Part 22 (1/2)
”We'll go upstairs,” said our Host.
”About ten years ago,” the Professor began, ”I was travelling one night in a third-cla.s.s carriage to a town on the North-east Coast. My two companions in the compartment were evidently mother and daughter. The mother had a singularly beautiful and intelligent face; and the daughter, who was about twelve years old, resembled her. They were dressed in good taste, without rings or finery, and, so far as I am able to judge such things, without expense.
”Prior to the departure of the train from the London terminus, I had noticed the two walking up and down the platform and looking into the carriages, apparently endeavouring to find a compartment to themselves.
They did not succeed, and finally entered the compartment where I was.
Whether I ought to have been flattered by this, or the reverse, I knew not.
”I could see they wanted to be alone, and I felt a brief impulse to leave them to themselves and go elsewhere. It would have been a chivalrous act; but whether from indolence, or curiosity, or some other feeling, I let the impulse die, and remained where I was.
”The girl began immediately to arrange cus.h.i.+ons for her mother in the corner of the carriage; and from the solicitude she showed, I gathered that the mother, though to all appearance in health, was either ill or convalescent. By the time I had come to this conclusion the train was already in motion, or I verily believe I should have obeyed my first impulse and left the carriage. I am glad, however, that I did not.
”When all had been arranged I noticed that the two had settled themselves in the att.i.tude of lovers, their hands clasped, the girl resting her head on the mother's shoulder and gazing into her face from time to time with a look of infinite tenderness. And it was some relief to me to observe that, lover-like, they seemed indifferent to my presence.
”I was reading a book, though I confess that my eyes and mind would constantly wander to the other side of the carriage. I am not a sentimental person, and scenes of sentiment are particularly objectionable to my temper of mind; but for once in my life I was overawed by the consciousness that I was in the presence of deep and genuine emotion. Finally, I gave up the effort to read; a strange mental atmosphere seemed to surround me; I fell into a reverie, and I remember waking suddenly from a kind of dream, or incoherent meditation on the pathos and tragedy of human life.
”I looked at my companions and I saw that both were weeping. The girl was in the same position as before. The mother had turned her face away, and was looking out into the blackness of the night. Tear after tear rolled down her cheek.
”They must have become conscious that I was observing them, though G.o.d knows I had little will to do so. I took up my book and pretended to read; and I knew that an effort was being made, that tears were being checked, that some climbing sorrow was being held down. Presently the lady said, speaking in a steady voice--
”'Do you know the name of the station we have just pa.s.sed?'
”I told her the name of the station; asked if I should raise the window; spoke to the girl; offered an ill.u.s.trated paper, and so on through the usual preliminaries of a traveller's talk. The answers I received were such as one expects from people of charming manners. But nothing followed, for a time, and I again took up my book.
”The book I was reading, or pretending to read, was a volume of the Ingersoll Lectures, bearing on the back the t.i.tle _Human Immortality_.
Once or twice I noticed the eyes of the woman resting on this, but I was greatly surprised when, in one of the pauses when I laid down the book, she said--
”'Would you mind my asking you a question?'
”'Certainly not.'
”'Do you believe in the Immortality of the Soul?'
”As a teacher of philosophy I am accustomed to leading questions at all sorts of inopportune moments, but never in my life was I so completely taken aback. However, I collected my thoughts as best I could, and, though the subject is one on which I never like to speak without prolonged preparation, I briefly told her my opinions on that great problem, as you may find them expressed in my published works. Possibly I spoke with some fervour; the more likely, because I spoke without preparation. She listened with great attention; and as for the young girl, her face was lit up with a look of intelligent eagerness which, had I seen it for one moment in my own cla.s.s-room, would have rewarded me for the labour of a long course of lectures.
”I had still much to say when the train drew up at the platform of St Beeds.
”'I'm sorry not to hear more,' said the lady, 'but this is our destination.'
”'And there's Dad!' cried the girl.
”A man in working clothes stood at the carriage-door.
”'Good-bye,' said the woman, warmly shaking me by the hand; 'you have been most kind to me.'
”'Good-bye,' said the daughter; 'you're a dear old dear!'