CHAPTER XVI.

Success.

Upon the mountain top I stood And all the land beneath me lay; I saw that earth was very good, But heaven seemed just as far away.

It was in the following winter that Paul Seaton's great book, _Some Better Thing_, took the literary world by storm, and carried its author at one bound from mere notoriety to abiding fame. Everybody read the book, and everybody who read it was the better for reading it. It was a novel with a purpose, and its purpose was to show that it is only by righteousness that men and nations prevail; also, that there is much that is humorous in life as well as much that is holy, and that healing virtue lies in laughter as well as in prayers and tears. It was a strong book, and yet infinitely pathetic; and it was perfectly free from the taint of shallow cynicism on the one hand and of mawkish sentimentality on the other. Preachers recommended its teaching, and speakers quoted its epigrams; and, in short, Paul Seaton became the man of the hour, and Angus Grey was forgotten. This latter end was the more easily accomplished because the first edition of _Shams and Shadows_ was sold out, and another was not forthcoming.

_Some Better Thing_ brought great joy to the heart of Mark Seaton. That his son was among the successful writers of the day, was nothing to him; but that his son was among the great teachers of the day, was everything. Mrs. Seaton and Joanna likewise rejoiced, and felt that _Shams and Shadows_ was expiated and done away with. So happiness reigned once more in Chayford Cottage.

As for Paul himself, the success of his book pleased him to a certain extent; and it was a source of keen delight to him to feel that men no longer condemned him as the writer of _Shams and Shadows_, but rather respected him as the author of _Some Better Thing_. But Isabel had spoiled his life for him, he felt; and no mere public applause could fill up the aching blank that she had left. She had gone near to marring his character as well; but he had come safely through the dark valley of humiliation and disappointment, and stood whole and in his right mind on the farther side. Yet his happiness had not survived the chills of the dark valley; and fame without happiness is but a sorry jest at best. What matters it to a thirsty man if his empty cup be of gold or silver or of finest glass? Such outside splendours will not slake his thirst.

Nevertheless in Paul's mind the thought was ever present that Isabel Carnaby would see _Some Better Thing_, and would read as much, perhaps, between the lines as the public could read in them. And--if the truth must be told--this thought gave him more pleasure than all his literary triumph; for, in spite of what had happened, his love for Isabel was as strong as ever, and his hope was not yet dead that some day they two might be brought together again and might bid bygones be bygones. Paul knew that the ideal Isabel whom he had loved was no creature of his own imagination, but the real Isabel as God had intended her to be; he had merely recognized--not imagined--the soul of the woman hidden under her somewhat frivolous exterior. He believed that this soul was not extinct, but merely dormant for a time, and he knew that he was the only man who had power to awaken it fully to life again. There was no doubt that Isabel had been cruel as well as wilful; but perhaps he had been too hard and stern for so highly strung a nature as hers; and to those that love much, surely much can be forgiven. Anyhow Isabel had not committed the one crowning offence in his eyes--she had not put another man in his place--and as long as she was still Miss Carnaby, Paul felt there was yet a possible morning of joy to his present night of weeping.

Early in the year Paul went down to Chayford, and was welcomed as a conquering hero. The family at the Cottage were never tired of talking about _Some Better Thing_; but _Shams and Shadows_ was only once alluded to, and then by Paul himself.

"Father, do you think that _Shams and Shadows_ is now atoned for?" he asked one day.

"My son, we will never speak of _Shams and Shadows_ more. Do you think that when the angel led Peter out of prison they talked of the denial; or when Moses stood on the Mount of Transfiguration he was reminded of his disobedience at Meribah? The teaching of modern philosophy is that what is done is done, and what we have written we have written; and that there is no atonement for the deed once accomplished, and no washing out of the handwriting against us. But I have not so learned Christ."

"Then do you believe that what is done can ever be undone?" asked Paul. "Surely that is impossible."

"I do not wish to prophesy smooth things," replied his father, "nor to sprinkle the way of life with rose-water. I know that if a man breaks the laws of Nature he will be punished to the uttermost, for there is no forgiveness in Nature. I know that if a man breaks the laws of Society he will find neither remission nor mercy, for there is no forgiveness in Society; but I believe that if a man breaks the law of God his transgression can be taken away as though it had never been, for 'there is forgiveness with Thee that Thou mayest be feared'."

"It is a grand gospel that you preach, father, and seems almost too good to be true."

"Nothing is too good to be true; the truth is the best of everything."

"I believe that," said Paul, "but I did not always."

"Before you were afflicted you went astray," answered the minister, "but the word is very nigh you now."

"I hope so."

"The modern gospel of the grandeur of human nature is a hard one," said Mr. Seaton, "and tends rather to exalt the creature than to glorify the Creator. If the great object of life is the formation of our own character, then, I grant you, each action must leave its indelible mark; but if the great object of life is the glory of God, then, surely, the mistakes of foolish men will not be allowed to cast lasting shadows across the eternal Light."

"You think our ideas are too small."

"Yes, and too personal. The business of our lives is to give glory to God; and it is of no moment whether we do it by sounding His praises abroad or by keeping His commandments at home. It seems to me that now-a-days men think and talk too much about improving their own characters, and meditate too little upon the perfection of the Divine Character."

"They ought to do the one without leaving the other undone," said Paul. "I cannot admit that holiness is a substitute for usefulness."

"You and I travel by different roads and our methods are not alike; yet both our ways lead up to Jerusalem, as all roads lead to Rome."

"Yes," replied Paul, "the railways are not laid along the old coachroads, but they bring us to the same places as the coaches did."

"And more quickly, too," added Mr. Seaton. "I must not forget that."

During his stay at Chayford, Paul saw a great deal of Mr. Ford. These two shared many opinions, both political and otherwise, and much enjoyed mutual intercourse.

"I wish you could knock some of your common-sense into Edgar," said Edgar's father one day, "it would be invaluable to him in his political career."

"The inculcation of common-sense is a complicated operation," replied Paul.

"I know it," sighed Michael Ford.

"Does Edgar intend to go into Parliament soon?" Paul asked, as he and Mr. Ford walked down the High Street together.

"I mean him to stand for Chayford at the next election. The sitting member, Halkin, has decided to retire after the present Parliament, and the Liberal executive of Chayford have resolved to accept Edgar in his place as their candidate."

"I suppose it will be a walk-over for Edgar."

"Practically so. Chayford has always returned a Liberal, and a Liberal of the good old school--none of your new-fangled faddists. Besides, Edgar would be sure of the Wesleyan vote solid; no Wesleyan, however Conservative, would vote against one of the Fords of Chayford."

"That is quite true; the Wesleyans are a wonderful people for pulling together."

"What I am afraid of," continued Mr. Ford, "is that Edgar will go in for somewhat extreme measures, instead of jogging along on the good old beaten track. I suppose he would be sure of the seat even if his views were decidedly advanced; but I had rather he had adopted the political creed which satisfied his fathers before him."

"Still our fathers' creeds and our fathers' faiths do not always fit us, Mr. Ford; and I do not believe in equipping ourselves for the battle of life with second-hand weapons and armour, even though they be inherited from our parents. What should you think of a soldier who went to War to-day in the coat of mail worn by his ancestors during the Crusades; or was content to arm himself for the fray with a musket that did good service at Waterloo?"

"I should call him a picturesque fool."

"So should I; I think that it is every man's duty to keep abreast of the time," continued Paul, "whether he be a doctor or a politician. You would not consider a doctor was breaking the fifth commandment because he refused to cure fever by cupping, or smallpox by inoculation; then why should you bring this charge against the politician who has outgrown the Liberalism of the Whigs?"

Mr. Ford shook his head. "You young men always think you know better than the old ones."

"We don't really know better; we only know what is better for us and for our generation. Politicians are 'the faculty' of the State, and it is their business--as it is the doctors' business--to prescribe for the diseases of to-day and not for the diseases of the past century. The medicines which cured the latter will probably have no effect upon the former."

"You mean that each generation has its own difficulties to contend with, and must therefore use its own special methods. There is a good deal in what you say, I must admit."

"Where I disapprove of modern philosophy," continued Paul, "is when it begins to sneer at the teaching of former schools. My argument cuts both ways; if we know our own business better than our fathers, they knew their business better than we do. Each generation understands what is best for itself; and it is just as foolish for us to deride our fathers' methods, as for them to despise ours. Their ways were the ways for yesterday, as ours are the ways for to-day; and the transference of either would be an anachronism."

Mr. Ford nodded. "I see; and I am almost tempted to agree with you."

"But besides the unwisdom of laughing at our fathers' methods, it seems to me such atrociously bad form. If a young man adopts verbatim either the religious or the political creed of his father, I probably shall not agree with him, but I shall respect him as an honourable man, who is just as likely to be right as I am; but if a man sneers at and is ashamed of the things which his father cherished and believed in, I regard that man as a cad and should decline to ask him to dinner."

"There you are quite right; I cannot bear to hear young folks jeering at the old faiths."

"But the worst is when they do it for social reasons, and not from any honest conviction," Paul went on; "it makes me perfectly ill to see men treat their parents as family secrets, because the good old folks do not happen to vote on the side of the aristocracy, or worship according to established form."

"They have an idea that in burying the ancestral Radicalism and Nonconformity out of sight, they thereby identify themselves with the high-born and orthodox."

"I know they do; just as some men think that to walk up to their business in a pair of riding-breeches, places them socially on a level with a master of hounds."

Mr. Ford enjoyed this joke: he rode to hounds himself, and was a good horseman. "And they forget that cutting oneself off from one's own class does not attach one to a higher class; it merely leaves one without a class at all," he concluded.

"Exactly," agreed Paul, "between heaven and earth, like Mahomet's coffin. I don't of course deny that it is a good thing to be well-born and wealthy. I only say that it is a bad thing to pretend to be so when you are not. I don't deny that it is a good thing to be handsome; but a man had better have a snub nose of his own than an artificial aquiline."

"That is perfectly true."

"I cannot blame people for seeing the humorous side of much that their parents considered wholly serious," added Paul, "nor for laughing--tenderly and among themselves--at old-fashioned forms which they have outgrown; but laughing tenderly and sneering are two very different things. For instance, a man who now-a-days could read such books as _The Fairchild Family_ and _Stories from the Church Catechism_ without a smile, would be lacking in a sense of humour; but a man who sneered at the underlying godliness thus quaintly embodied, would be deficient in true reverence and spiritual insight."

"Quite so."

"Besides, I cannot understand the indifference to the charm of old association which would permit a man to regard with anything but tenderness the faith in which he was brought up, however far he might leave it behind in his maturer years. For instance, nothing would induce me to wear boots with elastic-sides; I think they are extremely uncomfortable and unhealthy and unbecoming; nevertheless, I never catch sight of those worn by my mother without being conscious of a wave of tender amusement; and for her sake all women who walk through life in elastic-sided boots are in a measure sacred to me."

Mr. Ford smiled, as he looked at the well-dressed man walking by his side. "Yet you yourself would not buy a pair of boots unless they had patent fasteners and cork soles, and every other invention of modern times."

"Of course I should not: which things are an allegory."

"Eh, dear!" sighed Mr. Ford, "I wish I had a son like you. What a political future I would have mapped out for him!"

"I am afraid I am a person who does not lend himself to mapping-out. I should like to go into political life, I confess; but I fear my politics would not always be your politics, Mr. Ford."

"I think they would, in great issues, and we would leave the trifles to take care of themselves. We are both opportunists, Paul; the only difference between us is the difference between the opportunities of thirty years ago and the opportunities of to-day."

"I think you have hit the nail on the head."

"Why don't you go in for political life yourself?" asked Michael Ford abruptly, quickening his pace.

"Because I can't afford it. I am a poor man, and all my people are poor. I make a fair income by editing _The Pendulum_ and writing anonymous articles for a good many of the dailies, but not an income that would allow of anything like a parliamentary career."

"But _Shams and Shadows_ and _Some Better Thing_ must have brought you in a good deal."

"I have not yet received my royalties on _Some Better Thing_, and I could not touch a penny of the profits of _Shams and Shadows_."

"Now, there, my dear boy, you are wrong, and you must forgive an old friend for telling you so. That _Shams and Shadows_ was a false step, I admit; and I am very glad that you have so soon retrieved it by contradicting all its nonsense in _Some Better Thing_; but I consider it a piece of idiotic quixotism to refuse the money that _Shams and Shadows_ made."

"I think you must please let me be the judge of that," said Paul quietly.

"But, my good fellow, you are making a mistake, and are acting more like Edgar than like yourself. Throwing away the money which you fairly earned by your very clever if somewhat foolish book, is a piece of gratuitous self-denial which will do no good to anybody."

Paul smiled the smile of the obstinate, and Mr. Ford continued:

"Well, it is extremely silly of you. Now you were right not to publish a second edition of your book--although such an edition might have been of pecuniary advantage to you--because you saw that the book was unsound, and you had ceased to believe in your former teaching. For this I admire and respect you. But I cannot see why you should hesitate to appropriate the proceeds of the copies already sold."

Paul walked on in silence for a few seconds; then he said: "I simply could not do it, and that is the end of it".

"I could have believed Edgar capable of such a piece of folly, but not you," grumbled Mr. Ford.

"I am sorry to make myself disagreeable, but I fear I am one of the self-opinionated people who think they know their own business best."

"And I suppose you won't tell me what you mean to do with the sacrificial proceeds of your first book. You cannot leave them with the publishers. I don't know what your royalty on _Shams and Shadows_ was; but, however small, you must do something with it." Mr. Ford spoke with irritation, for he was a man of business.

"You think I am bound to accept the minor profits, you mean. My father has a great sermon on that subject--but he spells it 'with a difference'."

"A poor joke is no substitute for a plain answer, Paul."

"Do you remember the lady who was afraid she had asked an indiscreet question of Talleyrand, and was told that a question is never indiscreet but an answer may be?"

"You have not yet outgrown your quixotism, I see, my dear boy."

"Not I; and I happen to be suffering from a pretty sharp attack of it just now, brought on, I suppose, by fine weather and flattery judiciously blended. So you must bear with my youthful follies."

"I could bear with a great deal from such a clever man as that," said Mr. Ford to himself, after he had parted from Paul. "He'll make a name in the world which men will remember; and that Carnaby girl was a fool to throw up her chance of bearing it!"

So gradually peace--and something akin to happiness--"slid into the soul" of Paul Seaton. In spite of all that had happened, he believed that Isabel--in her heart of hearts--really cared for him, and that he was the only man who could completely satisfy her; and he knew beyond a doubt that she was the only woman who could ever satisfy him. Surely it would all come right in the end, he thought; it was against every principle of political economy that so much mutual devotion should be wasted.

To all other women he was utterly indifferent; and this indifference was so patent to the eyes of Alice Martin that she soon ceased to wear her best hat when there was a chance of meeting him. Best hats, like horses, require regular air and exercise; and when they are no longer needed for the driving of one particular man to distraction, they are not infrequently used to convey another in the same direction. Thus it came to pass that Alice began to put on her best hat when there was a possibility of seeing (or rather of being seen by) Edgar Ford. Of course Edgar did not know what had happened; he only thought that Alice seemed to grow prettier every day. But this is a not uncommon delusion of Edgar's sex. They think that a particular girl is growing decidedly better looking; but it does not always strike them that the increase of beauty is due to the fact that this particular girl has begun to put on her best clothes whenever there is an off-chance of meeting with them.

"Here is something that ought to delight you," said Mr. Seaton, handing the newspaper to Paul one day. "The Minister of Education has been delivering an inaugural address for some literary society, and he has quoted your new book as the wisest book that has been published during the last ten years. He considers that the political part of it ought to be used as a text-book for budding politicians; and he foretells a brilliant political as well as literary career for the author."

"Well played, old Willoughby!" exclaimed Paul. "I once met him at the Esdailes', and found him a very decent fellow then; but this proves him to be possessed of almost supernatural powers of insight and foresight. Give me the paper and let me read my praise and glory for myself."

"It will make you vain," said Joanna.

"You'd be vain if Cabinet Ministers grovelled before you," retorted her brother.

"I know I should. Nobody ever grovelled before me; but it would make me vain if an infant did, let alone a pillar of the State."

Paul's face fairly beamed. "I'm awfully glad that Willoughby approved of my views on education."

"Your next book had better touch on all matters connected with the State," suggested Joanna; "you might have a chapter on sanitation, for the President of the Local Government Board to lecture upon; and a chapter on commerce, for the President of the Board of Trade to lecture upon; so that, like freedom, you might 'slowly broaden down from president to president'."

"How rude you are!" exclaimed Paul, "you don't deserve to have a great author for a brother--you really don't. I take a broad view of the fifth commandment, and I think that it includes respect to brothers as well as to parents."

Joanna shook her head. "You are always too broad in your views; that is your great fault. The Bible thoroughly understands human nature, and never commands the impossible. Therefore, it tells us to love our brother, but it never suggests or hints at such a thing as respect for him."

Then she and her father started for a walk, and Paul sat down to enjoy Mr. Willoughby's lecture, and to dream over the glorious possibilities that it opened up. It was a great compliment, and Paul was the last man to pretend that he was not delighted when he was.

After he had read the report of the lecture, his eye wandered idly over the rest of the paper till it was suddenly arrested by the following paragraph:--

A marriage is arranged, and will shortly take place, between Lord Wrexham, and Isabel, only daughter of the late Major Carnaby, and niece of Sir Benjamin Farley, G.C.B.