The Farringdons

by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler

  CHAPTER XI

  MISS FARRINGDON'S WILL

  Time speeds on his relentless track, And, though we beg on bended knees, No prophet's hand for us puts back The shadow ten degrees.

  During the following winter Miss Farringdon gave unmistakable signs ofthat process known as "breaking-up." She had fought a good fight formany years, and the time was fast coming for her to lay down her armsand receive her reward. Elisabeth, with her usual light-heartedness, didnot see the Shadow stealing nearer day by day; but Christopher was moreaccustomed to shadows than she was--his path had lain chiefly amongthem--and he knew what was coming, and longed passionately and in vainto shield Elisabeth from the inevitable. He had played the part ofProvidence to her in one matter: he had stood between her and himself,and had prevented her from drinking of that mingled cup of sweetness andbitterness which men call Love, thinking that she would be a happierwoman if she left untasted the only form of the beverage which he wasable to offer her. And possibly he was right; that she would be also abetter woman in consequence, was quite another and more doubtful side ofthe question. But now the part of Elisabeth's Providence was no longercast for Christopher to play; he might prevent Love with his sorrowsfrom coming nigh her dwelling, but Death defied his protecting arm. Itwas good for Elisabeth to be afflicted, although Christopher wouldwillingly have died to save her a moment's pain; and it is a blessedthing for us after all that Perfect Wisdom and Almighty Power are one.

  As usual Elisabeth was so busy straining her eyes after the ideal thatthe real escaped her notice; and it was therefore a great shock to herwhen her Cousin Maria went to sleep one night in a land whose stones areof iron, and awoke next morning in a country whose pavements are ofgold. For a time the girl was completely stunned by the blow; and duringthat period Christopher was very good to her. Afterward--when he and shehad drifted far apart--Elisabeth sometimes recalled Christopher'ssheltering care during the first dark days of her loneliness; and shenever did so without remembering the words, "As the mountains are roundabout Jerusalem"; they seemed to express all that he was to her justthen.

  When Maria Farringdon's will was read, it was found that she had left toher cousin and adopted daughter, Elisabeth, an annuity of five hundred ayear; also the income from the Osierfield and the Willows until suchtime as the real owner of these estates should be found. The rest of herproperty--together with the Osierfield and the Willows--she bequeathedupon trust for the eldest living son, if any, of her late cousin GeorgeFarringdon; and she appointed Richard Smallwood and his nephew to be hertrustees and executors. The trustees were required to ascertain whetherGeorge Farringdon had left any son, and whether that son was stillalive; but if, at the expiration of ten years from the death of thetestator, no such son could be discovered, the whole of MissFarringdon's estate was to become the absolute property of Elisabeth. Assince the making of this will Richard had lost his faculties, the wholeresponsibility of finding the lost heir and of looking after thetemporary heiress devolved upon Christopher's shoulders.

  "And how is Mr. Bateson to-day?" asked Mrs. Hankey of Mr. Bateson'sbetter-half, one Sunday morning not long after Miss Farringdon's death.

  "Thank you, Mrs. Hankey, he is but middling, I'm sorry to say--verymiddling--very middling, indeed."

  "That's a bad hearing. But I'm not surprised; I felt sure as somethingwas wrong when I didn't see him in chapel this morning. I says tomyself, when the first hymn was given out and him not there, 'Eh, dear!'I says, 'I'm afraid there's trouble in store for Mrs. Bateson.' Itseemed so strange to see you all alone in the pew, that for a minute ortwo it quite gave me the creeps. What's amiss with him?"

  "Rheumatism in the legs. He could hardly get out of bed this morning hewas so stiff."

  "Eh, dear! that's a bad thing--and particularly at his time of life. Ilost a beautiful hen only yesterday from rheumatism in the legs; one ofthe best sitters I ever had. You remember her?--the speckled one that Igot from Tetleigh, four years ago come Michaelmas. But that's the way inthis world; the most missed are the first taken."

  "I wonder if that's Miss Elisabeth there," said Mrs. Bateson, catchingsight of a dark-robed figure in the distance. "I notice she's taken togo to church regular now Miss Farringdon isn't here to look after her.How true it is, 'When the cat's away the mice will play!'" Worshipaccording to the methods of that branch of the Church Militantestablished in these kingdoms was regarded by Mrs. Bateson as a form ofrecreation--harmless, undoubtedly, but still recreation.

  Mrs. Hankey shook her head. "No--that isn't her; she can't be out ofchurch yet. They don't go in till eleven." And she shook her headdisapprovingly.

  "Eleven's too late, to my thinking," agreed Mrs. Bateson.

  "So it is; you never spoke a truer word, Mrs. Bateson. Half-past ten isthe Lord's time--or so it used to be when I was a girl."

  "And a very good time too! Gives you the chance of getting home andseeing to the dinner properly after chapel. At least, that is to say, ifthe minister leaves off when he's finished, which is more than you cansay of all of them; if he doesn't, there's a bit of a scrimmage to getthe dinner cooked in time even now, unless you go out before the lasthymn. And I never hold with that somehow; it seems like skimping theLord's material, as you may say."

  "So it does. It looks as if the cares of this world and thedeceitfulness of riches had choked the good seed in a body's heart."

  "In which case it looks what it is not," said Mrs. Bateson; "for ninetimes out of ten it means nothing worse than wanting to cook thepotatoes, so as the master sha'n't have no cause for grumbling, and toboil the rice so as it sha'n't swell in the children's insides. Butthat's the way with things; folks never turn out to be as bad as youthought they were when you get to know their whys and their wherefores;and many a poor soul as is put down as worldly is really only anxious tomake things pleasant for the master and the children."

  "Miss Elisabeth's mourning is handsome, I don't deny," said Mrs. Hankey,reverting to a more interesting subject than false judgments in theabstract; "but she don't look well in it--those pale folks never dojustice to good mourning, in my opinion. It seems almost a pity to wasteit on them."

  "Oh! I don't hold with you there. I think I never saw anybody look moregenteel than Miss Elisabeth does now, bless her! And the jet trimming onher Sunday frock is something beautiful."

  "Eh! there's nothing like a bit of jet for setting off crape andbringing the full meaning out of it, as you may say," replied Mrs.Hankey, in mollified tones. "I don't think as you can do full justice tocrape till you put some jet again' it. It's wonderful how a bit of goodmourning helps folks to bear their sorrows; and for sure they want it ina world so full of care as this."

  "They do; there's no doubt about that. But I can't help wishing as MissElisabeth had got some bugles on that best dress of hers; there'snothing quite comes up to bugles, to my mind."

  "There ain't; they give such a finish, as one may say, being sorich-looking. But for my part I think Miss Elisabeth has been a bitshort with the crape, considering that Miss Farringdon was father andmother and what-not to her. Now supposing she'd had a crape mantle withhandsome bugle fringe for Sundays; that's what I should have calledpaying proper respect to the departed; instead of a short jacket withordinary braid on it, that you might wear for a great-uncle as hadn'tleft you a penny."

  "Well, Mrs. Hankey, folks may do what they like with their own, and it'snot for such as us to sit in judgment on our betters; but I don't thinkas Miss Farringdon's will gave her any claim to a crape mantle with abugle fringe; I don't indeed."

  "Well, to be sure, but you do speak strong on the subject!"

  "And I feel strong, too," replied Mrs. Bateson, waxing more indignant."There's dear Miss Elisabeth has been like an own daughter to MissFarringdon ever since she was a baby, and yet Miss Farringdon leaves herfortune over Miss Elisabeth's head to some good-for-nothing young manthat nobody knows for certain ever was born. I've no patience with suchways!"

  "It does seem a bit har
d on Miss Elisabeth, I must admit, her being MissFarringdon's adopted child. But, as I've said before, there's nothinglike a will for making a thorough to-do."

  "It's having been engaged to Mr. George all them years ago that set herup to it. It's wonderful how folks often turn to their old lovers whenit comes to will time."

  Mrs. Hankey looked incredulous. "Well, that beats me, I'm fain toconfess. I know if the Lord had seen fit to stop me from keeping companywith Hankey, not a brass farthing would he ever have had from me. I'dsooner have left my savings to charity."

  "Don't say that, Mrs. Hankey; it always seems so lonely to leave moneyto charity, as if you was nothing better than a foundling. But how didyou enjoy the sermon this morning?"

  "I thought that part about the punishment of the wicked was somethingbeautiful. But, to tell you the truth, I've lost all pleasure in Mr.Sneyd's discourses since I heard as he wished to introduce the readingof the Commandments into East Lane Chapel. What's the good of finepreaching, if a minister's private life isn't up to his sermon, I shouldlike to know?"

  Mrs. Bateson, however, had broad views on some matters. "I don't seemuch harm in reading the Commandments," she said.

  Mrs. Hankey looked shocked at her friend's laxity. "It is the thin endof the wedge, Mrs. Bateson, and you ought to know it. Mark my words,it's forms and ceremonies such as this that tempts our young folks awayfrom the chapels to the churches, like Miss Elisabeth and MasterChristopher there. They didn't read no Commandments in our chapel aslong as Miss Farringdon was alive; I should have liked to see theminister as would have dared to suggest such a thing. She wouldn't standRitualism, poor Miss Farringdon wouldn't."

  "Here we are at home," said Mrs. Bateson, stopping at her own door; "Imust go in and see how the master's getting on."

  "And I hope you'll find him better, Mrs. Bateson, I only hope so; butyou never know how things are going to turn out when folks begin tosicken--especially at Mr. Bateson's age. And he hasn't been lookinghimself for a long time. I says to Hankey only a few weeks ago,'Hankey,' says I, 'it seems to me as if the Lord was thinking on Mr.Bateson; I hope I may be mistaken, but that's how it appears to me.' Andso it did."

  On the afternoon of that very Sunday Christopher took Elisabeth for awalk in Badgering Woods. The winter was departing, and a faint pinkflush on the bare trees heralded the coming of spring; and Elisabeth,being made of material which is warranted not to fret for long, began tofeel that life was not altogether dark, and that it was just possibleshe might--at the end of many years--actually enjoy things again.Further, Christopher suited her perfectly--how perfectly she did notknow as yet--and she spent much time with him just then.

  Those of us who have ever guessed the acrostics in a weekly paper, havelearned that sometimes we find a solution to one of the lights, and say,"This will do, if nothing better turns up before post-time on Monday";and at other times we chance upon an answer which we know at once,without further research, to be indisputably the right one. It is sowith other things than acrostics: there are friends whom we feel will dovery well for us if nobody--or until somebody--better turns up; andthere are others whom we know to be just the right people for theparticular needs of our souls at that time. They are the right answersto the questions which have been perplexing us--the correct solutions tothe problems over which we have been puzzling our brains. So it was withElisabeth: Christopher was the correct answer to life's currentacrostic; and as long as she was with Christopher she was content.

  "Don't you get very tired of people who have never found the fourthdimension?" she asked him, as they sat upon a stile in Badgering Woods.

  "What do you mean by the fourth dimension? There are length and breadthand thickness, and what comes next?"

  Christopher was pleased to find Elisabeth facing life's abstractproblems again; it proved that she was no longer overpowered by itsconcrete ones.

  "I don't know what its name is," she replied, looking dreamily throughthe leafless trees; "perhaps eternity would do as well as any other. ButI mean the dimension which comes after length and breadth and thickness,and beyond them, and all round them, and which makes them seem quitedifferent, and much less important."

  "I think I know what you are driving at. You mean a new way of lookingat things and of measuring them--a way which makes things which ordinarypeople call small, large; and things which ordinary people call large,small."

  "Yes. People who have never been in the fourth dimension bore me, do youknow? I daresay it would bore squares to talk to straight lines, andcubes to talk to squares; there would be so many things the one wouldunderstand and the other wouldn't. The line wouldn't know what thesquare meant by the word _across_, and the square wouldn't know what thecube meant by the word _above_; and in the same way the three-dimensionpeople don't know what we are talking about when we use such words as_religion_ and _art_ and _love_."

  "They think we are talking about going regularly to church, andsupporting picture-galleries, and making brilliant matches," suggestedChristopher.

  "Yes; that's exactly what they do think; and it makes talking to them sodifficult, and so dull."

  "When you use the word _happiness_ they imagine you are referring to anincome of four or five thousand a year; and by _success_ they mean thepermission to stand in the backwater of a fashionable London eveningparty, looking at the mighty and noble, and pretending afterward thatthey have spoken to the same."

  "They don't speak our language or think our thoughts," Elisabeth said;"and the music of their whole lives is of a different order from that ofthe lives of the fourth-dimension people."

  "Distinctly so; all the difference between a Sonata of Beethoven and asong out of a pantomime."

  "I haven't much patience with the three-dimension people; have you?"asked Elisabeth.

  "No--I'm afraid not; but I've a good deal of pity for them. They miss somuch. I always fancy that people who call pictures pretty and musicsweet must have a dreary time of it all round. But we'd better begetting on, don't you think? It is rather chilly sitting out-of-doors,and I don't want you to catch cold. You don't feel cold, do you?" AndChristopher's face grew quite anxious.

  "Not at all."

  "You don't seem to me to have enough furbelows and things round yourneck to keep you warm," continued he; "let me tie it up tighter,somehow."

  And while he turned up the fur collar of her coat and hooked the highesthook and eye, Elisabeth thought how nice it was to be petted and takencare of; and as she walked homeward by Christopher's side, she felt likea good little girl again. Even reigning monarchs now and then like tohave their ermine tucked round them, and to be patted on their crowns bya protecting hand.

  As the weeks rolled on and the spring drew nearer, Elisabeth graduallytook up the thread of human interest again. Fortunately for her she wasvery busy with plans for the benefit of the work-people at theOsierfield. She started a dispensary; she opened an institute; sheinaugurated courses of lectures and entertainments for keeping the youngmen out of the public-houses in the evenings; she gave to the WesleyanConference a House of Rest--a sweet little house, looking over thefields toward the sunset--where tired ministers might come and live atease for a time to regain health and strength; and in Sedgehill Churchshe put up a beautiful east window to the memory of Maria Farringdon,and for a sign-post to all such pilgrims as were in need of one, as theeast window in St. Peter's had once been a sign-post to herself showingher the way to Zion.

  In all these undertakings Christopher was her right hand; and whileElisabeth planned and paid for them, he carefully carried them out--thehardest part of the business, and the least effective one.

  When Elisabeth had set afoot all these improvements for the benefit ofher work-people, she turned her attention to the improving of herself;and she informed Christopher that she had decided to go up to London,and fulfil the desire of her heart by studying art at the Slade School.

  "But you can not live by yourself in London," Christopher objected; "youare all right here, because you h
ave the Tremaines and other people tolook after you; but in town you would be terribly lonely; and, besides,I don't approve of girls living in London by themselves."

  "I sha'n't be by myself. There is a house where some of the Slade pupilslive together, and I shall go there for every term, and come down herefor the vacation. It will be just like going back to school again. Ishall adore it!"

  Christopher did not like the idea at all. "Are you sure you will becomfortable, and that they will take proper care of you?"

  "Of course they will. Grace Cobham will be there at the same time--anold schoolfellow to whom I used to be devoted at Fox How--and she and Iwill chum together. I haven't seen her for ages, as she has beenscouring Europe with her family; but now she has settled down inEngland, and is going in for art."

  Christopher still looked doubtful. "It would make me miserable to thinkthat you weren't properly looked after and taken care of, Elisabeth."

  "Well, I shall be. And if I'm not, I shall still have you to fall backupon."

  "But you won't have me to fall back upon; that is just the point. If youwould, I shouldn't worry about you so much; but it cuts me to the heartto leave you among strangers. Still, the Tremaines will be here, and Ishall ask them to look after you; and I daresay they will do so allright, though not as efficiently as I should."

  Elisabeth grew rather pale; that there would ever come a day whenChristopher would not be there to fall back upon was a contingency whichuntil now had never occurred to her. "Whatever are you talking about,Chris? Why sha'n't you be here when I go up to the Slade?"

  "Because I am going to Australia."

  "To Australia? What on earth for?" It seemed to Elisabeth as if theearth beneath her feet had suddenly decided to reverse its customaryrevolution, and to transpose its poles.

  "To see if I can find George Farringdon's son, of course."

  "I thought he had been advertised for in both English and Australianpapers, and had failed to answer the advertisements."

  "So he has."

  "Then why bother any more about him?" suggested Elisabeth.

  "Because I must. If advertisement fails, I must see what personal searchwill do."

  Elisabeth's lip trembled; she felt that a hemisphere uninhabited byChristopher would be a very dreary hemisphere indeed. "Oh! Chris dear,you needn't go yourself," she coaxed; "I simply can not spare you, andthat's the long and the short of it."

  Christopher hardened his heart. He had seen the quiver of Elisabeth'slip, and it had almost proved too strong for him. "Hang it all! I mustgo; there is nothing else to be done."

  Elisabeth's eyes filled with tears. "Please don't, Chris. It is horridof you to want to go and leave me when I'm so lonely and haven't gotanybody in the world but you!"

  "I don't want to go, Betty; I hate the mere idea of going. I'd give athousand pounds, if I could, to stop away. But I can't see that I haveany alternative. Miss Farringdon left it to me, as her trustee, to findher heir and give up the property to him; and, as a man of honour, Idon't see how I can leave any stone unturned until I have fulfilled thecharge which she laid upon me."

  "Oh! Chris, don't go. I can't spare you." And Elisabeth stretched outtwo pleading hands toward him.

  Christopher turned away from her. "I say, Betty, please don't cry," andhis voice shook; "it makes it so much harder for me; and it is hardenough as it is--confoundedly hard!"

  "Then why do it?"

  "Because I must."

  "I don't see that; it is pure Quixotism."

  "I wish to goodness I could think that; but I can't. It appears to me aquestion about which there could not be two opinions."

  The tears dried on Elisabeth's lashes. The old feeling of being at warwith Christopher, which had laid dormant for so long, now woke up againin her heart, and inclined her to defy rather than to plead. If he caredfor duty more than for her, he did not care for her much, she said toherself; and she was far too proud a woman ever to care for a man--evenin the way of friendship--who obviously did not care for her. Still, shecondescended to further argument.

  "If you really liked me and were my friend," she said, "not onlywouldn't you wish to go away and leave me, but you would want me to havethe money, instead of rushing all over the world in order to give it tosome tiresome young man you'd never heard of six months ago."

  "Don't you understand that it is just because I like you and am yourfriend, that I can't bear you to profit by anything which has a shade ofdishonour connected with it? If I cared for you less I should be lessparticular."

  "That's nonsense! But your conscience and your sense of honour alwayswere bugbears, Christopher, and always will be. They bored me as achild, and they bore me now."

  Christopher winced; the nightmare of his life had been the terror ofboring Elisabeth, for he was wise enough to know that a woman may love aman with whom she is angry, but never one by whom she is bored.

  "It is just like you," Elisabeth continued, tossing her head, "to be sobusy saving your own soul and laying up for yourself a nice littlenest-egg in heaven, that you haven't time to consider other people andtheir interests and feelings."

  "I think you do me an injustice," replied Christopher quietly. He waspuzzled to find Elisabeth so bitter against him on a mere question ofmoney, as she was usually a most unworldly young person; again he didnot understand that she was not really fighting over the matter atissue, but over the fact that he had put something before his friendshipfor her. Once she had quarrelled with him because he seemed to thinkmore of his business than of her; now she was quarrelling with himbecause he thought more of his duty than of her; for the truth that hecould not have loved her so much had he not loved honour more, had notas yet been revealed to Elisabeth.

  "I don't want to be money-grubbing," she went on, "or to cling on tothings to which I have no right; though, of course, it will be ratherpoor fun for me to have to give up all this," and she waved her hand ina sweep, supposed to include the Willows and the Osierfield and all thatappertained thereto, "and to drudge along at the rate of five hundred ayear, with yesterday's dinner and last year's dress warmed up again tofeed and clothe me. But I ask you to consider whether the work-people atthe Osierfield aren't happier under my _regime_, than under the rule ofsome good-for-nothing young man, who will probably spend all his incomeupon himself, and go to the dogs as his father did before him."

  Christopher was cut to the quick; Elisabeth had hit the nail on thehead. After all, it was not his own interests that he felt bound tosacrifice to the claims of honour, but hers; and it was thisconsideration that made him feel the sacrifice almost beyond his power.He knew that it was his duty to do everything he could to fulfil theconditions of Miss Farringdon's will; he also knew that he was compelledto do this at Elisabeth's expense and not at his own; and the twofoldknowledge well-nigh broke his heart. His misery was augmented by hisperception of how completely Elisabeth misunderstood him, and of howlittle of the truth all those years of silent devotion had conveyed toher mind; and his face was white with pain as he answered--

  "There is no need for you to say such things as that to me, Elisabeth;you know as well as I do that I would give my life to save you fromsorrow and to ensure your happiness; but I can not be guilty of a shabbytrick even for this. Can't you see that the very fact that I care foryou so much, makes it all the more impossible for me to do anythingshady in your name?"

  "Bosh!" rudely exclaimed Elisabeth.

  "As for the work-people," he went on, ignoring her interruption, "ofcourse no one will ever do as much for them as you are doing. But thatisn't the question. The fact that one man would make a better use ofmoney than another wouldn't justify me in robbing Peter to increasePaul's munificence. Now would it?"

  "That's perfectly different. It is all right for you to go onadvertising for that Farringdon man in agony columns, and I shouldn't beso silly as to make a fuss about giving up the money if he turned up.You know that well enough. But it does seem to me to beover-conscientious and hyper-disagreeable on your pa
rt to go off toAustralia--just when I am so lonely and want you so much--in search ofthe man who is to turn me out of my kingdom and reign in my stead. Ican't think how you can want to do such a thing!" Elisabeth was fightingdesperately hard; the full power of her strong will was bent upon makingChristopher do what she wished and stay with her in England; not onlybecause she needed him, but because she felt that this was a Hastings orWaterloo between them, and that if she lost this battle, her ancientsupremacy was gone forever.

  "I don't want to go and do it, heaven knows! I hate and loathe doinganything which you don't wish me to do. But there is no question ofwanting in the matter, as far as I can see. It is a simple questionbetween right and wrong--between honour and dishonour--and so I reallyhave no alternative."

  "Then you have made up your mind to go out to Australia and turn upevery stone in order to find this George Farringdon's son?"

  "I don't see how I can help it."

  "And you don't care what becomes of me?"

  "More than I care for anything else in the world, Elisabeth. Need youask?"

  For one wild moment Christopher felt that he must tell Elisabeth howpassionately he would woo her, should she lose her fortune; and how hewould spend his life and his income in trying to make her happy, shouldGeorge Farringdon's son be found and she cease to be one of the greatestheiresses in the Midlands. But he held himself back by the bitterknowledge of how cruelly appearances were against him. He had made uphis mind to do the right thing at all costs; at least, he had notexactly made up his mind--he saw the straight path, and the possibilityof taking any other never occurred to him. But if he succeeded in thishateful and (to a man of his type) inevitable quest, he would not onlysacrifice Elisabeth's interests, he would also further his own by makingit possible for him to ask her to marry him--a thing which he felt hecould never do as long as she was one of the wealthiest women inMershire, and he was only the manager of her works. Duty is never sodifficult to certain men as when it wears the garb and carries with itthe rewards of self-interest; others, on the contrary, find that ajoint-stock company, composed of the Right and the Profitable, suppliesits passengers with a most satisfactory permanent way whereby to travelthrough life. There is no doubt that these latter have by far the morecomfortable journey; but whether they are equally contented when theyhave reached that journey's end, none of them have as yet returned totell us.

  "If somebody must go to Australia after that tiresome young man, whyneed it be you?" Elisabeth persisted. "Can't you send somebody else inyour place?"

  "I am afraid I couldn't trust anybody else to sift the matter asthoroughly as I should. I really must go, Betty. Please don't make ittoo hard for me."

  "Do you mean you will still go, even though I beg you not?"

  "I am afraid I must."

  Elisabeth rose from her seat and drew herself up to her full height, asbecame a dethroned and offended queen. "Then that is the end of thematter as far as I am concerned, and it is a waste of time to discussit further; but I must confess that there is nothing in the world I hateso much as a prig," she said, as she swept out of the room.

  It was her final shot, and it told. She could hardly have selected onemore admirably calculated to wound, and it went straight throughChristopher's heart. It was now obvious that she did not love him, andnever could have loved him, he assured himself, or she would not havemisjudged him so cruelly, or said such hard things to him. He did notrealize that an angry woman says not what she thinks, but what shethinks will most hurt the man with whom she is angry. He also did notrealize--what man does?--how difficult it is for any woman to believethat a man can care for her and disagree with her at the same time, eventhough the disagreement be upon a purely impersonal question. Naturally,when the question happens to be personal, the strain on feminine faithis still greater--in the majority of cases too great to be borne.

  Thus Christopher and Elisabeth came to the parting of the ways. She saidto herself, "He doesn't love me because he won't do what I want,regardless of his own ideas of duty." And he said to himself, "If I failto do what I consider is my duty, I am unworthy--or, rather, moreunworthy than I am in any case--to love her." Thus they moved alongparallel lines; and parallel lines never meet--except in infinity.