English fiction -- 19th century; Labor unions -- Fiction
“Well, certainly I oughtn't to forget that,” said Henry, apologetically.
Then he appealed piteously to Jael, whose power over him struck every
body directly, including Grace Carden. “Look here, you mustn't think,
because I don't keep howling, I'm all right. My arm is disabled: my back
is almost broken: my thigh is cut. I'm in sharp pain, all this time: and
that makes a fellow impatient of being lectured on the back of it all.
Why doesn't he let me go? I don't want to affront him now. All I want is
to go and get nursed a bit somewhere.”
“Now that is the first word of reason and common sense you have uttered,
young man. It decides me not to detain you. All I shall do, under the
circumstances, is to clear your rubbish out of that holy building,
and watch it by night as well as day. Your property, however, shall be
collected, and delivered to you uninjured: so oblige me with your name
and address.”
Henry made no reply.
Raby turned his eye full upon him.
“Surely you do not object to tell me your name.”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Excuse me.”
“What are you afraid of? Do you doubt my word, when I tell you I shall
not proceed against you?”
“No: it is not that at all. But this is no place for me to utter my
father's name. We all have our secrets, sir. You have got yours. There's
a picture, with its face to the wall. Suppose I was to ask you to tell
all the world whose face it is you insult and hide from the world?”
Raby turned red with wrath and surprise, at this sudden thrust. “You
insolent young scoundrel!” he cried. “What is that to you, and what
connection can there be between that portrait and a man in your way of
life?”
“There's a close connection,” said Henry, trembling with anger, in his
turn: “and the proof is that, when that picture is turned to the light,
I'll tell you my name: and, till that picture is turned to the light,
I'll not tell you my name; and if any body here knows my name, and tells
it you, may that person's tongue be blistered at the root!”
“Oh, how fearful!” cried Grace, turning very pale. “But I'll put an end
to it all. I've got the key, and I've his permission, and I'll--oh, Mr.
Raby, there's something more in this than we know.” She darted to the
picture, and unlocked the padlock, and, with Jael's assistance, began to
turn the picture. Then Mr. Raby rose and seemed to bend his mind inward,
but he neither forbade, nor encouraged, this impulsive act of Grace
Carden's.
Now there was not a man nor a woman in the room whose curiosity had not
been more or less excited about this picture; so there was a general
movement toward it, of all but Mr. Raby, who stood quite still, turning
his eye inward, and evidently much moved, though passive.
There happened to be a strong light upon the picture, and the lovely
olive face, the vivid features, and glorious black eyes and eyebrows,
seemed to flash out of the canvas into life.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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