. 
 
 " You want to tell the banker that Mr. Edmund Gray has re- 
 turned you the transfers. Yes — thank you. I thought y<ju could 
 not forget that client, of all others." 
 
 lie leaned back smiling — his expression no longer anxious, but 
 pleased and happy. The change transformed him. lie was not 
 Mr. During, but another. 
 
 "Go on, child." 
 
 " The rooms of Gray's Inn are quiet all day long. It is a 
 peaceful place for study, is it not ? You sit there, your books 
 before you, the world forgotten." 
 
 "Quite forgotten," said Mr. Dering. 
 
 " No, no," cried Checkley, springing to his feet. " I won't 
 have it done. I — " 
 
 " Sit down." George pushed him back into his chair. " An- 
 other word, and you leave the room." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 LB C0N8EIL DE FAMILLE — {Continued) 
 
 "It is a peaceful day," Elsie continued, " that you pass — for 
 the most part alone — you with your books. Sometimes you come 
 here to call upon your old friend and solicitor, Mr. Dering." 
 
 " Sometimes," he replied. " We are very old friends. Though 
 his views are narrow. Where is he?" He looked about the 
 room. " You are all waiting to see him ? lie will be iiere direct- 
 ly. He is always here about this time." 
 
 " Yes, directly. You remember what I said to you on Sunday 
 
THE IVORY GATE 349 
 
 concerning certain transactions? I told you liow important it 
 was to have the exact truth about them." 
 
 "Certainly. I remember. I wrote an account of them for 
 you." 
 
 "You did. Arc these papers what you wrote?" 
 
 He looked at them for a moment. " These are my papers," 
 he said. " They are what I wrote at your request. They contain 
 a perfectly true account of what happened." 
 
 " Now, before I go on, you will not mind — these people here 
 do not know Mr. Edmund Gray — you will not mind my asking a 
 few persons to testify that you are really Mr. Edmund Gray ?" 
 
 " My dear child, ask all the world if you wish ; though I do 
 not understand why my identity should be doubted." 
 
 " Not quite all the world. Mr. Carstone, will you tell us the 
 name of this gentleman ?" 
 
 "He is Mr. Edmund Gray, my neighbor at No. 22 South 
 Square, Gray's Inn." 
 
 Mr. Edmund Gray inclined his head, and smiled. 
 
 George went outside, and returned, followed by a small com- 
 pany, who, in answer to Elsie, stepped forward, one after the other, 
 and made answer. 
 
 Said one: "I am the landlord of the rooms, at 22 South 
 Square, tenanted by Mr. Edmund Gray. He has held the rooms 
 for ten years. This gentleman is Mr. Edmund Gray, my tenant." 
 
 Said another : " I am a barrister, and the tenant of the rooms 
 above those held by Mr. Edmund Gray. I have known him — 
 more or less — for ten years. This gentleman is Mr. Edmund 
 Gray." 
 
 Said a third : " I am a commissionnaire. I remember this gen- 
 tleman very well, though it is eiglit years since he employed me, 
 and only for one job then. I went from a hotel in Norfolk 
 Street, Strand, to a bank with a check which I was to cash for 
 him in ten-pound notes. He gave me half a sovereign." 
 
 " Quite so," said Mr. Edmund Gray. " I remember you, too. It 
 was a check for seven hundred and twenty pounds, the particu- 
 lars of which you have in my statement, Elsie. I well remember 
 this one-armed commissionnaire." 
 
 And a fourth : " I am the laundress who does for Mr. Edmund 
 Gray. I have done for him for ten years. This gentleman is 
 Mr. Edmund Gray." 
 
350 THE IVOUT OATK 
 
 And a fifth : " I am a news-agent, and I have a shop at the 
 entrance of Gray's Inn. This rrentleman is Mr. Edmund Gray, 
 of 22 South Square. I have known him iu tlie inn for ten 
 years." 
 
 To each in turn Mr. Derinc; nocUled, witli a kindly smile. 
 
 " Athclstan," said Elsie, "will you tell us when and where you 
 have met Mr. Edmund Gray ?" 
 
 " I met him last week in Carstone's rooms on the same landing. 
 He sat with us for an liour or more." 
 
 " It is quite true," said Mr. Dering, " I had the pleasure of 
 meeting Mr. Arundel on tliat occasion." 
 
 " I also saw him," Athclstan continued, '* at a small lecture-hall 
 at Kentish Town on Sunday evening — yesterday." 
 
 " To complete the evidence," said Elsie, *' I have myself spent 
 many hours almost daily with Mr. Edmund Gray during the last 
 fortnight or so. Is not tliat true, dear master?"' 
 
 " Quite true, my scholar." 
 
 "Brother — brother" — Sir Samuel touched his arm — "I im- 
 plore you — rouse yourself. Shake off this fancy." 
 
 " Let him alone, Sir Samuel," said George — " let him alone. 
 Vie have not done with him yet." 
 
 " Yes," cried Mr.s. Arundel, who had now left her seat and was 
 leaning over the table, following what was said with breathless in- 
 terest — "let us finish out this comedy or tragedy — as the case 
 may be. Let no one interrupt." 
 
 " I have also met you, sir" — Mr. Dering addressed Checkley, 
 who only groaned and shook. " It was outside a tavern. Yon 
 took me in, and offered n)c a drink." 
 
 Checkley shook his head, either in sadness or in denial, but 
 replied not — and at the thought of offering Mr. Dering a drink 
 everybody laughed, which was a relief. 
 
 " Dear master," Elsie went on, in her soft voice, " I am so glad 
 that you remember all these things. It makes one's task so much 
 easier. Why, your memory is as strong as ever, in spite of all 
 your work. Now, I am going to read the two statements you 
 wrote down yesterday afternoon. Then you may recall anything 
 else you might like to add. Remember that as regards this first 
 affair, the check for seven hundred and twenty pounds, ray broth- 
 er was charged, on suspicion only, with having forged it. Now 
 listen." She read the brief statement which you have already 
 
THE IVORY GATE 351 
 
 seen, concerning the business of the first check. " That is your 
 history of the affair?" 
 
 " Quite so. Dering drew the check at my request. I cashed 
 it. I found tliat I had no need of the notes, and I returned them. 
 That is very simple." 
 
 " It is all so simple that nobody ever gnessed it before. Now 
 wc corae to the transfers made in the spring of the present year. 
 You wrote a second statement regarding them. I will read that 
 as well. Please listen very carefully." 
 
 She read the other statement, which you have also seen al- 
 ready. She read it very slowly, so that there should be no mis- 
 take possible. During the reading of these documents Sir Sam- 
 uel's face expressed every possible shade of surprise. Mrs. Arun- 
 del, leaning over the table, followed every lino. Hilda wept — her 
 head gracefully inclined over her pocket-handkerchief, as if it were 
 an urn. 
 
 " This is your account of the business ?" 
 
 " Certainly. There is nothing more to be added. It is a plain 
 statement of the facts. I do not understand how they could be 
 in any way doubted or misrepresented." 
 
 " Would you, Sir Samuel, like to ask Mr. Edmund Gray any 
 question?" 
 
 " I don't understand. He says that Mr. Dering wrote a letter 
 for him." 
 
 Elsie showed him the letter they had seen Mr. Dering write, 
 while he was passing from one to the other. 
 
 " Where are the transfers ?" Sir Samuel went on. " He says 
 they were placed by himself in the safe." 
 
 Mr. Edmund Gray rose and walked to the safe. He laid liis 
 hands upon a packet and took it out. " These are the papers," 
 he said. 
 
 Sir Samuel opened the roll and looked them over. "They 
 seem all right," he said. " This is very wonderful." 
 
 " Wonderful — and sad — most lamentable," whispered Lady 
 Dering. 
 
 " Wonderful indeed !" Mrs. Arundel echoed. " Most wonder- 
 ful ! most unexpected !" 
 
 "A moment more, and I have done." Elsie again took up the 
 tale. " Here is a check to the order of Mr. Dering, signed by Mr. 
 Edmund Gray for the whole of the money lying in his name at 
 
352 TUE IVORV UATE 
 
 the bank. You agree, master, that it is best for the future that 
 all your affairs should be in the hands of your solicitor?" 
 
 " I quite agree." 
 
 " Here is a letter to the manager of the bank, requesting liim 
 to pay over Edmund (Jray's dividends to the account of Mr. Der- 
 ing. And now I think I liavc proved my case. Here in the 
 .'^afe wore the ton-pound notes received by Mr. Edmund Gray, and 
 j»Iaced there by him. Here were the transfers and certiticates 
 placed there by him. You have heard half a dozen people testify 
 to the fact that you have Edmund Gray before you. His state- 
 ment of the business has been read to you. It shows, what no 
 other theory of the case couKl show, how the thing was really 
 done. Ljistly, it shows the absolute and complete innocence of 
 my brother and of George. Have you anything more to say, Sir 
 Sanniol ?" 
 
 " Nothing — except that I was misled by a statement concern- 
 ing a profligate life among low companions, without which no 
 suspicion could have fallen upon cither of you gentlemen. It 
 was" — he pointed to the unhappy Checkley — "a vile and malig- 
 nant falsehood. Do you hear, sir? Vile and malignant. It only 
 remains for us all to make such reparation as wc may — nothing 
 would suflioc, I know, but such reparation as we can — by the ex- 
 pression of the shame and regret that wc all feel." 
 
 " Athclstan," said his mother, " what can I say ? Oh ! what can 
 I say ?" 
 
 Athelstan rose — during the long business he had sat motion- 
 less in the clients' chair, his head in his hand. Now he rose and 
 stojtped over to his mother. " Hush !" he said. "Not a word. 
 It is all forgotten — all forgiven." 
 
 But Hilda sank upon her knees and caught his hands. 
 
 "George," said Sir Samuel, "forgive me. The case looked 
 black against you at one time. It did indeed. Forgive me." 
 He held out his hand. 
 
 Then there was great hand-shaking, embracing, and many tears. 
 As for Checkley, he crept out and vanished in the retreat of his 
 own room. "It is all over," lie murmured — "all over. I've 
 lost four hundred pounds a year. That's gone. All over — all 
 over I" 
 
 Mr. Edmund Gray looked on this liappy scene of family recon- 
 ciliation with benevolence and smiles. 
 
THE IVORY GATE 353 
 
 Family reconciliations must not be prolonged ; you cannot sit 
 over a family reconciliation as over a bottle of port. It must be 
 quickly despatched. Sir Samuel whispered to Hilda that they 
 had better go. 
 
 " Come," said Lady Bering. " We will all meet again this 
 evening at Pembridge Square — and to-morrow evening — and on 
 Wednesday afternoon. Elsie, you are a witch and a sorceress and 
 a wise woman. You said that Athelstan should give you away, 
 and he will. Brother, come with us. Leave Elsie to George. 
 Oh ! how handsome you are looking, my poor, ill-used brother. 
 Try to forgive us if you can." 
 
 She turned to Mr. Edmund Gray. " Sir," she said, " we ought 
 to be very grateful to you — indeed, we are — for enabling us to 
 clear away the odious cloud of suspicion which had rolled over 
 our heads. It was very good of you to draw out those state- 
 ments for my sister. But I do think that if Mr. Dering had told 
 his old friends about you — about Mr. Edmund Gray — we should 
 have been spared a great deal of trouble and unnecessary shame. 
 Good-day, sir." 
 
 Sir Samuel lingered a moment, lie looked as if he would ap- 
 peal to Mr. Edmund Gray as to a brother. " Don't speak to 
 him," Elsie whispered. "Let him alone, lie will become him- 
 self again presently. Let hira alone." 
 
 So he went out, and the door was shut, and Edmund Gray was 
 left alone with George and the scholar. 
 
 "My master" — Elsie sat down beside him — "I fear you have 
 been interrupted. But indeed it was necessary. Don't ask why. 
 Things get into a muddle sometimes, don't they ? You have gath- 
 ered something of the trouble, too. Now that is all over — past 
 and gone." 
 
 "I am glad for your sake, child." 
 
 "Master — dear master — I have a confession to make. When I 
 found out wlio you were — ■! mean what manner of man you were 
 — my only thought at first was to coax you and wheedle you and 
 flatter you till you gave me exactly the information that I want- 
 ed. I confess it. That was my only purpose. Nay — more — 
 for the sake of my lover and my brother I would do it again. 
 W^ell — I found that the only way to win your confidence was to 
 pretend to be your scholar and to believe all you taught. So I 
 pretended. So I won your confidence. So I obtained all I wanted. 
 
354 THE IVOKT GATE 
 
 So I have made it impossible for even the most malij^nant creat- 
 ure in the world to pretend that these two men had anything 
 to do with what they called a forijery. But — believe me, dear 
 master — while I pretended, I was punished, because my pretence 
 is turned to certainty." 
 
 " Child, I knew it. You could not pretend — no woman could 
 protend so as to deceive me on a jioint so siiniile." 
 
 " Dear master, you do not know the possibilities of feminine 
 craft. But I pretend no more. Oh ! I care not how you make 
 your attempt, whether you destroy property or not. Mr. Dering 
 says that property is civilization — but I don't care. To me it is 
 cnouujh to dream — to know — that there is an earthly paradise 
 possible, if only men will think so and will keep it before their 
 eyes, thou^fh it bo as far off as the blue hills. It is beautiful only 
 to think of it; the soul is lifted up only to think that there is 
 such a place. Keep the eyes of your people on this j^lorious place, 
 dear master ; make it impossible for them to forget it or to let it 
 go out of their sight. Then, half unconsciously, they will be run- 
 ning, dragging each other, forcing each other — exhorting each 
 other to hurry along the dusty road which leads to that earthly 
 paradise with its four-square city of the jasper wall. Preach 
 about it, master. Write about it. Make all men talk about it 
 and think about it." 
 
 She threw her arras round his neck, and kissed him. 
 
 "Master, we shall be away for a month or two. Then we shall 
 come back, and I shall sit at your feet again. You shall come 
 and stay with us. We will give you love, and you shall give us 
 hope. I have made my confession. Forgive me." 
 
 They left him sitting alone. Presently he arose, put all the 
 papers back in the safe, and walked slowly away — to Gray's Inn. 
 
 Next morning when he opened his letters he found one marked 
 " Private." It was from Sir Samuel. 
 
 " Dear Edward," it said — " Wc arc all very glad to tell you that the 
 business of the shares and certificates is now completely cleared up. Check- 
 ley is not in any way concerned in it — nor is George Austin. And I am 
 happy to say there is a complete solution of the former mjstery, which en- 
 tirely clears Hilda's brother. Under these circumstances, we are agreed that 
 it is best for you not to trouble yourself about any further investigations. 
 You will find in the safe the transfers, a check to yourself of all the money 
 received by Edmund Gray, and an order in the bank concerning tlie divi- 
 dends. You have been the victim of a very remarkable halluciuation. I 
 
THE IVORY GATE 355 
 
 need not explain further. Mr. Edmund Gray, however, is undoubtedly insane. 
 I hear, and have myself observed, that you have been greatly disturbed and 
 distressed by these mysterious events. Now that they are settled finally — I 
 may say that only a happy chance set us on the right track — we all hope 
 that you will be satisfied with our assurance, and that you will not trouble 
 yourself any more in the matter. 
 
 " Your affectionate brother, 
 
 " Samuel Dering." 
 
 Mr. Dering, after reading this letter, got np and looked in the 
 safe, where ho found the papers referred to. He rang the bell. 
 " Checkley, who has been at my safe ?" 
 
 "Nobody but you." 
 
 "Don't tell lies. Who put those papers in the safe?" 
 
 " They must have been put there yesterday — you were in the 
 room," 
 
 " Yesterday — what happened yesterday ?" 
 
 Checkley was silent. 
 
 " Who was here yesterday ? Go on, Checkley. Don't be 
 afraid." 
 
 " Sir Samuel was here — and Lady Dering — and Mrs. Arundel 
 — and Miss Elsie — and your partner — and Mr. Athelstan. Two 
 or three more came iti and went away." 
 
 "That will do. You need tell me no more. I don't want to 
 know the particulars. Checkley, my day's work is done. I have 
 thought so for some time past. Now I am certain, I shall re- 
 tire." 
 
 " No, no !" cried Checkley, the tears running down his face. 
 " Not to retire — after all these years — not to retire." 
 
 "I know now the meaning of my fits of forgetfulness. I have 
 feared and suspected it for a long time. While I am lost to my- 
 self, I am going about the world, doing I know not what. And 
 I will not ask. I may be this Edmund Gray, who preaches So- 
 cialism and gives me his precious tracts. I may be some one else. 
 I say, Checkley, that I know now what has happened to me. 
 Deny it if you can — if you can, I say." 
 
 Checkley did not offer any denial. He hung his head. "This 
 is the meaning of Elsie's strange hints and queer protestations. 
 Half my time I am a madman — a madman. Checkley, ask Mr. 
 Austin to come to me at once. My day is done." He closed 
 Lis open blotting-pad and placed the unopened letters beside it. 
 
356 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 Then he rose and pushed back liis cliair — the chair in whicli lie 
 had sat for fifty years and more. ** My day is done — my day is 
 done." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 THE LAST 
 
 Mil Derino left his ofllco, went back lo Gray's Tnn, and sat 
 down a:;aiii before the Ivory Gate. Those who iiave once sat for 
 nn liour or two in this phice return to it a<^ain and aL,'ain, and 
 never leave it. It is, to begin with, the most beautiful gate ever 
 erected. The brain and wit and fancy of man could never con- 
 ceive such a pate, could never execute such a conception. It is 
 all of pure ivory, carved with flowers such as never grew ; curving 
 and flowing lines leading nowhere; figures of maidens lovely be- 
 yond all dreams ; philosophers whose wisdom reaches unto the 
 heavens; statesmen who discern the gathering forces and control 
 the destinies of a nation; inventors who conquer nature; physi- 
 cians who prolong life; ecclesiastics who convert the Carthusian 
 cell into a bower of dcliglit; poets who here find their fantasies 
 divine; men and women in work-a-day dress who wear the faces 
 of the heavenly host. 
 
 All the dreamers lie here, not asleep, but dreaming. Their eyes 
 are open, but they do not see each other; they see these dreams. 
 Those of the young who are also generous come here and dream 
 until they grow older and arc chained to their work and can dream 
 no more. Men of all conditions come here — even the little shop- 
 boy — even the maiden who cleans the knives and polishes the 
 boots — all are here. The young prince is here; the little charity 
 boy is here ; the lad whose loftiest ambition is that he may one 
 day stand in the pulpit of the little Baptist viliagc-chapel is here; 
 here is the undergraduate who was captain of Eton and will be 
 senior classic and Member of Parliament and minister — even 
 prime-minister — and will belong to history. The poet is here, 
 and the painter, and sometimes hither comes the novelist, and, 
 but more rarely, the dramatist. Hither comes the musician to lift 
 up his soul with thoughts that only music can give ; and the singer. 
 
THE IVORY GATE 357 
 
 SO that he sini^s more than is apparent from the words ; and the 
 actor, so that he puts things into the play never dreamed by him 
 who wrote it. Great is the power, great the gifts, of tliis noble 
 Gate of Ivory. 
 
 Sitting before that gate, such a dreamer as Edmund Gray re- 
 ceives strange visions. He sees clearly and near at hand the things 
 which might be, yet are not, and never can be until man lays down 
 his garb of selfishness and puts on the white robes of Charity, 
 To that dreamer tlie Kingdom of Heaven, which seems to some so 
 far off and to others impossible, so that they deride the name of 
 it, is actually close at hand — with us — easy to enter if we only 
 choose. He exhorts his fellows to enter with him. And they 
 would follow, but they cannot, because they are held back by cus- 
 tom and necessity. They must obey the laws of the multitude, 
 and so they stay where they are. And when the dreamer passes 
 away his memory is quickly lost, and the brightness quickly leaves 
 those dimly lighted lives. Yet other dreamers come — every day 
 there arises an Edmund Gray. 
 
 Now when Edmund Gray takes the place of Edward Bering, in 
 which guise does the soul, in the end, leave the earth ? Are the 
 dreams of Edmund Gray perhaps the logical development of the 
 doctrines held by Edward Bering ? Is the present stage of indi- 
 vidual property — where every man works for himself and his 
 household — one through which the world must pass before it can 
 reach the higher level of working each for all ? First men and 
 women hunt, separate ; they live apart in hollow trees and caves. 
 Then they live together, and the man hunts for his wife and chil- 
 dren. Next, they live in communities, which grow into towns and 
 tribes and nations. Then men rely upon the protection of the 
 law, and work for themselves again. That is our present stage; 
 it has lasted long — very long. Perhaps it will break up some 
 day; perhaps sooner than we think. Who knows? All things 
 are possible — even the crash and wreck of a civilization which has 
 taken thousands of years to build up. And upon it may come — 
 one knows not — that other stage which now belongs to the dreamer 
 before the Ivory Gate. 
 
 The wedding was held then, as Elsie said it should be, shorn 
 of none of its splendors, and relieved of the cloud which had hung 
 over them so long and threatened them so gloomily. xUhelstan 
 
358 THE IVORY GATE 
 
 the Exile — Atliclstan the Ne'er-do-well — Atliclstan the Profligate 
 — Atliclstan the licsident of Cambcrwcll — Atliclstan the Smirched 
 and Soiled — stood beside the altar, tall and gallant, and gave away 
 the bride for all the world to see — nobody in the least ashamed 
 of him. There was not any breath of scandal left. Here he was, 
 returned from his travels, a tall and proper man, dressed in broad- 
 cloth, perhaps with money in purse, prosperous and successful in 
 the sight of all. His mother gazed upon him when she should 
 have been looking at the bride or into her Prayer Book, llcr 
 eyes were red, but tlien a mother is allowed a tear or two when 
 her daughter leaves the nest. And as to those who had whispered 
 words about family jars, quarrels, and estrangements, or had spo- 
 ken against the fair fame of the groom, they were now as mute 
 as mice. 
 
 All the richer members of the House of Arundel — the City 
 Arundels — were present. One of them — chief [)artncr in a lead- 
 ing firm of accountants — afterwards computed, for tlie greater in- 
 crease of the family glory, how many hundreds of thousands of 
 pounds were gathered together at one moment beneath that sa- 
 cred roof. He counted the members, and made that little addi- 
 tion, during the performance of the ceremony. Those of the Aus- 
 tins who were not disgracefully poor — there are some branches of 
 the family, I believe, pretty low down — were also present. And 
 the company went to Pembridgc Square after the service, gazed 
 admiringly at the wedding-presents, and drank the health of the 
 bride and bridegroom, and gathered with cousinly curiosity round 
 the returned prodigal. But tlicy knew nothing — mind you — of 
 his connection with Cambcrwcll. And nothing about his supposed 
 complicity in the Edmund Gray business. There had been, hap- 
 pily, no scandal. 
 
 Among the company in the church was Mr. Dcring. He stood 
 tall and erect, his coat buttoned, his face keen and hard, the fam- 
 ily lawyer stamped by nature and long custom. 
 
 Presently, when the service was about half-way through, a 
 change came over him. His face relaxed ; the lines curved just a 
 little laterally, the austerity vanished, his eyes brightened. He 
 took off his gloves furtively, and opened his coat. He was Ed- 
 mund Gray. In that capacity he afterwards drank to the bride, 
 and wished her happiness. And he walked all the way from Pcm- 
 bridge Square to South Square, Gray's Inn. 
 
THE IVOKY GATE 359 
 
 I see in the future an old man growing feeble ; he leans upon 
 the arm of a girl whom he calls his scholar, his disciple, and his 
 child, llis face is serene ; he is perfectly happy ; the advent of 
 that kingdom whose glories he preaches is very nigh at hand. 
 He lives in the house of his disciple ; he has forgotten the very 
 existence of his lawyer; he goes no more to Lincoln's Inn: al- 
 ways he is lying, night and day, before that miracle of carven work 
 in ivory. There he watches — it is his vision — the long proces- 
 sion of those who work, and sing at their work, and arc happy, 
 work they ever so hard, because they work each for all and all for 
 each. And there is no more sorrow or crying and no more pain. 
 What hath the Gate of Horn — through which is allowed nothing 
 but what is true — bitterly true — absolutely true — nakedly, coldly, 
 shiveringly true — to sliow in comparison with this? A crowd 
 trampling upon each other; men who enslave and rob each other; 
 men and women and children lying in misery ; men and women 
 and children starving. Let us fly, my brothers — let us swiftly 
 fly — let us hasten — to the Gate of Ivory. 
 
 THE END 
 
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