New Grub Street by George Gissing (best mobile ebook reader .txt) 📕

the year. You could live on so little by yourself, couldn’t you?”

“Oh, on ten shillings a week, if need be.”

“But not to starve yourself, you know. Don’t you feel that my plan is a good one? When I came to you tonight I meant to speak of this, but you were so cruel⁠—”

“Forgive me, dearest love! I was half a madman. You have been so cold to me for a long time.”

“I have been distracted. It was as if we were drawing nearer and nearer to the edge of a cataract.”

“Have you spoken to your mother about this?” he asked uneasily.

“No⁠—not exactly this. But I know she will help us in this way.”

He had seated himself and was holding her in his arms, his face laid against hers.

“I shall dread to part from you, Amy. That’s such a dangerous thing to do. It may mean that we are never to live as husband and wife again.”

“But how could it? It’s just to prevent that danger. If we go on here till we have no money⁠—what’s before us then? Wretched lodgings at the best. And I am afraid to think of that. I can’t trust myself if that should come to pass.”

“What do you mean?” he asked anxiously.

“I hate poverty so. It brings out all the worst things in me; you know I have told you that before, Edwin?”

“But you would never forget that you are my wife?”

“I hope not. But⁠—I can’t think of it; I can’t face it! That would be the very worst that can befall us, and we are going to try our utmost to escape from it. Was there ever a man who did as much as you have done in literature and then sank into hopeless poverty?”

“Oh, many!”

“But at your age, I mean. Surely not at your age?”

“I’m afraid there have been such poor fellows. Think how often one hears of hopeful beginnings, new reputations, and then⁠—you hear no more. Of course it generally means that the man has gone into a different career; but sometimes, sometimes⁠—”

“What?”

“The abyss.” He pointed downward. “Penury and despair and a miserable death.”

“Oh, but those men haven’t a wife and child! They would struggle⁠—”

“Darling, they do struggle. But it’s as if an ever-increasing weight were round their necks; it drags them lower and lower. The world has no pity on a man who can’t do or produce something it thinks worth money. You may be a divine poet, and if some good fellow doesn’t take pity on you you will starve by the roadside. Society is as blind and brutal as fate. I have no right to complain of my own ill-fortune; it’s my own fault (in a sense) that I can’t continue as well as I began; if I could write books as good as the early ones I should earn money. For all that, it’s hard that I must be kicked aside as worthless just because I don’t know a trade.”

“It shan’t be! I have only to look into your face to know that you will succeed after all. Yours is the kind of face that people come to know in portraits.”

He kissed her hair, and her eyes, and her mouth.

“How well I remember your saying that before! Why have you grown so good to me all at once, my Amy? Hearing you speak like that I feel there’s nothing beyond my reach. But I dread to go away from you. If I find that it is hopeless; if I am alone somewhere, and know that the effort is all in vain⁠—”

“Then?”

“Well, I can leave you free. If I can’t support you, it will be only just that I should give you back your freedom.”

“I don’t understand⁠—”

She raised herself and looked into his eyes.

“We won’t talk of that. If you bid me go on with the struggle, I shall do so.”

Amy had hidden her face, and lay silently in his arms for a minute or two. Then she murmured:

“It is so cold here, and so late. Come!”

“So early. There goes three o’clock.”

The next day they talked much of this new project. As there was sunshine Amy accompanied her husband for his walk in the afternoon; it was long since they had been out together. An open carriage that passed, followed by two young girls on horseback, gave a familiar direction to Reardon’s thoughts.

“If one were as rich as those people! They pass so close to us; they see us, and we see them; but the distance between is infinity. They don’t belong to the same world as we poor wretches. They see everything in a different light; they have powers which would seem supernatural if we were suddenly endowed with them.”

“Of course,” assented his companion with a sigh.

“Just fancy, if one got up in the morning with the thought that no reasonable desire that occurred to one throughout the day need remain ungratified! And that it would be the same, any day and every day, to the end of one’s life! Look at those houses; every detail, within and without, luxurious. To have such a home as that!”

“And they are empty creatures who live there.”

“They do live, Amy, at all events. Whatever may be their faculties, they all have free scope. I have often stood staring at houses like these until I couldn’t believe that the people owning them were mere human beings like myself. The power of money is so hard to realise; one who has never had it marvels at the completeness with which it transforms every detail of life. Compare what we call our home with that of rich people; it moves one to scornful laughter. I have no sympathy with the stoical point of view; between wealth and poverty is just the difference between the whole man and the maimed. If my lower limbs are paralysed I may still be able to think, but then there is such a thing in life as walking. As a poor devil I may live nobly; but one happens