Rufus and his young friend walked together silently as far as a large square. Here they stopped, having reached the point at which it was necessary to take different directions on their way home.
“I’ve a word of advice, my son, for your private ear,” said the New Englander. “The barometer behind your waistcoat points to a downhearted state of the moral atmosphere. Come along to home with me — you want a whisky cocktail badly.”
“No, thank you, my dear fellow,” Amelius answered a little sadly. “I own I’m downhearted, as you say. You see, I expected this lecture to be a new opening for me. Personally, as you know, I don’t care two straws about money. But my marriage depends on my adding to my income; and the first attempt I’ve made to do it has ended in a total failure. I’m all abroad again, when I look to the future — and I’m afraid I’m fool enough to let it weigh on my spirits. No, the cocktail isn’t the right remedy for me. I don’t get the exercise and fresh air, here, that I used to get at Tadmor. My head burns after all that talking to-night. A good long walk will put me right, and nothing else will.”
Rufus at once offered to accompany him. Amelius shook his head. “Did you ever walk a mile in your life, when you could ride?” he asked good-humouredly. “I mean to be on my legs for four or five hours; I should only have to send you home in a cab. Thank you, old fellow, for the brotherly interest you take in me. I’ll breakfast with you to-morrow, at your hotel. Good night.”
Some curious prevision of evil seemed to trouble the mind of the good New Englander. He held Amelius fast by the hand: he said, very earnestly, “It goes against the grit with me to see you wandering off by yourself at this time of night — it does, I tell you! Do me a favour for once, my bright boy — go right away to bed.”
Amelius laughed, and released his hand. “I shouldn’t sleep, if I did go to bed. Breakfast to-morrow, at ten o’clock. Goodnight, again!”
He started on his walk, at a pace which set pursuit on the part of Rufus at defiance. The American stood watching him, until he was lost to sight in the darkness. “What a grip that young fellow has got on me, in no more than a few months!” Rufus thought, as he slowly turned away in the direction of his hotel. “Lord send the poor boy may keep clear of mischief this night!”
Meanwhile, Amelius walked on swiftly, straight before him, careless in what direction he turned his steps, so long as he felt the cool air and kept moving.
His thoughts were not at first occupied with the doubtful question of his marriage; the lecture was still the uppermost subject in his mind. He had reserved for the conclusion of his address the justification of his view of the future, afforded by the widespread and frightful poverty among the millions of the population of London alone. On this melancholy theme he had spoken with the eloquence of true feeling, and had produced a strong impression, even on those members of the audience who were most resolutely opposed to the opinions which he advocated. Without any undue exercise of self-esteem, he could look back on the close of his lecture with the conviction that he had really done justice to himself and to his cause. The retrospect of the public discussion that had followed failed to give him the same pleasure. His warm temper, his vehemently sincere belief in the truth of his own convictions, placed him at a serious disadvantage towards the more self-restrained speakers (all older than himself) who rose, one after another, to combat his views. More than once he had lost his temper, and had been obliged to make his apologies. More than once he had been indebted to the ready help of Rufus, who had taken part in the battle of words, with the generous purpose of covering his retreat. “No!” he thought to himself, with bitter humility, “I’m not fit for public discussions. If they put me into Parliament tomorrow, I should only get called to order and do nothing.”
He reached the bank of the Thames, at the eastward end of the Strand.
Walking straight on, as absently as ever, he crossed Waterloo Bridge, and followed the broad street that lay before him on the other side. He was thinking of the future again: Regina was in his mind now. The one prospect that he could see of a tranquil and happy life — with duties as well as pleasures; duties that might rouse him to find the vocation for which he was fit — was the prospect of his marriage. What was the obstacle that stood in his way? The vile obstacle of money; the contemptible spirit of ostentation which forbade him to live humbly on his own sufficient little income, and insisted that he should purchase domestic happiness at the price of the tawdry splendour of a rich tradesman and his friends. And Regina, who was free to follow her own better impulses — Regina, whose heart acknowledged him as its master — bowed before the golden image which was the tutelary deity of her uncle’s household, and said resignedly, Love must wait!
Still walking blindly on, he was roused on a sudden to a sense of passing events. Crossing a side-street at the moment, a man caught him roughly by the arm, and saved him ............