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diff --git a/78458-0.txt b/78458-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..675b057 --- /dev/null +++ b/78458-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8310 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78458 *** + + + + + + + DONOVAN + + A Novel + + + BY + + EDNA LYALL + + AUTHOR OF + "WON BY WAITING." + + + "And I smiled to think God's greatness flowed around + Our incompleteness,-- + Round our restlessness, His rest." + E. B. BROWNING. + + + IN THREE VOLUMES. + VOL. III. + + + LONDON: + HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, + 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. + 1882. + + _All rights reserved._ + + + + + Contents + + I. Cobwebs and Questions + II. A Crown of Fire + III. Good-bye + IV. A Man and a Brother + V. A Brave Sprite + VI. Old Friends + VII. Via Crucis + VIII. Temptation + IX. Charles Osmond + X. What is Forgiveness? + XI. Contrasted Lovers + XII. "Lame Dogs Over Stiles" + XIII. An Evolution, and a Nineteenth Century Foe + XIV. Duty's Call + XV. Via Lucis + XVI. Apprehension + XVII. Trevethan Speaks + XVIII. "My Hopes and Thine are One" + + + + +DONOVAN. + + + +CHAPTER I. + +COBWEBS AND QUESTIONS. + + Then fiercely we dig the fountain, + Oh! whence do the waters rise? + Then panting we climb the mountain, + Oh! are there indeed blue skies? + And we dig till the soul is weary, + Nor find the waters out! + And we climb till all is dreary, + And still the sky is a doubt. + + Search not the roots of the fountain, + But drink the water bright; + Gaze far above the mountain, + The sky may speak in light. + But if yet thou see no beauty-- + If widowed thy heart yet cries-- + With thy hands go and do thy duty, + And thy work will clear thine eyes. + _Violin Songs_. GEORGE MACDONALD. + + +The church at Porthkerran stood at some little distance from the +village. It was one of those old square-towered granite churches +which abound in the West, and the picturesque grave-yard, with its +rather sombre-looking slate tomb-stones, commanded a wide view of the +bay of Porthkerran and the great blue expanse beyond. The south wall +of the church-yard was on the very verge of the cliff, and here, one +evening in the end of September, Donovan and Waif established +themselves; service was going on, but both dog and master felt that +they had no part or lot in such things, and though not much given to +"meditations among the tombs," they had for some reason found their +way up to the church-yard. It was the evening of the Harvest +Festival, Donovan had been too busy to feel bored by the details of +the decorations with which in old times Adela used to rouse his ire, +but he could not help regretting that his last evening at Porthkerran +should be spent in enforced solitude. + +The sense of isolation came to him for the first time since he had +been among the Tremains; Sunday after Sunday he had stayed +contentedly behind when they went to church, but this evening a +regret that he could not be with them was stirring in his heart. A +chance word of Nesta's had awakened it. + +"Dono will stay with us till we do to bed," she had announced +triumphantly to Dick as he was leaving the house. "Dono is much +betterer than you, he doesn't do away and leave us." + +It was impossible to escape from the small elf, she was on his +shoulder and her arms were clinging fast round his neck, but +Donovan's face glowed at her next remark. + +"Don't you want to see the flowers and the corn they've putted in the +church, Dono? Won't you do when we're in bed?" + +Dick came to the rescue. + +"Mr. Dono will be much too busy with his skeleton, Nesta; don't you +know that he loves the skeleton better than he loves you?" + +"The steleton's a very ugly thing," said Nesta, pouting, "and he +oughtn't to like it so much." + +Then ensued a noisy romp; the rest of the party started for church. +Presently Jackie and Nesta were fetched by the nurse, and Donovan +shut himself into the study alone. But somehow Nesta's rival the +"steleton" engrossed him less than usual; the fascinating study of +bones did not still the feeling of unrest which the child's +unconscious words had stirred. + +Did he not really want to join with the others? Was it any pleasure +to him to keep aloof? Had he not felt a pang of envy when he saw the +real delight which the prospect of this thanksgiving service gave to +the Tremains? Would it not be an infinite rest to be able to believe +in anything so ennobling, so comforting as Christianity? For nearly +three months he had been watching the life at Trenant. The Tremains +were by no means a faultless family, but their lives were very +different from any he had hitherto seen, and it had dawned on him as +a possibility that their belief might have something to do with this +difference. Christianity had hitherto shown itself to him as a thing +of creeds, not as a living of the Christ life, and how to explain +this new phenomenon he did not know. Were these people loveable in +spite of their creed, or because of it? One thing was plain, however +inexplicable it might be: they possessed something which he did not +possess, something which--it had come to that now--he _longed_ to +possess. While he was restless and unsatisfied, they were at peace; +while he was daily becoming more doubtful as to the truth of the +views he held, they were absolutely convinced that their Master was +not only true, but the Way to knowledge of all Truth. The more +enviable this certainty, however, the more impossible it seemed to +him to make the faith his own. Study and thought had indeed brought +him from his more positive atheism to a sort of agnosticism, but, +although this had at first seemed hopeful and restful in contrast +with his former creed, it now forced upon him an even worse agony. +He had accepted his dreamy certainty with stoicism, but to waver in +doubt, to know nothing, to feel that in knowledge only could there be +rest, and yet to despair of ever gaining that knowledge, this was +indeed a misery which he had never contemplated. He saw no way out +of his difficulty. To believe because belief would be pleasant was +(happily) quite as impossible to him now as it had been at +Codrington, when the chorus of "I _will_ believe" had dinned him into +a bitter denunciation of "cupboard" faith. The only prospect then +which seemed before him was a constant craving after the unknown. + +To be conscious of hunger does not always bring us bread at once, but +it does prove our need of bread, and it does make us ready to receive +it when given. + +The half-stifled thoughts which had lurked in his mind during his +stay at Trenant now forced themselves upon him. He grew too restless +and unhappy to work, and at last, whistling to Waif to follow him, he +left the house, and sauntered out in the cool evening. Instinctively +he mounted the hill to the church, stretched himself on the wall +already described, at no great distance from the cross which marked +his father's grave, and listened to the singing which, through open +door and window, was borne to him clearly. There were special psalms +that night. He found himself listening intently for Gladys's voice, +and in so doing he caught the words of the grand old descriptive poem. + + "They went astray in the wilderness out of the way: + And found no city to dwell in. + Hungry and thirsty, + Their soul fainted in them. + So they cried unto the Lord in their trouble; + And He delivered them from their distress. + He led them forth by the right way + That they might go to the city where they dwelt. + * * * * * * * * * + For he satisfieth the empty soul; + And filleth the hungry soul with goodness." + + +He heard no more. The recollection of the time when he _had_ "cried" +unto the Great Unknown in his trouble, the time when his atheism had +brought him to the verge of madness, when his philosophy had failed, +and helplessly and illogically he had prayed that Dot's agony might +end, returned to him now. But that appeal had been an involuntary +one. He could not calmly and deliberately address a Being in whom he +did not believe; though he was hungering to find the Truth, he could +not try to find it by any unreal means. + +Thus much he had arrived at when his attention was drawn away to a +tragedy in insect life which was going on close beside him. In an +angle of the wall was a large spider's web; caught in its meshes hung +an unusual victim--a wasp, who, in spite of his size and strength, +found the clinging gossamer threads too much for him. The spider +drew nearer and nearer. Donovan speculated which would get the best +of it, the spider with his cunning, or the wasp with his sting. +Buzz! whirr! buzz! the web would not yield, the prisoner struggled in +vain, on came the stealthy spider, evidently the victory would be +his. But a sudden fellow-feeling for the imprisoned insect rose in +Donovan's heart, he sprang up, demolished the cobweb, and had the +satisfaction of seeing the spider scuttle away as fast as his long +legs could carry him, while the wasp flew off in the still evening +air. + +"Free! you lucky beast!" he exclaimed. + +"Who is the lucky beast?" said a voice behind him. + +He looked round and saw Dr. Tremain. + +"I've just been fetched out of church to see a patient. I hope that +wasn't intended for a congratulation!" + +Donovan laughed. + +"No; I was apostrophizing a wasp I've just rescued from a cobweb. +Are you going far? May I come with you?" + +"By all means; it's a message from St. Kerran's. Come and drive me, +will you?" + +They left the churchyard arm-in-arm, and before long Star and Ajax +were bearing them rapidly away in the pony-chaise. + +"It's a glorious night for a drive," said the doctor. "And I am glad +not to have missed you on your last evening. We shall be very dull +when you are gone, Donovan; as to Nesta, I think she will break her +heart. You have become a necessity to her." + +"Or she to me?" said Donovan, smiling. "It's extraordinary what a +difference it makes to have children in a house." + +"Is it not Huxley who speaks of 'the eminently sympathetic mind of +childhood'?" said Dr. Tremain. "That has always struck me very +much--the readiness with which a child makes itself one with all +around it, the freedom with which it gives its confidence, and the +delight with which it helps others; that readiness to serve and love +always seems to me stronger proof than anything that as + + 'Trailing clouds of glory do we come + From God, who is our home.'" + + +"Your Wordsworth is too spiritual and mystical for me," said Donovan, +with some bitterness. + +"Or too simple?" questioned the doctor. + +"No, no; or simple only to the favoured few who had these intimations +of immortality. For my part I am not aware that heaven ever 'lay +about me in my infancy.' I know that injustice and tyranny in very +visible forms were there, and only now do I know what a grudge I owe +them. If from your very babyhood you have had to fight your own +battles, and rely on yourself, it isn't very possible at two and +twenty to--to----" he hesitated. + +"To become a child again," said Dr. Tremain, quietly, "and to +recognize that above the petty tyrannies and injustices of the world +is the Eternal Truth." + +"You have never spoken to me of these things before," said Donovan, +trying to banish a certain constrained tone from his voice. + +"No," replied the doctor. "And I should not have spoken now unless +you had led me up to it. There are some things, Donovan, for which +it is well to 'hope and quietly wait.' I am glad you have spoken. +Of course such a change as you speak of is infinitely hard, but if +the lesson of life be thoroughly to learn that truth of Father and +child, we shall not grudge the difficulty we find in learning it." + +"If it seemed the least probable that one ever could learn it," said +Donovan, sadly. "But I own that I don't see my way to doing so. +Never was there a time when I realised so well the beauty of +Christianity, or felt so anxious to prove my own creed false, but yet +never was there a time when the usual belief seemed to me more +glaringly illogical, more impossible to hold. You don't know what it +is to toss about in a sea of doubts. I had rather have my old hard +and fast security in the material present, than flounder in this +cobweb like my wasp friend just now." + +"Not if the old belief was a mistake and delusion, which for aught +you know it is," replied the doctor. "Besides, to take your wasp as +a parable, its flounderings were of some avail, it proved its need of +a rescuer, and the rescuer came--one who could sympathise even with a +vicious, stinging, six-legged ne'er-do-weel." + +"But all I have got is a mere desire." + +"Quite so, a desire to find the truth,--the right thing to start +with." + +"No, it seems to me only a half-selfish desire to prop up a beautiful +legend, a discontent with truths of science." + +"I should call it a natural and by no means selfish desire, and an +inevitable discovery that Science, great, and noble, and mighty as +she is, cannot satisfy all a man's needs." + +"If you could give us scientific proof in religion, then belief might +be possible," said Donovan, his voice losing all its constraint and +changing to almost painful earnestness. "But see what a contrast +there is--in science all is proved with exquisite clearness, in +religion, there is absolutely no proof. I am crazy with sorrow, and +a man comes to me and says, 'Be comforted, we are immortal;' I ask +for proof, and he tells me it is probable, and instances the case of +the grub and the butterfly. Will that argument comfort a man in +bereavement?" + +"No, for it begins at the wrong end," said the doctor. "There must +be faith before there can be belief. As to mathematical proof, of +course it is impossible when you are not treating of mathematical +subjects or dimensions, but the absolute conviction of the existence +of God will be as entirely independent of proof as my absolute +conviction that my wife is true to me." + +Donovan did not speak, he seemed rather staggered by the breadth of +this assertion, not having as yet grasped the fact that the "truth" +which he was struggling after was not so much concerned with +intellectual difficulties to be overcome as with the awaking of a +spirit which slept. + +"There are thousands of things of the truth of which we are perfectly +convinced, and which we nevertheless fail to prove like a +mathematical problem," continued the doctor. "Take the case of the +great heiress, Miss C----, whom I am now going to visit. We will +suppose that she falls in love with a penniless man; her parents +laugh at the affair, and bring forward the usual arguments: 'My dear, +he only wants your money, he is not in love with you.' All the time +the girl knows perfectly well that these arguments are false, and she +asserts, boldly, 'He does love me, I know he loves me,' but she can +give no scientific proof of this love, though it is to her the most +intense reality, a reality that alters all her world. It seems to me +to hold true that all things connected with the highest instincts of +our life--merely as natural beings, I mean, you know--are incapable +of mathematical or even experimental proof. But now-a-days people +are so apt to make the most sacred things mere blocks on which to +chop logic, that a morbid and unreasonable desire rises to have +everything explained to us in black and white." + +"But religious people are so dogmatic; they assert 'this is so, that +is so, believe it or perish!'" complained Donovan. "I mean the +ordinary run; I don't call you a religious person." + +"Thank you," said the doctor, laughing. "But surely, Donovan, you +used to be; I don't say you are now, but a very short time ago you +were quite as dogmatic as anyone, and asserted 'there is no spirit +because everything is matter, no supernatural because everything is +natural.'" + +"Yes, I plead guilty to that, and could half wish now to fall back on +the old convictions. There are too many inexplicable mysteries in +religion; I shall never get further than this fog of agnosticism." + +"Are there no inexplicable mysteries to an atheist?" said the doctor, +quietly. "How do you explain the existence of that immaterial thing +the will? Science can tell us absolutely nothing with regard to it, +but you are the last person who would deny its existence; on the +contrary, without any proof you have a stronger belief in the power +and functions of the will than anyone I know." + +"Because I know--I _feel_ its existence." + +"Quite so, and just in the same way, though science can't demonstrate +to me the existence of God, I know and feel His existence," replied +the doctor. "Or to take another argument which is often used: some +one asserts that there can be no Creator of the universe, because the +idea of such a Being is not mentally presentable; yet one of the +greatest men of science of the present day is obliged to own that +_consciousness_ is not mentally presentable, although it exists." + +"I see you have faced all these questions," said Donovan, his sense +of union with his friend deepening. "From what I saw before knowing +you, I should have said that Christians accepted their belief on +authority, and stopped as wrong or presumptuous all free thought and +inquiry." + +"I believe we all have to 'face' the questions, as you say, sooner or +later," said the doctor. "My dear boy, I have been through something +of this fog which you are now in, and to a certain extent have felt +what you are now feeling." + +"You!" exclaimed Donovan, in the greatest surprise. + +"Yes, in spite of every possible help in the way of home and +education, and speaking as one who has lived through this darkness, I +would say to you, don't grudge the suffering or the waiting, but go +on patiently." + +"Go on doubting?" questioned Donovan. + +"Go on living--by which I mean doing your duty," replied the doctor. +"Depend upon it, Donovan, that's the only thing to be clung to at +such a time--the rightness of right is, at least, clear to you." + +"That much is clear, yes," said Donovan, musingly, "for the rest, I +suppose the humiliation of uncertainty is good for one's pride, the +ache of incompleteness wholesomely disagreeable." + +"The beginning of health," said the doctor, half to himself; then +looking at the unsatisfied face, he added, in his firm, manly voice, +"Be patient, my boy." + +"Patience implies hope," said Donovan, in a low tone, which veiled +very deep feeling. "Now tell me honestly"--he fixed his eyes +steadily on Dr. Tremain's face to read its first expression,--"do you +think I shall ever get beyond this wretched uncertainty?" + +The doctor's face seemed positively to shine, as he replied, + +"I am certain you will; sooner or later, here or there, all will be +made plain to you. Do you suppose that when we give thanks for the +'redemption of the _world_' we leave you out? Only be patient, and +in the right time the 'Truth shall make you free.' In the meanwhile +you are not left without one unfailing comfort: you can work, you can +act up to your conscience, and to any man who desires to do His will +knowledge of the truth is promised. You make me think of the words I +used just now, there is a seeming contradiction when we are told 'it +is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait for the +salvation of the Lord.' It seems impossible that waiting for +_health_ can be 'good,' we wish to have done at once with all +weakness, all restrictions; it is not till later on when we come to +look on all things with other eyes that we see the good of the +waiting, its very necessity." + +There was silence after that for some minutes, one by one the stars +were beginning to shine out in the pale sky, the wind ruffled the +leaves in the high hedgerows. Star and Ajax trotted on briskly. +Everything that night left a lasting impression on Donovan's brain; +he could always see that glooming landscape, with the faint starlight +and the lingering streaks of gold in the west, always feel the +freshness of the evening air which seemed invigorating as the new +hope which was just dawning for him. But he was too choked to speak +when the doctor paused, too much taken up with the thoughts suggested +to him, to care to put anything of himself into expression. +Presently they came to a gate; he sprang out to open it. Then, as +they drove up to the house, the doctor said, + +"I shall be half an hour, I daresay, so, if you like, drive on to the +post-office." + +The postman did not come to Porthkerran on Sunday, and Donovan, glad +to be of any use, readily assented to the doctor's plan, and drove on +to the post-town--St. Kerran's. His mind was still full of the +subject they had just been discussing, and half absently he drew up +at the private door of the office and asked for the Trenant letters; +it was an understood thing that the doctor called for them at any +time he pleased; the head of the post-office, though something of a +Sabbatarian, bowed civilly and went in search of them, leaving the +door open, perhaps to air the house, perhaps that the strains of one +of Wesley's hymns which his children were singing might reach the +ears of the stranger who held the reins. But Donovan's thoughts were +far away, and the braying harmonium had no power to recall him to the +present. In a few moments the man came out of the office, there were +two letters in his hand. Donovan took them, hastily glancing at the +directions by the light of the street lamp; one was for Dr. Tremain, +the other was directed to "D. Farrant, Esq." A certain pleasurable +sensation stole over him, mingled with surprise, for the writing was +Adela's. She would send him news of his mother, and though still +only half allowing it to himself Donovan did care for his mother. + +He paused to read the letter by one of the carriage-lamps as soon as +he had left the streets of St. Kerrans behind. Then, still more to +his surprise, he found that Adela had only written a note, just +explaining that the enclosed was from Mrs. Farrant. + +The pretty but meaningless characters recalled him to his +school-days, when the arrival of his mother's occasional letters had +generally been the cause of more pain than pleasure. Things were +different now. The letter was very different. + + +"MY DEAR DONOVAN, + +"Since Dr. Tremain's visit in the summer, I have felt very anxious +about you; but it is some comfort that we know where you are, and +Adela has promised that she will direct and post this to you. I am +not, as you know, a free agent. I have been shocked to think of the +straits you have been reduced to, and send you in this letter £20, +which is all I could save from the personal allowance my husband +makes me. I have been very poorly for some time. We are thinking of +spending the winter abroad. Poor Fido died last week, and I am still +feeling the shock. Doery has an attack of rheumatism, and her temper +is very trying; but Phœbe, who is now my maid, is a great comfort +to me. Forgive this short letter, but I do not feel equal to writing +any more to-day. + + "With love, believe me, + "Your affectionate mother, + "HONORA FARRANT." + + +The saving of that money was the first voluntary act of self-denial +which Mrs. Farrant had ever made. Donovan knew how to appreciate +such unusual thought; the letter, which might to some have seemed +uninteresting and self-engrossed, meant a great deal to him, for was +it not more than he had ever dreamed of receiving? + +When Dr. Tremain rejoined him, he saw at once that something must +have happened to raise his spirits in a most unusual degree. + +"You found some letters?" he asked, as they drove home. + +"One from my mother," said Donovan, without any comment, but in a +voice which spoke volumes. + +"I am very glad," said the doctor, warmly. + +"She has sent me some money," resumed Donovan, "for which, of course, +I care less than for the letter; it will be a great help, though. +£20 will get me some books, and then, if I can only get a +scholarship, I shall manage well enough. If not, I shall take to the +sixpence-a-day mode of life." + +"I'm afraid, even if you get a scholarship, you'll find very rigid +economy necessary," said the doctor, unable to suppress an angry +thought of Ellis Farrant's calm enjoyment of his unjust gains, but +too prudent to allude to a subject which his guest seemed to have +willed to put altogether away. + +"Oh! I know I shall only have enough for the necessaries of life," +said Donovan. "But Waif and I can put up with the loss of a few +comforts." + +"Bones and cigars to wit?" said the doctor. + +"Bones are cheap luxuries," replied Donovan, laughing. "As to +cigars, I've given up smoking for the last three months, so that will +be no new privation. Oh! we shall scrape through well enough." + +The doctor then fell back to reminiscences of his own hospital +career, which, stimulated by Donovan's questions, lasted till they +reached Trenant. The rest of the party had returned from church; +they found themselves just in time for that most restful part of the +Sunday, when no one was busy, when the unity of the household was +most apparent, when the reality of the peace and love which reigned +was most strongly borne in upon Donovan. To-night there was a tinge +of regret over all, for was not this his last evening with them? He +did not speak much to Gladys, but followed her everywhere with his +eyes, and when Dick asked for music took his place by the piano, +turning over a portfolio of songs while Gladys played the "Pastoral +Symphony." When it was ended, he took up his favourite song, +Blumenthal's "Truth shall thee Deliver." + +"May we have this?" he asked, hoping that he had not overstepped +those incomprehensible boundaries which marked off Sunday from +week-day music. + +But Gladys was well content to sing Chaucer's beautiful old song, +since Mrs. Causton was not there to be shocked, and perhaps, in her +low sweet voice, she gave Donovan the best counsel he could have had +for his new start in life. The quaint words lingered long after in +his memory. + + "Fly from the press, and dwell with soothfastness, + Suffice unto thy good, though it be small. + * * * * * * * * * + Rede well thyself that other folks canst rede, + And truth shall thee deliver, it is no drede. + + "That thee is sent receive in buxomness, + The wrestling of this world asketh a fall; + Here is no home, here is but wilderness; + Forth, pilgrim, forth! Best out of thy stall! + Look up on high and thank the God of all, + Waive thy lusts, and let thy ghost thee lead, + And truth shall thee deliver, it is no drede." + + +The following morning Star and Ajax were once more bearing Dr. +Tremain and his guest to St. Kerrans; the ivy-grown house was left +behind, and with Nesta's appealing "Come back adain very soon!" +ringing in his ears, and a last smile from Gladys to fortify him, +Donovan began the next era of his life. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +A CROWN OF FIRE. + + You well might fear, if love's sole claim + Were to be happy; but true love + Takes joy as solace, not as aim, + And looks beyond, and looks above; + And sometimes through the bitterest strife first learns to + live her highest life. + + If then your future life should need + A strength my life can only gain + Through suffering, or my heart be freed + Only by sorrow from some stain, + Then you shall give, and I will take, this crown of fire for + love's dear sake. + A. A. PROCTER. + + +York Road, Lambeth, is not the most cheerful of thoroughfares; its +chief enlivenment consists of the never-ending succession of cabs +bound for the Waterloo Station, and its sombre, narrow-windowed +houses are eminently dull. Here, however, Donovan took up his abode, +and with the advantages of all Stephen Causton's unused books spent +the first year of his course. Here he worked early and late; here he +practised plain living and high thinking; here he struggled, fought, +and doubted. + +In spite of many drawbacks, however, this first year of real work was +one of the most contented years he had ever spent; he had great +powers of application, in spite of his desultory education, and he +worked now with a will--worked with no let or hindrance, for duty was +plainly marked out for him, and he had comparatively few temptations +or distractions. After the excitement of the successful competition +for a scholarship was over, the days and weeks passed by in +uneventful monotony, broken occasionally by an unaccountable craving +for his old pastime, to be fought with and conquered, or by one of +those darker times in his inner life, when the sense of +incompleteness, the oppression of the impenetrable veil which +shrouded him in ignorance, outweighed his hope, and left him a prey +to blank despondency. From such interruptions he would free himself +by an effort of will, and resuming his work, became after each +struggle more absorbed and interested in it. + +Then, too, the thought of Gladys was never far from him; her memory +filled his solitude, and made it no longer solitary; her sunshiny +face haunted his dull rooms, and made their unloveliness lovely. Had +Donovan been at all given to self-scrutiny, had he ever analysed his +feelings or followed out the dim glory of the present into a possible +future, he would have realised at once the insuperable barrier which +lay between him and his love; but he lived in the present--lived, and +worked, and loved, and lacking the dangerous habit of +self-inspection, he drifted on, happily unconscious that he was +nearing the rapids. + +But that brief happiness, heralding as it did a sharp awaking and a +terrible void, did a great deal for him; it gave him a momentary +insight into the "Beauty and the blessedness of life," and it made +his ideal of womanhood a lofty ideal. The truest of truths is, that +in nature there is no waste, and in regretting what seems like +prodigality, we sometimes forget those hidden results which are none +the less real and vital because they lie deep down beneath the +surface. + + "The old order changeth, yielding place to new, + And God fulfils himself in many ways." + + +At length, when the summer days were growing long, and London was +becoming intolerably hot, when even congenial work became a species +of drudgery, and "much study a weariness of the flesh," the hospital +term ended, and Donovan, who had promised to spend the long vacation +with the Tremains, set off for Porthkerran. + +Very natural and home-like did the little Cornish village seem, and, +after his long months of solitude, the bright, merry family life was +delightful. Nesta had grown, but was still the household baby, and +not yet able to say her g's; the two schoolboys were at home for the +holidays, and made the house unusually noisy; the doctor had added +photography to his many hobbies, and Mrs. Tremain, with the cares of +half the village on her mind, seemed still as ready as ever to +sympathise with everyone. + +And Gladys? + +Gladys was changed. Donovan felt that at once. Her eyes seemed to +have deepened, she was less talkative, she was even a little shy with +him. The last time he had returned to Porthkerran she had greeted +him with delighted warmth, had called him by his Christian name. +This time she was very quiet and wholly undemonstrative, and when her +face was in repose there lurked about it a shade of +wistfulness--almost of sadness. She had not lost her characteristic +sunshine of manner, but the sunshine was no longer constant, and +often grave shadows of thought stole over her fair face. No one but +a very close observer would have noticed the change in her, but +Donovan, who was always very much alive to the traces of character +revealed in manner and expression, felt at once that the Gladys he +met at the beginning of that long vacation was not the Gladys he had +left in October. Her mind had grown and expanded, but what had +brought that shade of sadness to her face? Her life was apparently +so cloudless, what unknown source of anxiety could there be to +trouble her? + +From the very first evening that question lay in his mind, but only +as a wonder, not as an anxiety. It was all so peaceful and +satisfying here at Porthkerran, he could not brood over anything as +he might have done had he been alone. The happiness of being near +Gladys blinded him for the time to everything else, the very doubts +and questionings which beset him at every turn in his ordinary life +seemed left behind; for one delicious month he was supremely happy. +He drove out with the doctor, played lawn tennis, romped with the +children, gave Gladys lessons in Euclid, read, walked, boated with +her, for it invariably happened that, although they went out a large +party, the boys and the younger children kept pretty much to +themselves, leaving Donovan and Gladys to almost daily _tête-à-têtes_. + +If Gladys had been an ordinary girl, Donovan would probably have seen +far sooner all the dangers of their present intercourse; but she was +so simple-minded and maidenly, so entirely void of all desire to draw +attention to herself, that it seemed the most natural thing in the +world to make her his confidante. Who was so quick to sympathise +with him as his ideal? Was it not right that he should tell her of +his difficulties, his interests, his schemes for the future? If +their conversation had ever even bordered on sentiment he might have +realised that he was putting her in a false position, but it never +did. They talked on subjects grave and gay, discussed religion and +politics, argued earnestly or merrily on every imaginable topic, each +with a hardly confessed interest in the other's opinion. But Donovan +was still at times conscious of a certain reticence in Gladys which +he had not before noticed; in their most interesting talks he was +often checked by an unexpressed yet very real barrier--a "hitherto +thou shalt come, but no further"--which baffled him, and generally +produced an unsatisfied silence, always broken by a somewhat +irrelevant speech or suggestion from Gladys. + +Mrs. Causton was away from home. Stephen, who, after months of +suffering, had just recovered from his attack of ophthalmia, had gone +for a voyage with his father, and would not return till the beginning +of the October term; and his mother, being a good deal worn out with +her constant attendance on him, had gone abroad with some friends for +a thorough rest and change of scene. Donovan's stay at Trenant was +therefore free from all interruptions, and there was, moreover, no +worldly-wise or prudent on-looker who could hint to Dr. Tremain the +exceeding likelihood that his little daughter might think too much of +that "dangerously handsome guest," who, in former years, had been the +terror of all the careful mothers in the neighbourhood of Oakdene. + +But no unreal state of things can last, and even in the absence of +prudence and Mrs. Causton, the awakening from that summer dream came +at length. + +It seemed as if a glamour had been cast over the whole household in +those sunny August days, never even at Trenant had there been such +thorough enjoyment of life; meals _al fresco_, music, moonlight walks +by the sea, and boundless home mirth and good humour. + +One sunny afternoon the whole family were gathered together in the +orchard. There among the daisies, and buttercups, and the grass--the +children's favourite playground--Dr. Tremain had planted his +photographic apparatus, and, with a leafy background, was preparing +to take a group. It was the first attempt he had made at anything of +the kind. His victims had hitherto been single, but this afternoon +he had induced the whole "kit," as he expressed it, to be +immortalised, and with much fun and laughter they all tried to +arrange themselves, an attempt fraught with the direst failure. + +"Not an idea as to artistic grouping among you!" exclaimed the +doctor, emerging from his black-velvet shroud, "You must be much +nearer together, too. You boys in the background. Ah! now that is +much better. Now you do look like living beings instead of mummies. +Look, mother, if you can without disturbing yourself." + +Mrs. Tremain turned round to see the group behind her, who, in +disarranging themselves, had fallen into natural attitudes. Donovan +had taken Nesta on to his shoulder, Gladys was holding up a rose +which the little girl had dropped, and for which she now stretched +out one fat, dimpled hand, while Donovan by sudden and unexpected +movements always prevented her from reaching it. + +"There! that will do!" said the doctor. "Stand exactly as you are. +Keep still, and don't laugh, Nesta. Now then!" + +Half a minute's breathless silence followed, Nesta relieving herself +by holding on with desperate firmness to Donovan's hair, and nearly +upsetting Gladys' gravity by the resolute way in which she pressed +her lips together to prevent the laughter from escaping. + +The moment they were released there was a chorus of inquiry--who had +moved? who had kept still? who had smiled? While Donovan, Gladys, +and Nesta relieved themselves by a hearty laugh over the difficulty +and absurdity of their positions. + +"If I come out with a right eyebrow drawn up like a Chinese, and an +expression of Byronic gloom, you'll understand that it is all Nesta's +fault," said Donovan. "Remember from henceforth, Nesta, that hair +should be lightly handled." + +"And now I shall det my rose," shouted Nesta, triumphantly, making a +sudden raid downwards. She succeeded this time, captured the rose, +and after much teazing on Donovan's part and baby coquetting on hers, +ended by fastening it in his button-hole. + +The doctor returned in a few minutes in a state of great excitement. +The negative was excellent. He would not trouble them to sit again, +but he wanted Donovan to help him in some of the mysterious processes +in the little black den he had consecrated to his new hobby. + +By the time this work was over, it was nearly four o'clock. The +doctor was called out, and Donovan, finding there were visitors in +the drawing-room, sauntered out again with a book under his arm. In +the orchard, however, he unexpectedly found Gladys. She was sitting +at the little rustic table under the old apple-tree, her sleeves +tucked up, and her white hands busily occupied in stoning some +peaches which were piled up on a great blue willow-pattern dish in +front of her. + +She made a very pretty picture sitting there in her cool, +creamy-white dress, a stray sunbeam glancing every now and then +through the flickering leaves above, and making gold of her brown +hair. + +"You should have been photographed with your dish of peaches," said +Donovan, drawing up a garden-chair to the other side of the table. + +"Cook is in despair about the preserving, so I'm getting these ready +for her," explained Gladys. "Have some, won't you?" + +"No, thank you, I'm no fruit-eater; but let me help you." + +"Read to me, and then I shall work faster. Mother and I were reading +George Eliot's 'Spanish Gypsy;' do you know it? Oh! but you have a +book, I see; read me that instead." + +Donovan laughed. + +"I'm afraid you would scarcely thank me for reading you Heath's +'Minor Surgery.' Let us have the 'Spanish Gypsy.' You are near the +end, I see; just give me an idea about the characters. Who is Don +Silva?" + +"He is a Spanish nobleman in love with Fedalma, the daughter of a +Moorish chief. Silva renounces Christianity, and promises to serve +and obey the Moor, so that he may not be separated from Fedalma. +This is the place--" she handed the book to him, and Donovan, taking +it, began the scene in which Don Silva, tortured by seeing the +martyrdom of Father Isidor, breaks his promise of fealty to the Moor. + +He was not exactly a good reader; he was sometimes abrupt, sometimes +hurried, but he had a beautiful voice, which went far towards making +up for any other defects. As he read the wonderful parting scene +between Silva and Fedalma, when in obedience to the will of the dead +chief, and for the good of the Moorish people, they agree to part for +ever, Gladys felt that his whole soul was being thrown into what he +read. Involuntarily her hands ceased their mechanical work; though +she could hardly have explained the reason even to herself, this +reading was becoming a slow agony to her. Donovan's face was +kindling with enthusiasm, there was an almost terrible ring in his +voice as he read the closing scene; she knew that while her heart was +crying out against the bitterness of such a renunciation, he was +feeling only its intense beauty and worth. + +Neither of them spoke when the poem was finished; Donovan, as if +entirely engrossed with it still, and forgetful that he was not +alone, turned the pages over again, reading half to himself passages +which had struck him. Gladys, troubled by her own agitation, heard +as in a dream, till a sudden deepening of tone recalled her fully to +the present. Donovan was reading the parting words of Don Silva. + + "Each deed + That carried shame and wrong shall be the sting + That drives me higher up the steep of honour + In deeds of duteous service." + + +He closed the book after that and sat musing. Then, looking up with +the light of enthusiasm still in his face, he said, + +"That is a wonderful scene; it is like a bit of Sebastian Bach, a +sort of mental tonic." + +Gladys' eyes were full of tears, but for that reason she was the more +anxious to speak unconcernedly; she hurried out the first trite +sentence which came into her head. + +"It is so terribly sad." + +"Yes, sad but grand." + +Somehow, as he spoke, Gladys was constrained to look at him, and; as +she met his grave, deep eyes, there rose in her an inexplicable +longing to make him express at least pity for the suffering involved +by this sacrifice he so much admired. + +"But surely, surely it was a cruel thing to sacrifice their very +lives to an only possible good?" she said, pleadingly. + +"I don't think you put it quite truly," he replied; "they renounced +their own happiness for the general good of that generation +certainly, probably of many generations." + +"You speak of happiness as if it were such a little thing to give +up," said Gladys; "I suppose it is selfish to think of it, +but--but--oh! I hope there are not many Fedalmas in the world." + +She was entirely unconscious of the pain which lurked in the tone of +this almost passionate utterance, she scarcely knew that it was an +aching dread in her own heart which prompted her words, she only felt +constrained by some unknown power to plead with Donovan. But it was +at that very moment, when she herself was least conscious in the +present of her love to him, that he realised the truth. + +He had hitherto loved her as an ideal, loved her with little thought +of the future, never even framed to himself the idea that she could +possibly love him. Now there surged over him a very flood of +bliss--joy such as he had never imagined possible. In one instant +countless visions of dazzling happiness rose before him. She, his +ideal, his queen, loved him! How he knew it he could not have +explained, but he did know it! Had his unspoken love drawn her heart +to his? How came it that she loved him? Oh! unspeakable rapture! +one day she might be all his own! + +But the moment that thought of the future came to him, it was as if +an icy hand had suddenly clutched his heart. + +The dazzling visions faded, and in their place was only a horror of +great darkness, out of which, like a death-knell, his own conscience +spoke. + +"There is no possible union for you. You would bring her the worst +of miseries, perhaps even drag her down to your own hopeless creed." + +He was too much stunned to think, but for some time now he had been +clinging blindly to duty, had said to conscience, "Call, and I +follow," and even in the confusion and anguish of that moment it was +made clear to him what he ought to do. + +With an effort of will he banished every trace of his real feelings +from his face and tone, and answered as quietly as he could Gladys' +last remark. + +"I didn't mean to underrate happiness, though it certainly is not +meant for everyone in the world, unless we find that sacrifice itself +is the most real happiness; but I have not found that yet." Then, +pushing back his chair, he added, "I think I shall go over to St. +Kerrans. I want a good long walk. Can I do anything for you?" + +"Nothing, thank you," said Gladys, mechanically taking up and putting +down one of the peaches. + +Donovan whistled to Waif and walked away in the direction of the +house. Gladys sat motionless till the sound of his footsteps died +away into silence; then, pushing aside the willow-pattern dish and +the fruit, she laid down her head on the table and burst into tears. + +Although he had spoken of walking to St. Kerrans, Donovan was too +much stunned to know or care in what direction he went. He closed +the front door behind him and strode rapidly through the village, up +the steep hill, and along the road leading to the forge. Trevethan, +the blacksmith, had become a great friend of his; to-day, however, he +had not the slightest intention of going to see him, and, in fact, +did not even know that he was passing the forge till the blacksmith's +voice fell on his ear. + +"Mr. Farrant, I was wanting to speak to ye, sir. Can ye step in a +moment?" + +"Yes," said Donovan, though he had never felt less inclined to speak +to any human being. + +"Well, sir, you see it's this way," began Trevethan, putting down his +hammer and folding his arms as if in preparation for a lengthy +speech. "I've told ye all about my son Jack as left home six years +ago, and as I haven't heard from. Well, the Lord be praised, I've +heard from 'm now, he's wrote me a fine letter, and sent a Bank o' +England note along with it. But, sir, he's not said where he is, +except there being 'London' marked on the front of the letter. +Knowin' ye knew the place, I thought I'd ask ye how I could best find +the lad. London's a big place, ain't it?--a sight bigger than +Porthkerran?" + +Donovan smiled a little. + +"Yes, Trevethan, I'm afraid it'll be very hard to find him. I'll do +my best to help you, though. Tell me what he is like." + +The blacksmith's powers of description were not great; he knew that +Jack was "fine and big," but could not tell the colour of his eyes, +or any single peculiarity in his manners or appearance. + +"You mustn't be too hopeful," said Donovan; "but I'll keep my eyes +and ears open, and do all I can for you; I'm afraid, though, the only +chance of your finding him will be his own voluntary return." + +"Thank ye, sir, I'm obliged to ye for your help," said the +blacksmith. "And as to hoping, as long as we're sure our hopes is +runnin' the same way as the Lord's, I reckon we can't be too hopeful." + +Donovan did not speak. He had had many a talk with the old +Cornishman, had sometimes laughed at the quaint phrases of his +Methodism, but had always admired and reverenced the man's unswerving +faith--faith which had stood fast through countless troubles and +losses. He could not help shrewdly surmising that this hope as to +finding his son would never be fulfilled, and yet, as he watched the +blacksmith's contented face, he felt that his intensely real faith in +the inevitable Right which ruled all things was a very enviable +possession. + +After a little further conversation as to the search for Jack, the +smith took up his hammer again, and Donovan took leave of him, and +set out once more on his solitary walk. The interruption had quieted +him for the time, but, as the consciousness of his pain returned to +him, the contrast between his own state of conflict and Trevethan's +quiet trust forced itself on him. This unlettered, ignorant old man +had the knowledge which he was hungering and thirsting for, the faith +which he would have given the world to possess. + +But then with a sudden sharp pang came the full recollection of all +that had happened, and his mind became capable of only two +ideas--Gladys and pain. He threw himself down on the grassy slope +bordering the cliff, and for a time allowed those two presences to +work their will on him. Gladys, with her appealing blue eyes, her +wistful plea for happiness, and an agonizing consciousness that +sorrow and separation must come. As he grew quieter, or, rather, as +his thoughts became more clear, he saw as distinctly as he had done +when speaking to her in the orchard that union between them was +impossible. He remembered the sense of separation that had come to +him when Dot had first drifted away into those regions of thought +into which he could not follow her. She had not suffered much from +their difference of thought, it was true, but then she had been a +little child, and there had been only a very few months of that +divided thought and interest. If she had been older, his atheism +must have been both a sorrow and a perplexity to her. Should he +bring such a sorrow into Gladys' life?--should he lay upon her pure +heart such a burden as he had to bear? Never! All the man in him +rose at such a thought. It should never be! He got up and began to +pace rapidly to and fro, his hands locked tightly together. It was +no use idly to wish that he had never seen her; he must go away now, +at once--that much was clear. She must learn to forget him. "Oh! I +hope there are not many Fedalmas in the world!" her pleading tones +rang in his ears, and his hands were clenched more tightly as he +realised the pain he must in any case give her. + +He must go, but it was hard--bitterly hard. His love was strong and +true, no mere weak sentimentality; but it is a cruel tax on love to +choose the very plan that will inflict pain on the loved one. The +pain may be salutary, wise, necessary for future happiness, but the +infliction is keenest suffering. + +He knew that he should always love her, but his love must be kept in, +restrained; a poor, cramped kind of love it would be, for he could +never serve her. Deliberately, of his own accord, he must cut +himself off from all but the pain of love. Unless, indeed, this +bitter pain proved to be service. There might come a time when she +would bless him for what he had done. Some day, when with a husband +one with her in every way, and children of her own, learning from +their father's lips the first lessons of the faith, might she not +then bless him for the pain of the present? Might not this be his +"duteous service"? this the "steep of honour"? + +But Donovan was very human; the thought of his own suffering began to +appeal to him. The thought of life without Gladys _would_ come +before him; it hung round him like a heavy pall, shutting out all +brightness, all hope of future happiness, all hope--so he thought--of +ennobling himself. For was not she the light he had looked to, the +goal he had set before him? Now everything was shut out. Blank and +black, dreary and hopeless, life stretched out before him. + +As he paced up and down battling with himself, his attention was +drawn to the little strip of beach at the foot of the cliff; two +children were there, laughing, shouting, waving their hands to a +fisherman who was just nearing the shore in his boat. The keel +grated on the pebbles, the man sprang out. He had not had good luck, +his lobster-pots had been empty; but, in spite of it, his voice was +hearty and cheerful as he hailed the little ones. Donovan saw them +run to meet him, heard their cry of "Father! father!" Another sore +regret surged in upon him then. He could never have a child of his +own, no child would ever call him "father." He might love and be +beloved by other people's children, but the fatherhood which this +honest fisherman could enjoy might never be his. And then the +terribly tempting thought of what might be, the haunting happiness of +the home, the wife that might be his, came again to him with double +force. + +It is not so hard to bear what the force of circumstance brings; the +Christian, the Fatalist, the Agnostic, all from a variety of reasons +learn the sort of endurance which life can hardly fail to teach, and +endure joyfully, abjectly, or doggedly; but deliberately to choose +the pain, that is not easy, not easy because it is God-like. Only by +slow painful degrees can we fight our way upward and break loose from +the clinging hold of self-love. + +Donovan had now fully faced all sides of this great question of his +life; again he came to the decision which must be made at once and +for ever. And now for the second time out of the depths he sent up a +cry to the Unknown. No "sense of sin" had prompted either of those +hardly conscious appeals; his first prayer had been that Dot might be +taken from him into peace; his second that he might have strength of +will to leave Gladys. That will of his which had failed--he +distrusted it now! + +The battle ended at last. Slowly and firmly he pronounced the "I +will" which must banish him for ever from all that he loved. + +The sun was just setting when he reached St. Kerrans; he had struck +inland from the Porthkerran Cliff road, and had gone across country, +Waif following him through stubble-fields and over hedges and +West-country walls with untiring perseverance. The shops in the +little town were still open, for it was market-day. Donovan went as +usual to the post-office, and there to his surprise found a letter +for himself--an exceedingly rare event. He opened it and read the +contents with as much curiosity as he was capable of feeling about +anything just then. + + +"S---- House, Freshwater, I. W., August 27. + +"MY DEAR DONOVAN, + +"You may very possibly have forgotten an old friend of yours, who, +however, has often thought of you in the long interval which has +passed since we met. I saw your cousin, Miss Adela Farrant, a few +weeks ago, and she told me of your whereabouts. I am very glad you +are thinking of entering the medical profession. Has your vacation +begun yet? If so, will you not come and spend a week or two with me? +Plenty of boating and fishing for you, and as much or as little as +you like of an old man's society. + + "Yours very truly, + "H. G. HAYES. + +"P.S.--I am only here for three weeks, so come at once if you can." + + +Here was a real help to his resolution, an invitation which would +blind the Tremains to the strangeness of his abrupt departure. He +looked at his watch; it only wanted two or three minutes to the time +when the telegraph-office closed. Should he go back and send the +message which would fix his fate? He wavered a minute, but finally +returned to the office, snatched up pencil and paper, and, feeling +much as if he were signing his own death-warrant, wrote the following +words--"Your letter forwarded to me from London. Many thanks for +invitation. I will come to-morrow evening." The telegram +dispatched, he set off at a sharp pace for Porthkerran, along the +familiar road which had so many associations for him--the first +meeting with Dick, his last return to Trenant only a month ago, +and--most vivid recollection of all--that drive with the doctor one +Sunday evening in September, when they had spoken of his doubts and +difficulties, when Dr. Tremain had spoken so hopefully, so +confidently of the light which would come to him. Poor Donovan! he +did not feel any such confidence now. Black darkness seemed +gathering round him. In renouncing Gladys, he felt that all which +had hitherto been most helpful to him would be swept away, that he +should be left entirely alone to face "the spectres of the mind." +Happily he saw the danger of dwelling on this thought, however, and, +putting it from him, he strode rapidly along, wondering how he could +best veil his feelings from Gladys, or arouse least suspicion in the +minds of her parents. + +At last, in the twilight evening, he reached Trenant. How little he +had dreamed that the sight of the gabled house, with its mantling ivy +and cheerful lighted windows, would ever give his heart such a stab +of pain! Well, he must think as little as he could, and just do. It +was rather a relief to him on entering the drawing-room to find old +Admiral Smith there. The doctor had his microscope out, Mrs. Tremain +was working, Gladys was playing chess with Bertie. + +"Here you are at last!" was the general exclamation. "Where have you +been? And how tired you look!" + +"It was very rude of me to cut dinner," said Donovan, shaking hands +with the admiral, "but I felt so inclined for a good long walk." + +"After your cramping position in the photograph, I suppose," said the +doctor, laughing. "You are in great disgrace with Nesta though, for +having gone without wishing her good night." + +"You will have some supper now?" said Mrs. Tremain, with her hand on +the bell. + +"No, thank you," said Donovan. "I really want nothing. Let me have +the rest of the evening with you all, for I'm afraid this will be my +last." + +"Your last evening!" exclaimed the doctor, greatly astonished. + +"Well, at St. Kerrans I found a letter from a very old friend of +mine, Mr. Hayes, a neighbour of ours at Oakdene. He is staying in +the Isle of Wight, and wrote to ask if I would come down and see him. +His time is limited, so I was obliged to answer him at once, and +promise to go. + +"How beastly!" exclaimed the two schoolboys. + +"Must you really go to-morrow?" said Mrs. Tremain, regretfully. "It +is very hard on us to be robbed of so much of your visit, but I +suppose we must not grudge you to an older friend." + +"Mr. Hayes was very kind to me in the old time. I think it is right +that I should go to see him, though of course I----" + +He broke off abruptly, unable to speak any trite common-place regret. + +He had carefully avoided looking at Gladys, but as the doctor and +Mrs. Tremain were still discussing this sudden change of plan with +him, Bertie's voice forced itself upon his notice. + +"Well, Glad, you are a muff! You've let me take your queen, when you +might have moved it as easily as possible." + +"I'm very sorry, Bertie. I wasn't thinking," was the answer. + +"It's very dismal indeed," said the doctor. "However, I suppose we +must grin and bear it. You'll come down for the next long vacation +anyhow. And we won't allow Mr. Hayes to cheat us a second time. You +can go to him for Christmas Day. He is more accessible than we are +for a short holiday." + +Gladys sat moving her chessmen mechanically, feeling as if she were +in some dreadful dream. What did it all mean? Why was he going +away? Had he guessed her secret? had she betrayed herself? No, she +thought not, for he looked so perfectly natural, and even as she +finished her game, he crossed the room and took the vacant chair +beside her, asking in the most ordinary way, + +"Did you finish stoning your peaches?" + +And then he told her about his talk with Trevethan, and made her +describe Jack to him, so that in a very little while her cheeks +cooled, and her relief would have been almost happiness, if there had +not been the haunting consciousness that this was the last talk she +should have with Donovan for a year. Her heart was very heavy. They +made her sing, too, which seemed hard, but Admiral Smith was fond of +music; she could not refuse. Donovan lit the candles for her, and +opened the piano. She turned over her portfolio, but every song +seemed to bear some reference to the subject that was filling her +heart. However, Admiral Smith decided the question for her. + +"Now, Miss Gladys, let us have the 'Flowers of the Forest.' That's +the prettiest song ever written, to my mind." + +She got through it somehow, but there was more pathos than she wished +in the mournful refrain-- + + "The flowers of the forest are a' wede away!" + +Donovan never heard that song in after-years without a _serrement de +cœur_. As he held the portfolio open for her to put it away, her +hand touched his for a minute, he felt that it was icy cold, and a +sudden longing to take it in his almost overmastered him. The old +admiral was disappearing with the doctor into the adjoining room, the +boys had gone to bed, Mrs. Tremain had just gone into the dining-room +to ring the first bell for prayers, these two were quite alone. Why +might he not take that poor little cold hand into his and tell her +the truth, tell her that he loved her with his whole heart. After +all, it was a mere shadow which stood between them! why should he +sacrifice his own happiness and hers, because what to her was a +conviction was to him a vague uncertainty? He loved her so dearly, +why must he be so cruel? It was a moment of terrible temptation. +But it was only a moment. With lips firmly pressed together he bent +down over her music, turned over the pieces, and not in the least +knowing what he had taken up, said rather hurriedly, + +"Will you not play something? There will be time for this, I think." + +She sat down again at the piano, and he moved away to the fireplace, +waiting there with his head propped between his hands, and steeling +himself to endure. Quite unknowingly he had given her a +transcription of "O rest in the Lord." He scarcely heard it, but to +her the beautiful air brought infinite comfort. When she had ended +it she was quite herself again, and could speak naturally and +composedly, and before many minutes the prayer-bell rang, and she +went away, leaving Donovan alone. + +That wretched evening ended at length, the last good nights were +said, the house had settled down into quiet. But lights burnt long +in two of the rooms; in one Donovan, with a rigid face, bent over his +dryest medical book, in a vain endeavour to banish thought, in the +other Gladys knelt and prayed. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +GOOD-BYE. + + She smiled: but he could see arise + Her soul from far adown her eyes, + Prepared as if for sacrifice. + + She looked a queen who seemeth gay + From royal grace alone. + E. B. BROWNING. + + +When, after spending a winter in the sunny south, beneath clear blue +skies and constant sunshine, the traveller returns to the capricious +springtide of the north, the violent contrast is very often both +dangerous and depressing. Rain and fog and lowering skies seem more +noticeable, more unforgetable than before; east winds, which in +former years we had laughed at or ignored, are now an unpleasant +reality, and every breath drawn tells only too plainly that, although +the heart of the north may be "dark and true and tender," its winds +are sharp and keen and bitter. In that one night of suffering Gladys +passed as it were from the sunny south to the northern springtide. +She woke the next morning fully conscious of the change that had +come, wearily, achingly conscious of it. Hitherto her life had been +almost untroubled, her sunny temperament made her less susceptible +than most are to the small trials and annoyances of life, and now for +the very first time there came to her a longing for pause and rest. +Every other morning of her life her first healthy waking thought had +been a thanksgiving for the happiness of beginning a fresh day, now +with a great load on her heart she only longed to shut out the light, +to forget a little longer. If only the drama of life would go on +without her! If only she might give up her part--her hard difficult +part! + +It was no use wishing, however. She got up and went straight to the +looking-glass to see what sort of face she could bring to that day's +work. Somehow her reflection made her angry, the wide, wearied eyes, +with their dark circles, the grave lips, the unusual paleness of the +whole face. "I will certainly not look like this," she determined, +and though as a rule she thought scarcely at all of her appearance, +this day she took great pains with herself, put on a pink print +dress, which made her look much less ghostly, fastened a rose in her +belt, and ran down to breakfast with an air of assumed cheerfulness +little in accordance with her heavy heart. + +Donovan was already seated at the table, he was to start in half an +hour's time, and the doctor had arranged his rounds so as to drive +him first to St. Kerrans Station. There was nothing the least +unusual in his voice or manner, he talked on steadily about the Isle +of Wight, geological books, fossils, all the most ordinary topics. +No one could have guessed in the least that all the time he was +bearing the keenest pain, doing the hardest of deeds. + +It was not easy to speak quite naturally to Gladys, but silence +between them would have been so marked that he was all the more +anxious to overcome the difficulty. + +"I am afraid the Euclid will come to a stand-still," he said, as they +stood at the open door waiting for the carriage. "You are safely +over the Pons Asinorum, though, which is some consolation." + +He had spoken lightly and with a half smile, his tone jarred a little +on Gladys. What did it all mean! Did he really care for her? If +so, why did he speak like that? + +Her father had answered the remark. + +"She must wait till the next long vacation before she becomes a +thorough 'blue stocking.' What will you attempt then? Conic +sections, I suppose." + +Donovan did not answer, but allowed himself to be monopolised by +Jackie and Nesta, and Gladys stood leaning against the doorway, +feeling sick at heart as she watched their noisy romp, while the +sound of wheels grew nearer and nearer. Waif came up to her with low +whines of delight and wagging tail. She bent down to pat him with a +full-hearted reproach. "What, you too, Waif! Are you so glad to +go?" Waif comforted her a little, however, in spite of his eagerness +to start, happy Waif who had saved his master's life, who would +always be his friend and companion. + +A few minutes more and the end had come; she felt her hand taken in a +strong, firm grasp, and, looking up, met Donovan's eyes; there was an +almost hard look in them which puzzled her utterly, but his voice was +pleasant and natural. + +"Good-bye," he said. "And if you are seeing Trevethan, please tell +him that I'll do my best to find Jack." + +"I will," said Gladys, softly. "Good-bye." + +"Dood-bye, Mr. Dono, dood-bye," shouted Nesta, as the carriage drove +away. "Please lift me up, sissy." + +Gladys took the little girl in her arms, and Nesta threw innumerable +kisses after the departing guest; Donovan looked back, smiled, and +waved his hand, and a turn in the road soon hid the pony-carriage +from sight. + +"I am very sorry he has had to go like this," said Mrs. Tremain, +re-entering the house. "I think, Gladys dear, you might give the +children their lessons early; I shall be glad of your help at the +clothing club this morning." + +"Very well, mother," said Gladys, obediently, and she went at once +with her two little pupils into the school-room, giving all her +attention to "Reading without tears." + +It was not till night that she had time fairly to face her trouble, +and when the work of the day was over she was too weary to think; she +shut herself into her little room and threw herself on the bed just +as she was, only conscious of relief that at last she might let her +face relax, that at last she might be miserable alone. It was bad +enough that Donovan should be gone, that for a whole year she should +not see him, but the real sting was that he had gone in such a +strange way. Could it be that she had mistaken mere friendship for +love? Had she given her whole heart to one who merely wanted a good +listener, a pleasant companion? Well, it was done now, and there +could be no undoing; she loved him, and clung to her love perhaps all +the more closely because of the pain it was bringing her. + +Never once did she realise as Donovan had done the impossibility of +real union between them. He, knowing all the misery of such +differences as had existed between himself and Dot, taking too the +darkest view of his own future, had felt his agnosticism to be an +insurmountable barrier. But Gladys could not feel this. She saw in +Donovan a noble, self-sacrificing character, a resolute cleaving to +right at whatever cost to himself, a tenderness to children, a great +capability of endurance, an untiring search and desire for truth. +Surely the light would come to him, surely already he was far on the +road to that knowledge he craved! + +And then too she could not help knowing that she had a great +influence over him; he had almost told her so in words, and by his +questions, his anxiety to learn her opinion, his eagerness to gain +her approval had certainly borne it out in actions. Yes, she loved +him, was ready to give up everything for him, to leave home, and +comfort, and prosperity, to share his poverty, to bear for his sake +reproach and suspicion, to be doubted, to be evil spoken of, if only +she might bring one ray of light into his gloom, if only by her love +she could win him to believe in the everlastingness of love. + +It might be a hard life, in some ways it must be lonely, but what was +that to her? The mere possibility of bringing any real joy--joy +worthy the name--into Donovan's life, outweighed to her all thought +of the suffering involved. All self suffering that is. If she had +known that at that very minute she was giving him the keenest +suffering possible, she could not have borne it. But of this +naturally she knew nothing, thought in her ignorance that the present +pain was almost entirely hers, that in that possible future too the +ache of loneliness would be all for her to bear, and in her +unselfishness rejoiced in the thought. + +Her mind, however, was too healthy to busy itself unduly over the +future, the present was to be lived in, she turned back resolutely to +make + + "The best of 'now' and here," + +by which she meant chiefly ceaseless prayers for Donovan, while the +daily round of home life went on unaltered. Her bright face was +still the sunshine of the house, for gradually the self-pity, the +vain regrets, and the useless puzzling over Donovan's change of +manner passed away; in the constant communion with the All-Father her +love was being perfected. + +With Donovan himself matters went more hardly. It could not be +otherwise. The parting which had tried Gladys, had been to him a +frightful effort, while the future, which to her was veiled in +uncertainty and lightened by hope, was to him one long blank desert +of pain. + +It was evening by the time he stood on the deck of the little steamer +which plied between Lymington and Yarmouth, a dismal evening too, +well in accordance with his own feelings. A heavy sea-fog shut out +the view, a fine chilling rain fell, the passengers grumbled, two +tired children wailed piteously, nurses alternately coaxed and +scolded them. At length in the dreary twilight they reached the +little port, Donovan rescued his portmanteau from the chaos of +luggage and slowly made his way up the long wooden pier, to the +old-fashioned coach, which with its patient horses and good-tempered +driver stood waiting outside a cheery little inn. The wailing babies +were packed away inside, Donovan mounted to the top, where he was +presently joined by two or three other men, and by a forlorn little +girl who could find no room inside; he held his umbrella over her, +and talked to her a little; she looked tired and sad, he had a kind +of fellow-feeling for her. Presently all being ready the driver +cracked his whip, and the horses started off at a brisk pace; they +were swinging along through narrow country lanes and under dripping +trees, till at length the lights of Freshwater shone out in the +distance, and gradually the passengers were set down at their various +destinations. Before long Donovan's turn came. + +"S---- House, sir. Here you are," said the coachman. + +He tucked Waif under his arm, wished the little girl good evening and +clambered down. The door of the villa was wide open, a flood of +light streamed out into the dusky garden, revealing old Mr. Hayes in +the doorway. Donovan had fancied himself hopelessly, irrevocably +miserable, but he was nevertheless considerably cheered by the old +man's hearty welcome; it was after all something to have your hand +grasped by an old friend, to be questioned and fussed over, to be +taken into a comfortable brightly-lighted room, to sit down to a well +spread supper table, and to end the evening with the long foregone +luxury of a cigar. Not so romantic perhaps as to pine away in +appetiteless melancholy, but more rational and manly. + +He made the most of his three weeks' visit, and though the green +downs of Freshwater always had for him associations of pain and +conflict, he yet managed to get some enjoyment and much bodily and +mental good from his stay there. + +"And have you got your castle in the air, yet?" Mr. Hayes would +laughingly ask him. + +His face would sadden a little, but he would always answer laughingly +that Sanitary Reform was his darling project, or that his pet hobby +was the Temperance Cause. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +A MAN AND A BROTHER. + +Charity is greater than justice? Yes, it is greater, it is the +summit of justice--it is the temple of which justice is the +foundation. But you cannot have the top without the bottom; you +cannot build upon charity. You must build upon justice, for this +main reason, that you have not at first charity to build with. It is +the last reward of good work. Do justice to your brother (you can do +that whether you love him or not), and you will come to love him. + + _Wreath of Wild Olive_. RUSKIN. + + +The 30th of September was a cold, blowy day, the wind seemed to take +a special pleasure in howling and whistling about the dismal lodgings +where Donovan was working. It was evening, the table was covered +with bulky volumes, with papers of notes and manuscript books; he had +always had the faculty of doing with a will whatever he undertook, +and he was so absorbed in his work that he scarcely noticed a violent +peal at the door-bell; it was not till the howling wind was eddying +through the passage and the infirm fastening of his sitting-room door +had succumbed to the blast and burst open, that he became alive to +the fact that Stephen Causton was to come up to town that evening, +and that this gust of wind probably announced his advent. + +It was a blustering arrival altogether, the landlady's welcome was +almost lost in the general hubbub. Donovan heard a loud and rather +rough voice replying. + +"Well, Mrs. Green, how are you? Here, you boy, put down the +portmanteau." + +Then came a slow counting out of coin. + +"Please, sir, it were awful 'eavy," pleaded a shrill voice, "it were +fit to break a chap's arm." + +"Nonsense," came the loud voice again, "it's not more than three +hundred yards from----" + +"Good evening," interrupted Donovan, suddenly emerging from the +sitting-room, and finding himself in the presence of a light-haired, +bushy-whiskered double of Mrs. Causton. + +"Oh! good evening," said Stephen, holding out his hand, and hastily +glancing at his new companion. "I've all sorts of messages for you +from Porthkerran." + +Donovan's hands clenched and unclenched themselves. It was a little +hard to hear messages from Porthkerran spoken of in such a careless +tone. + +The little street boy who had carried the portmanteau began to plead +again for "another copper or two." + +"Nonsense, be off, you beggar!" was Stephen's lordly reply, and he +passed into the sitting-room, giving a chagrined exclamation at +finding no supper ready for him. + +Donovan left the landlady to pacify him, and partly from dislike to +the tone which his companion had used, partly from his horror of +under-paying labour, made the little street boy happy with a +sixpence. Then he pushed the front-door to with a vigorous slam, and +slowly returned to the sitting-room. + +Stephen, feeling that he had a somewhat taciturn companion, talked +more than usual, and pleasantly enough. However much he resembled +his mother in face, he was evidently singularly unlike her in every +other way, and Donovan was surprised that Mrs. Causton should +tolerate such very free and easy manners, or that anyone brought up +so strictly should sprinkle his conversation so plentifully with +slang and mild oaths. Was this Dick Tremain's specimen of a +"mother's son"? Surely he must have broken loose from his +leading-strings! + +The fact was that Stephen at Porthkerran and Stephen in London were +two very different beings; he did not at first intentionally deceive +his mother, but inevitably he had struck out into a line of his own +widely different from hers. Too weak to care to set up his +principles in open defiance he lived a sort of double life, taking +his fling when alone, and meekly deferring to his mother's opinion +when at Porthkerran. The result of this falseness was most unhappy. +Donovan scrutinized his companion's face keenly that first evening, +but after all, in spite of the narrow forehead, and the eyes which +rarely looked straight into other eyes, he took rather a liking to +Stephen--was he not a friend of the Tremains? the one link which +might still exist between them. + +It was not for some days that he found out the truth about his new +companion. He knew that his bringing up had been of the narrowest, +and guessed from the very first that he had shaken off the old +traditions, and was taking his own way, but it was not all at once +that he realised what that way was. + +One October evening when the day's lectures were over, and the two +had just finished dinner, the conversation drifted somehow to +Porthkerran. It was a very chilly night, Stephen had insisted on +having a fire, and dragging up an arm-chair to the hearth, sat +crouched up like any old man; Donovan, with his feet on the +mantelpiece, American fashion, listened silently to the continuous +flow of talk, not taking great note of it until the name of Tremain +fell on his ear. + +"Johnson's a good enough fellow," Stephen was saying. "Not, perhaps, +what Dr. Tremain would approve of, but one can't be so strait-laced +as he is." + +"The doctor strait-laced!" exclaimed Donovan. "That's the last word +you can apply to him. Strait-laced! why, he's the very soul of +liberality." + +"In some ways," replied Stephen, coolly, "but not all round. I was a +year in his surgery, and I can tell you he's not the easiest master +to serve. I wouldn't have him know that Johnson and Curtis were my +friends for--'a wilderness of monkeys,' as old Shylock has it. Not +that they're either of them bad fellows, but they're the sort that +the doctor can't abide." + +Donovan only knew the two students by sight, but he was able to guess +pretty well to what set they belonged, and he knew that they were +probably the very worst friends for anyone so weak-minded as Stephen. +The reference to the Tremains, however, brought too many painful +thoughts to his mind to admit of his dwelling on his companion's +words. He did not speak, and Stephen, thrusting his feet almost +under the grate, continued, + +"One can't be a slave to another man's opinion, but of course I do +try to keep in the doctor's good books, not altogether to please him +either. I suppose you saw a good deal of Gladys, didn't you." + +"A good deal," replied Donovan, steadily; but as he spoke he swung +down his feet from the mantelpiece, and pushing back his chair began +to pace up and down the room. + +"She's an awfully jolly little thing, isn't she," continued Stephen. +"And she's grown uncommonly pretty too." + +Donovan longed to kick him; Stephen talked on in easy unconsciousness. + +"Her colouring's rather too high, certainly, but she's a very fine +girl. I lost my heart to her years ago, and though of course I've +had half a dozen flames since, not one of them was fit to be compared +with her. I'd a fortnight at Porthkerran before coming up here, you +know, and jolly enough it was too. Between ourselves my mother is +quite ready to help me to see plenty of Gladys Tremain, nothing would +please her so well as to have Gladys for a daughter-in-law, and, by +Jove, she'd make a stunning good wife. I don't believe she dislikes +me either, she was much more ready to be talked to than usual. We +shouldn't be half badly matched. What do you think?" + +"Discuss your love affairs with anyone you please, but not with me," +said Donovan, reining in his voice with difficulty. "You ought to +have found out before now that I'm made of cast iron, and chosen your +confidant better." + +"Well, all right, I won't bore you," replied Stephen; "where are you +off to? don't go." + +"I can't read yet, I'm going out." + +"Johnson said he'd look in this evening, we'll have a round of 'Nap,' +that'll be better than turning out on such a night as this." + +"You won't play while I'm in the house," said Donovan, decidedly. +"Look here, Causton, just understand once for all that if you bring +those fellows here we dissolve partnership at once. I can get rooms +elsewhere, but get into that set I will not." + +"All right, my dear fellow, don't get into such a fume," said +Stephen, trying to yawn carelessly. "They shan't come here if you +feel so strongly about it, though after all you don't know that we +shouldn't play for three-penny points." + +"I wasn't born yesterday," said Donovan, shortly, and with that he +went out, snatched up his hat, and, slamming the front door after +him, hurried out into the street. + +His brain was in a whirl of confusion, he strode on recklessly down +the dingy street, out into the broad road, past the brilliant lights +of Sanger's Circus, past the hospital to Westminster Bridge. Then he +paused, and leaning on the southern parapet, in the very place where +Noir Frewin had met him years ago, he let the wild confusion work +itself out into distinct realities. + +This fellow loved, or professed to love Gladys; the thought was +simply intolerable to him. He loved her, but spoke of her as Donovan +would hardly have spoken of Waif, loved her, and, sanctioned by his +mother, evidently meant to woo her! And--worst misery of all!--what +was there to prevent it? he was absolutely helpless, he could only +look on in dumb despair. Never more could he go to that Cornish +home, never more see the face of the woman he loved, but he should +hear of Stephen Causton's visits, _he_ might go there with impunity, +he might spend long hours with Gladys, might woo her and win her! It +was maddening! the thought of it roused all the stormiest passions in +Donovan's heart. He absolutely hated Stephen, hated and despised +him, dwelt with bitterest scorn on his weakness, his many failings. +The fiend of jealousy rode rampant over every better feeling, +quenched for the time all that was noble in him. Only for a time, +however; before long he was taxing himself--not Stephen--with +cowardly weakness. + +Yes, after all, with him lay the fault. What right had he to be +angry because another man ventured to admire Gladys? What concern +was it of his? Had he not resolved on absolute sacrifice of +self?--yet here was the wily self coming to the fore again, firing up +indignantly because another man desired what he had renounced. + +And Stephen was not so entirely despicable as in his rage he had +imagined him to be. At any rate he had far more right to think of +marrying Gladys than Donovan himself had. What business had he, of +all people, to fly into a passion because one worthier than himself +had stepped forward? Enjoyment, happiness, was not for him; a line +of plodding duty--of entire sacrifice--was the course marked out +instead. The "steep of honour" was before him, his reward must be in +the "deeds of duteous service" themselves. + +It should be so. The fire of indignation died down, leaving him +quiet, passive, horribly depressed, but still resolutely determined +to keep on in this dreary round of duty. + +The cold night wind blowing up from the river helped to brace him for +the struggle; air and wide open space had always a very strange +influence over him, this evening he felt their influence more than +ever. The river flowed darkly onward, the lights on its margin threw +their yellow reflection in a second golden chain, to the left stood +up the sombre towers of the Abbey, and the huge mass of the Houses of +Parliament loomed grandly out of the darkness. Sounds of life and +traffic rose, too, out of the night. Trains flashed like fiery +serpents over Charing Cross Bridge, with shriek of whistle and snort +of engine; carriages, horses, passengers of every description hurried +on. After all it was a grand old world, no world of units, there was +a national life to be lived as well as a private life, there were +national grievances which would outweigh and eclipse all private +grievances, there was--even to a sometime misanthrope--the enthusiasm +of humanity, a wonderful panacea for self pain. + +He was conscious of that widening influence, but more conscious of a +sudden contraction caused by the sound of a voice he knew. Glancing +round he saw Stephen and two other men within a few yards of him. + +"No, I've never played there," Stephen was saying. + +"Time you were initiated, then," replied one of his companions. +"Smithson will be there by nine; he's better at billiards than anyone +I know, a regular----" + +The rest of the sentence died away in the distance, there was a +general laugh, and then Donovan heard no more. + +He watched the three as they crossed the bridge, and saw them turn to +the right; he guessed well enough where they were going. It was +quite evident that Stephen was getting completely under the influence +of Johnson and the set to which he belonged. In an instant all the +thoughts of brotherhood, freedom, and self-sacrifice were banished +from Donovan's mind, and a very devilish idea took possession of him. + +Stephen was deplorably weak-minded, he would get completely under +Johnson's thumb, would very likely go to the bad altogether, and, if +so, he would unfit himself for Gladys. In one moment there rose +before him a picture of the future, Stephen the orthodox dragged down +into disgrace and rejection; himself, an agnostic indeed, but the +model of virtue and morality, rewarded by success. + +It was a fiendish imagination, lasting only for a minute; he dashed +it down, and stood shamefaced and full of self-loathing in the world +of realities again. + +The Westminster chimes rang out into the night. Big Ben boomed the +hour--nine of those deep, reverberating strokes fell on Donovan's +ear. Before the last echo had died into silence he had made up his +mind what to do. With the natural instinct of a generous character, +he, having wronged Stephen in thought, was anxious now to redress the +wrong by some kind of service. Thoughts of the Tremains, too, came +crowding into his mind; Stephen was their friend, the doctor's +godson; if he went wrong the Tremains would be infinitely sorry. He +must at any rate try to get him away from that set into which he had +fallen, make some effort to dissuade him from a course which would so +thoroughly shock his mother. + +He hurried along with rapid strides, trying not to think how much he +disliked the task before him, racking his brain for some excuse by +which to draw Stephen away, at any rate for this evening. He had +only a few minutes in which to form his plans; before long he had +passed under the dark railway bridge, and had turned up Villiers +Street. He had not been in this particular place since the miserable +New Year's Eve just before his illness, when his one longing had been +to stifle his remorse, and to still those awful recollections of +Dot's death-bed; an extraordinary change had passed over him since +then, but he did not think of that himself, or contrast the present +Donovan with the past, only as he went through the swing doors into +the brightly-lighted saloon, a vague association of pain and misery +came to him, a sort of ghost of the past seemed to hover about the +place. + +His quick eye had soon taken a survey of the tables, and had descried +Stephen Causton cue in hand; the place was crowded; he made his way +towards him and stood for some time watching him in silence; he was +betting on his own play with despicable rashness, and he was playing +exceedingly ill. Donovan had an insane desire to snatch the cue from +him and play himself, it was most irritating to watch the game. + +Presently he became conscious that some one's eyes were riveted upon +him, he glanced round in involuntary reply to that strange magnetic +influence. It was only the marker, a dark-haired man, with a face +which somehow seemed familiar to him. As Donovan's eyes met his he +turned away, however, apparently that fixed scrutiny had been quite +purposeless. Curious deep blue eyes, a somewhat broad face, and +black hair--why, the fellow had a Cornish look! And then it suddenly +flashed into Donovan's mind that the likeness which had struck him +was a likeness to Trevethan the blacksmith. Surely this must be Jack +Trevethan for whom he had promised to search. He went round to the +marker's seat, there was no time for beating about the bush, he just +bent forward and said in a low voice, + +"Is your name John Trevethan?" + +The billiard-marker started violently, and his dark face flushed. +Donovan felt at once that his guess had been correct, even though the +man gave an angry denial. + +"My name's Smith. What do you want with me?" + +"Nothing. But I have a message for a man named Trevethan from his +father," said Donovan, carelessly. "I see I was mistaken, but you +are like the description given me." + +He moved away then, and made his way to Stephen. A fresh game had +just been begun, this time Stephen was only looking on; he had lost a +good deal, and was not in the best of tempers. + +"What, you here, Farrant!" he exclaimed, with surprise, for he had +been too much engrossed to notice Donovan before he actually spoke to +him. + +"You passed me just now on Westminster Bridge, I came in here to try +to get hold of you. Haven't you had enough of this? Come with me +and hear the 'Cloches de Corneville,' we've not had so much as +sixpenny worth of music since you came up." + +"I can't come now, I'm with these other fellows," said Stephen, +irresolutely. + +"Can't!" ejaculated Donovan, scornfully. "You've not sold yourself +to them, I suppose. Come along, you've had your game, and we shall +just be in time for the half price." + +Stephen was always easily led, a little more persuasion and the +stronger will triumphed, Donovan gained the day. + +As they passed out of the saloon he glanced once more at the +billiard-marker; he was so convinced of his identity with Trevethan's +son that he could not make up his mind to go without one more effort. +Hastily scrawling his name and address on a card he once more crossed +over towards the Cornishman, and said, with apparent carelessness, + +"If you happen to know anything of this Trevethan, he will be able to +get news of his father at this address." + +The man did not speak, but he took the card, and as Donovan turned +away he neglected his duties to look after him as he passed down the +long saloon. + +"The light one was young Causton, but who can he be?" mused the +billiard-marker. "Farrant! there was no such name at Porthkerran. +He's a knowing hand, wanted to get the other out of this, and hooked +him neat enough, but I was up to him, I wasn't going to be fooled out +of my name." + +With which reflections he put Donovan's card into his waistcoat +pocket, and with a sigh returned to his neglected duties. But in +spite of his satisfaction at not having been "fooled" into a +confession, the thought of his old father at Porthkerran haunted him +uncomfortably. + +Stephen meantime was listening with great delight to the music at the +Opera Comique, Donovan fancied some resemblance to Porthkerran in the +little fishing town represented on the stage, and therewith heard and +saw little else, but in a sort of dream lived again the months he had +spent with the Tremains, returning every now and then to the prosaic +realisation that he was in a hot theatre with his rival beside him, +this Stephen Causton to whom he must before all things be perfectly +just. The orchestra twanged and scraped, the songs and choruses +succeeded one another, the audience applauded, and Donovan forced +himself away from the thoughts of the little Cornish village, and +made himself face the present and think out his plans with regard to +Stephen. + +The result of this was that as they walked home he told him a little +about his former life, and Stephen was for the time impressed, liked +Donovan better than he had ever liked him before, and perhaps for the +first time thoroughly respected him. But though he made many +resolutions not to be led away by Johnson and Curtis, daylight and +some disagreeable chaffing from his former companions about his +capture by Donovan Farrant, undid all the good that had been done. + +Donovan saw that something was amiss when they met at dinner-time. +He had made up his mind to do all possible justice to Stephen, to +ignore his failings, and to be perfectly friendly with him, but his +patience was severely tried by the resolute sulkiness of his +companion's manner. + +Hardly a word was spoken during the meal; as soon as might be, +Donovan turned his chair round to the fire and took up the _Daily +News_; Stephen too got up from the table, and stood with his back +against the mantelpiece. Presently he broke the silence. + +"I say, Farrant, just understand at once, please, that I won't have +you dogging me again to-night." + +"I thought you were due at the hospital," said Donovan, carelessly. + +"So I am; but you know well enough what I mean. You know that you +dogged me last night." + +"If by knowing where you were and following you, you mean dogging, I +certainly did," said Donovan, throwing aside his paper. "I suppose +Curtis and Co. have been chaffing you?" + +"That's no concern of yours, and I'm not going to be interfered with, +so just understand." + +"I've not the least wish to interfere," said Donovan. "I told you +last night why I tried to get you away; I believed that you didn't +know what that sort of thing leads to. Now you do know, and if you +choose to run into danger with your eyes open, the more fool you." + +"You're the last fellow in the world who has a right to dictate to +me," said Stephen, with offended dignity. + +"I don't dictate, I only warn you that you'll come to grief unless +you break with that set." + +"And what concern is that of yours, pray?" + +"More than you fancy," said Donovan, quietly. "You are a friend of +the Tremains, and so am I." + +"But I'm not going to bow down to Dr. Tremain in everything, and I +told you so before; he's a good enough old fellow, but----" + +"Take care how you speak of him," said Donovan, his eyes flashing. + +"Don't look so furious; what did I say? You seem to consider the +Tremains your special property. I've known them more years than you +have months." + +"Then I wonder that you care to take up with fellows whom the doctor +would disapprove of. And besides, Causton, if what you told me last +night is true, if you really care for--for Miss Tremain, I should +have thought you wouldn't have been able to go about with such cads." + +"Of course I care for Gladys; but what on earth has that to do with +the chums I have here?" + +"A great deal," said Donovan, vehemently. "Do you think you'll ever +be worthy of her if you go on making such a fool of yourself? You +know you're hardly fit to look at her now, and what do you think +you'll be like if you let such fellows as Johnson and Curtis lead you +by the nose? You'll be a weak-minded, despicable fool. I tell you, +if you mean to dream of marrying Miss Tremain, you must fit yourself +for her." + +"You're wonderfully exercised about it; I believe you want to have +her for yourself," said Stephen, tauntingly. + +The hot blood rushed to Donovan's face, his eyes fairly blazed with +anger; in ungovernable fury he snatched up a boot-jack and hurled it +at his companion's head. + +The next instant, however, the threatened tragedy became utterly +comic; Stephen, to save his head, warded off the blow with his arm, +and the boot-jack hit him with considerable force on the elbow. +Numb, and tingling to the very finger-tips, he simply danced with +pain. Waif's tail got trodden on, and he howled dismally; the +fire-irons were knocked down, and went clattering into the fender, +and Donovan, overcome by the absurdity of the scene, forgot his +anger, and fell into a perfect paroxysm of laughter. Stephen laughed +too. + +"You wretch! it was my funny-bone. By Jove! I believe you've broken +it." + +"A medical riddle for you," said Donovan, as soon as he could speak +for laughing. "Why is the funny-bone so named?" + +Stephen gave it up, and, as the clock struck, remembered that it was +time he went back to the hospital. He went off laughing at the +answer, "Because it borders on the humerus," and apparently the +incident of the boot-jack had really dispelled his sulkiness. +Donovan picked up the fire-irons, patted Waif, and then, taking an +armful of books from the sideboard, settled down to his evening's +work. The boot-jack was ever after a theme for laughter, but they +neither of them alluded again to the conversation which had led to +the quarrel, nor did Stephen ever think there was the smallest truth +in his taunt. He could not imagine anyone so matter-of-fact as +Donovan actually falling in love, and the stony silence with which +all his remarks about Gladys were met only confirmed him in the +opinion that his companion was indeed of the "cast iron" philosopher +type. + +To Donovan that year was a hard struggle. The continual worry about +Stephen, and the friction of his presence, were perhaps good for him; +they certainly prevented him from becoming self-engrossed; but there +were times when he felt unbearably jaded and harassed, as if he could +not much longer keep up the weary fight. He grew curiously fond of +Stephen, and Stephen returned the liking in his own odd way, +vacillating between Donovan and his old companions, and proving his +miserable weakness of will; but, though Donovan saved him from much, +he could not prevent the steady downhill course into which he had +fallen. + +The approach of the long vacation brought another struggle, and +another hardly-won victory. There was a very urgent invitation to +Porthkerran. Of course it must be refused, but Donovan had to go +through the old battle once more before the letter was written. He +made it a question of economy this time; his finances were low, and +he had made up his mind to stay in town through the summer months, +having obtained temporary employment in working up the book-keeping +of some small tradesman. The Tremains were sorry, but could say +nothing against such a plan; and Donovan saw Stephen go westward for +his three months' holiday close to Gladys' home, and felt a bitter +pang of envy. + +He worked almost fiercely through those stifling summer months, and +in every spare moment read hungrily on all sides of the great +question which was gradually filling his mind more and more. There +was temporary satisfaction in the actual reading, but he seemed to +gain little from it. Arguments for, repulsed him; arguments against, +pained him. He felt no nearer the knowledge of the truth. + +October brought a return to his hospital work, and fresh difficulties +with Stephen, who came back from Porthkerran inclined to break out +into violent re-action after the subdued atmosphere of his mother's +house. + +Mrs. Causton herself had not been altogether satisfied with her son +during the vacation. She wondered whether Donovan's influence could +be bad for him, and after he had left she worried herself so much +about him that she at length resolved to go up to town for a week, +visit him in his rooms, and satisfy herself that the doctor's +_protégé_ was not corrupting him. + +One morning when Donovan was sitting at breakfast, discussing a tough +essay on "Spontaneous Generation," over weak coffee and leathery +toast, there came a knock at the door, the landlady announced "Mrs. +Causton," and much surprised, he found himself face to face with +Stephen's mother. + +"I have taken you by surprise, Mr. Farrant," she began, in her rather +demure voice. "I came up unexpectedly to town on business, and was +anxious to find Stephen before his lectures began. I arrived too +late last night to come and see him then, as I had intended doing. +Stephen is not unwell, I hope? I see you are breakfasting alone." + +"He will be down directly," said Donovan. "Let me give you some +coffee, Mrs. Causton; and then I'll go and call Stephen." + +"Yes, pray tell him I am here," replied Mrs. Causton. "No coffee, +thank you. I breakfasted at my hotel. Pray call Stephen. I hope he +is not often so late as this?" + +Donovan judiciously ignored that question, and went to summon the +hope of the Caustons, whom he found sleeping the sleep of the just, +and in the meantime the anxious mother took a rapid survey of the +sitting-room. It was redolent of tobacco, but no doubt that was due +to Donovan Farrant; for the rest she could see nothing to find fault +with, unless indeed the evil lurked in those books piled up on the +sideboard. She crossed the room, and put up her double gold-rimmed +eye-glasses to read the titles. There were several works on medicine +and surgery, and some bulky volumes of science, then came an untidy +pile of a strangely heterogeneous character. She read the titles +with great dissatisfaction. Maurice, Renan, Haeckel, Kingsley, +Strauss, Erskine, and at the top an open volume, Draper's "Conflict +between Religion and Science." She turned to the fly-leaf. It was a +much worn, second-hand book, but under two half erased names was +written "D. Farrant." Of course all these books belonged to him, but +how could she tell that Stephen did not read them too? + +Her manner when Donovan came down again was decidedly stiff. He felt +it at once, and it hurt him a little, for the recollection that she +had left Porthkerran only the day before, had raised a great hunger +in his heart for news of Gladys. + +"I hope they are all well at Trenant?" he asked, hoping that her +answer might go a little into details; but he only extracted a +general reply that everyone was well, that Porthkerran was very +little altered, and that old Admiral Smith had been suffering very +much from rheumatic gout. + +Before long Stephen appeared, having evidently performed a very hasty +toilette, and Donovan, thinking it well to leave the mother and son +alone, whistled to Waif and went out. + +"How do you like Mr. Farrant? is he a pleasant companion?" asked Mrs. +Causton, as the front door closed. + +"Oh! he's a very good sort of fellow," said Stephen, ringing the bell +for his breakfast, "he's very clever, and works like a nigger." + +"Then I wonder he has time to waste on such a paper as this," said +Mrs. Causton, laying her black gloved hand on the _Sporting News_. + +The _Sporting News_, as it happened, was Stephen's paper, but he +could not allow his mother to know that; with a slight pricking of +conscience he merely turned the conversation. + +"Oh! of course even the hardest working fellows must have a little +relaxation. Farrant reads on every subject under the sun." + +"I hope you never open those dreadful books of his which I see over +there?" asked Mrs. Causton, apprehensively. + +"Oh! dear no," replied Stephen, this time with perfect truth. +"They're a great deal too stiff for me." + +Mrs. Causton gave a relieved sigh and the conversation drifted away +from Donovan to the examination which Stephen was going in for that +term. He had lost much valuable time when his eyes had been bad, but +was nevertheless very sanguine. + +"I must own," said Mrs. Causton, as she walked back to her hotel with +Stephen, "that it will be rather a relief to me when your course is +over. I don't altogether like this arrangement of sharing rooms with +Mr. Farrant, I hope he never speaks to you about religious matters." + +"Never; he's a very taciturn fellow, and as to theology, we should +never dream of discussing it, so you may be quite happy, mother." + +His manner re-assured Mrs. Causton, and he spared no pains to please +her during her week's stay, escorting her to the National Gallery, +and the British Museum, and one night even submitting to the very +dullest of meetings at Exeter Hall. + +"If that poor Donovan Farrant would have come with us," sighed good +Mrs. Causton, at the close of a speech which had roused her to +enthusiasm. + +"Not much in his line, I'm afraid," said Stephen, heartily applauding +the speaker with hands and feet in a way which delighted his mother. + +"Dear Stephen was so much impressed by Mr. ----," she told one of her +friends afterwards. And the poor lady went back to Cornwall quite +satisfied that her son was doing well, that even Dr. Tremain's +suggestion that he should lodge with Donovan Farrant had not proved +really dangerous. It was, she still thought, a somewhat rash +experiment, but certainly dear Stephen was not the least contaminated. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +A BRAVE SPRITE. + + Wonder it is to see in diverse mindes + How diversely love doth his pageants play, + And shewes his powre in variable kindes: + The baser wit, whose ydle thoughts alway + Are wont to cleave unto the lowly clay, + It stirreth up to sensuall desire, + But in brave sprite it kindles goodly fire, + That to all high desert and honour doth aspire. + Ne suffereth it uncomely idlenesse + In his free thought to build her sluggish nest, + Ne suffereth it thought of ungentlenesse + Ever to creep into his noble breast; + But to the highest and the worthiest, + Lifteth it up that els would lowly fall: + It lettes not fall, it lettes it not to rest; + It lettes not scarse this Prince to breath at all, + But to his first poursuit him forward still doth call. + _Faerie Queen_. SPENSER. + + +"Curtis sent you word that he was going by the 9.30 to-morrow," said +Donovan, coming into the sitting-room one autumn evening, and finding +Stephen for once really hard at work. + +"All right," was the laconic answer. + +"You're not going to the Z---- Races?" asked Donovan, abruptly. + +Stephen looked up with a smile. + +"In the words of the old Quaker I must answer, 'Friend, first thee +tellest a lie, and then thee askest a question.'" + +"But with the examination so near and your preparation so frightfully +behindhand," urged Donovan. + +"Am I not grinding like fifty niggers now to make up?" said Stephen. + +"But it's such nonsense your going," continued Donovan, rather +incautiously. "Why, you hardly know a horse from a donkey; you'll +only get fleeced, and come home up to your neck in debt." + +"I wish you'd let me alone," said Stephen; "I tell you I'm going, and +you won't bother me out of it, so do shut up." + +"What do you imagine your mother would say to it, if she knew?" + +The question was an uncomfortable one, and, moreover, Donovan had the +power of forcing Stephen to listen to him; he went on, gravely, + +"However much you may kick at the word dishonourable, you can hardly +say the way you are going on is anything else; only a few weeks ago +you were going to an Exeter Hall meeting with Mrs. Causton, and now +you are going to the Z---- Meeting with a set of snobs who, as sure +as fate, will get you into some scrape." + +Stephen was imperturbably good-humoured that evening; he did not take +exception even at this very plain speaking, he only swung himself +lazily back in his chair and yawned prodigiously. When Donovan had +ended, he sat musing for a minute or two, then said, abruptly, + +"I tell you what, Farrant, you won't persuade me out of going, but I +don't care a rap about being with these fellows if you would go. +Come, you can spare a day well enough, and we can have no end of a +spree." + +Donovan could ill afford such an unnecessary expense, but he knew +that his presence would probably keep Stephen straight, and, after +some deliberation, he consented to go. + +The day proved to be exceedingly fine, one of those still autumn days +when scarcely a breath is stirring, when the limp yellow leaves float +down slowly and noiselessly from the rapidly thinning trees, and the +sun sends its softened beams through a golden misty haze. It was +most delicious to get out of smoky London; except for long walks +every Sunday, Donovan had not actually been out of town for more than +a year, and the change was thoroughly enjoyable. In spite of sundry +recollections of old times which would intrude themselves upon him, +the day really bid fair to be a pleasant one. Stephen was +companionable enough, and everything was so fresh to him that Donovan +found it easy work to keep him out of difficulties. + +All went well till the races were over, then, as they were elbowing +their way through the crowd surrounding the grand stand, Donovan +suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and a well-known voice ringing +in his ear. + +"Well, milord, who would have thought of seeing you here! How are +you, my dear fellow?" + +He turned round to have his hand grasped by old Rouge Frewin. There +he was, as unchanged as if for all this eventful time the world had +been standing still with him, the same genial, cheery, red-faced old +captain who had watched by his sick-bed at Monaco, and cried like a +baby when they had parted at Paris. Donovan would have been both +ungrateful and unnatural if his first thought had not been one of +real pleasure at meeting again the kindly old man. + +"Why, captain, this is an odd chance that has brought us together. +How natural it seems to see you again! What corner of the moon have +you dropped from?" + +"Tacking between London and Paris ever since you left us," said +Rouge, with a sigh. "I've missed you, lad; it's a hard life for an +old man like me; I'm growing old, Donovan, growing old fast, and Noir +has been hard on me since you went." + +"Is Noir here to-day?" + +"No, he was to come back from Paris to-night; I don't know the ins +and outs of it, but Noir is very uneasy just now, he won't settle +down in England comfortably, and it's a miserable life this knocking +about among foreigners; it's killing me by inches, and poor old +Sweepstakes too." + +"What, is Sweepstakes still in the land of the living?" + +"Yes, he's at my rooms in town, not the old place in Drury Lane, Noir +wouldn't go there again. By-the-by, milord, what are you doing with +yourself now?" + +The question first reminded Donovan that there were reasons which +made it advisable not to give his address to the Frewins. He replied +that he was at present a medical student, and then as he spoke he +recollected Stephen, and turned hastily round, but Stephen was gone. + +The races were over, he might possibly have gone back to the station, +but Donovan thought that he had probably caught sight of some of his +friends and had gone to speak to them; he was a good deal vexed. It +was simply impossible, however, to find him in such a crowd, he was +obliged to give it up, and, quitting the race-course with the old +captain, made his way as quickly as might be to the train. + +They had not gone far when a block in the long line of carriages +attracted their notice. + +"Some accident," said Rouge. "Never was yet at any races without +seeing a spill of some sort." + +Donovan pushed on quickly without speaking a word; he felt almost +certain that Stephen had somehow got into mischief. + +By the time he had made his way through the throng of people a +dog-cart which had been overturned was being raised from the ground, +and Donovan at once caught sight of Stephen's friend Curtis standing +at the head of the terrified horse, whose violent kicking and +plunging had caused the accident. Many people were offering their +help, several were stooping over a prostrate figure, he pushed them +aside; it was indeed Stephen Causton who lay there perfectly +unconscious, the blood flowing slowly from his mouth. + +Donovan's authoritative manner soon sent back the mere idlers, while +the really efficient helpers came to the fore. Rouge offered his +brandy-flask, and in a very short time an extemporized litter was +brought up, and Stephen was borne away to the nearest hotel. + +It was all done in such a business-like way, for a time it seemed to +Donovan only like his ordinary hospital work; it was not till a +doctor had arrived, and his own responsibility was lessened, that he +realised that it was Stephen Causton, the Tremains' friend, Stephen +for whom he felt himself in a manner accountable, who was lying there +in danger of his life. In a disjointed way he gathered from Curtis +the facts of the accident. Stephen had caught sight of them, and had +gone to speak to them, Curtis had offered him a seat in the dog-cart, +and they had driven off, intending to dine together in the town; +something had startled the horse, and the dog-cart had been +overturned. The rest had escaped with bruises and a severe shaking, +but Stephen had broken a rib, the bone had pierced the lung, and he +was for some hours in a very precarious state. + +The first moment that Donovan could be spared he ran down to despatch +a telegram to Dr. Tremain, and not till he had with some difficulty +worded the message did one thought of himself come to trouble him. + +"D. Farrant, Royal Hotel, Z----, to Dr. Tremain, Trenant, +Porthkerran. Causton has met with a bad accident. Please tell his +mother, and come at once if possible." + +What a panic poor Mrs. Causton would be in, and how strange it would +seem to them all that he--Donovan--should be with Stephen at Z----. +Of course Dr. Tremain would know that the Z---- races were on, and +would naturally arrive at the conclusion that he had led Stephen +there. It could not be supposed that the orderly mother's son, who +attended Exeter Hall meetings, would have gone to such a place +without great persuasion. In a moment there rose before Donovan the +whole situation. The decision must lie with Stephen; if he chose to +confess his long course of self-pleasing all would be well, but, if +he chose to be silent, Donovan felt that he could not betray him, +that even at the risk of being entirely misunderstood, he must hold +his tongue, an easy enough task surely--merely to keep silence--a +task in which he was already well practised! + +He went back to the sick-room and forgot all his presentiments in +keeping anxious watch over Stephen. The hæmorrhage had been checked, +but all through the night the most alarming prostration continued, +and it was far on in the next day before the immediate danger was +over, and the patient fell into an exhausted sleep. + +Donovan left him then for the first time, the landlord's daughter +keeping guard over him, and went himself to get much-needed food and +rest. + +Gladys never forgot that autumn evening when the telegram arrived. +For some days the household at Trenant had been disturbed and +anxious, for Jackie and Nesta were both laid up with the measles, and +Nesta, always a rather delicate little child, was seriously ill. The +nurse had gone down for her supper, and Gladys had taken her place in +the night nursery. As she sat beside the sleeping children she heard +a sharp ring at the door-bell, a message for her father she supposed, +and thought no more about it, little dreaming what message it was, +and from whom. And yet, as she sat there in the dim light, her +thoughts did drift away to Donovan. What was he doing in those dull +London lodgings which he had described to them? His letters had been +fewer and shorter lately, and he never spoke of any future visit to +Porthkerran. Were their lives growing farther apart? Was it never +to be anything but waiting and trusting? Should she never learn that +he had found the truth? She covered her face and prayed silently, +hardly in thought-out words, but only, as it were, breathing out her +want of patience, her love for him, and her longing that he might +think and do that which was right. + +The nurse came back, and Gladys, released from her watch, went down +to the drawing-room; she was strong to meet the news that awaited +her, and she needed all her strength. Over and over again she read +the words scrawled on that thin pink paper, hearing with painful +acuteness all her father's surmises as to what could have taken +Stephen and Donovan to those races. She hated herself for it, but it +hurt her a great deal more to hear a shadow of blame attached to +Donovan than to hear that Stephen was lying perhaps in mortal danger. +The one caused her a sharp stab of pain, the other only a shocked +awed feeling--a vague regret. + +Her father went away in a few minutes to break the news as well as he +could to poor Mrs. Causton. Mrs. Tremain was called away to little +Nesta, and Gladys sat crouched up alone by the fire, feeling +supremely wretched. It could not be that Donovan had led Stephen +astray--and yet her father had evidently thought it must be so! Her +tears flowed fast, but still not one was shed at the thought of +Stephen's accident; it was a tall manly figure that rose before her, +excluding everything else, a strong face with dark sad eyes and +resolute month. It could not be that Donovan had forgotten his high +aims, had thrown aside his search after truth, and sunk so low--it +could not be! His face rose before her in vivid memory; she felt +certain that he had not done this thing. She dashed away her tears, +choked them back angrily, resolutely. + +"It can't be, it _isn't_ so; I will never, never believe it!" she +cried, passionately. "Though all the world accuse him, I will never +believe it! I will trust you, Donovan--always!" + +She was calm again now, invincible in her woman's stronghold of +absolute trust. The arrows of logic, the force of argument, the +stern array of steely facts spend their force in vain on that +stronghold. + +Her rhapsody over, there came almost directly the call to work, to +return to common life. Her father came back from his sad errand; she +went to meet him in the hall to ask after Mrs. Causton. + +"Oh! there you are, dear," he exclaimed. "I came back to fetch you. +Aunt Margaret is terribly upset, and I promised that you should go to +her." + +Gladys trembled a little, but she could make no objection, and ran up +to fetch her things. + +"You must try to induce her to go to bed," said the doctor, as he +walked back with Gladys to Mrs. Causton's house. "We shall start +quite early to-morrow morning, but she will be fit for nothing if she +does not sleep first." + +Mrs. Causton was exceedingly fond of Gladys, and, in spite of the +real want of sympathy between them, this evening she clung to her +more than ever, probably, in the depth of her misery, not noticing +that there was a little shadow of restraint in her manner. For, +though Gladys had the sweetest and most delicate tact and sympathy, +she often let herself become absorbed in sympathising with one +person. She was one of those characters who love the few ardently, +but are a little wanting in breadth, and now every doubt or reproach +cast on Donovan pushed her further away from Mrs. Causton. + +However, she did her best, listened in silence to Mrs. Causton's +sorrows, helped her to make all the necessary arrangements for her +journey, soothed her by mute caresses, and at last persuaded her to +go to bed. Then she lay down beside her, and tried to sleep, but +long after Mrs. Causton had forgotten her troubles in restful +unconsciousness, Gladys lay with wide-open eyes, keeping rigidly +still for fear of disturbing her companion, and in spirit sharing +Donovan's watch beside Stephen's sick-bed. + +In the morning Mrs. Causton awoke little refreshed. She was almost +disabled by a terrible headache. Gladys had to do everything for +her. As she brought her a cup of coffee, it seemed to dawn on the +poor lady that very soon she should have to part with her. + +"Oh! Gladys," she said, pleadingly, "could you not come with me? I +don't know what I shall do without you." + +"I would willingly come," said Gladys, trembling violently, +"only--I'm not sure whether mother could spare me----" + +She broke off abruptly, as her father drove up in the pony-carriage. +The thought of meeting Donovan once more had set all her pulses +throbbing painfully, but she could not make up her mind to ask her +father whether she might go, she could not even repeat Mrs. Causton's +words to him. + +The idea had, however, taken a strong hold on Mrs. Causton. She +greeted the doctor with an urgent entreaty that he would allow Gladys +to go with them. + +"I am so poorly, and she has been such a comfort to me. I don't know +how I can do without her." + +"Very well, Gladys dear," said Dr. Tremain, putting his hand on her +shoulder. "If you will come with us, and can do without any more +preparation, it shall be so. Nesta is better to-day, and we will +send a note back to explain to the mother." + +It was all settled in a few minutes. Gladys hurried away to put on +her walking things. The maid hastily packed her little night-bag for +her, and before long she was driving with her father and Mrs. Causton +to St. Kerrans. + +The journey seemed endless; though they had started very early, it +was four o'clock in the afternoon by the time they reached Z----. + +Gladys was very stiff and weary, but she had hardly time to think of +herself, she was so taken up with the effort of sympathising with and +helping Mrs. Causton, while, as they drove through the busy streets +of Z----, the consciousness that every moment was bringing her nearer +to Donovan made her heart beat quickly, and the bright colour rise in +her cheeks. + +At length they reached the Royal Hotel, learnt at once from one of +the waiters that Stephen was doing well, and were ushered upstairs. +Mrs. Causton leant on the doctor's arm, Gladys followed tremblingly, +glad enough to cling to the banisters. They were shown into a +private sitting-room. Already the afternoon light was failing, but a +fire blazed in the grate, and by its ruddy glow Gladys saw Donovan. +He was stretched at full length on the hearthrug fast asleep. The +waiter hesitated. + +"Poor young gent! He was up all the night. Perhaps you'll wake him, +sir, if you see fit," and then, with a curious glance at the three +visitors, the man withdrew, mentally ejaculating that he "wasn't +going to disturb the poor fellow, not if it was to see the queen +herself." But as the door closed, Donovan started up. + +"Is he awake?" he cried, fancying that Stephen's nurse bad come; +then, catching sight of Dr. Tremain, he sprang to his feet. "I am so +glad you've come. He is really doing well now. The immediate danger +is over." + +As he spoke he shook hands with the doctor and Mrs. Causton, then, +for the first time catching sight of Gladys, he was all at once +speechless. For one moment their eyes met, that strange meeting +which seems like the blending of soul with soul. That was their real +greeting. The conventional handshake was nothing, and in another +moment Donovan had turned hastily away, and plunged abruptly into +details of Stephen's accident. + +Mrs. Causton was painfully agitated, and was indignant when Donovan +insisted on the extreme rashness of going at once to see the patient. +To wake up and to find his mother unexpectedly there, would be the +very worst thing for him, and though Dr. Tremain quite agreed, and in +fact took the law into his own hands, Mrs. Causton regarded Donovan +entirely in the light of an enemy. + +Dr. Tremain went himself to the sick-room, and it was arranged that +he should relieve guard, and, when Stephen awoke, tell him of his +mother's arrival. Donovan left him there, and steeling himself for +the encounter, went slowly back to the sitting-room, where Mrs. +Causton was lying in an easy-chair, and Gladys was trying to persuade +her to take a cup of tea. + +"You will have some tea, too, will you not?" she said, looking up at +Donovan. "They told us you had been up all night; you must be very +tired." + +"Thank you, yes, I should like some," said Donovan, allowing himself +to watch the little white hands as they lifted the big plated tea-pot +and poured out the tea. And as she handed him his cup, he noticed, +in that strange way in which the minutest trifles are noticed when +there seems least time to waste on them, that the china was thick, +white, with a pink rim, and bore the stamp of the Royal Hotel. + +He was startled when Mrs. Causton first spoke to him; the waiting +seemed to embitter her, and she made him feel that his presence was +very distasteful. + +"Have you any other particulars to tell me of my son's accident?" she +asked, very coldly. + +"I think you have heard all now," he replied, "all that I myself +know, for I did not actually see the carriage upset." + +"Having brought Stephen to such a place, I should have thought the +least you could have done was to stay with him," said Mrs. Causton, +with a quiver of indignation in her voice. "It has been a miserable +mistake from the very beginning. I hoped he might have had a good +influence over you, but you have abused my trust cruelly. If I had +ever dreamt that you would be the stronger of the two, he should +never have shared your rooms." + +Donovan did not speak; but Gladys, glancing up at him, saw that he +was passing through some great struggle. Her heart ached as she +heard Mrs. Causton's unjust words. One effort she must make to check +the conversation. + +"Will you not come to your room and lie down, auntie?" she suggested. +"You will be fitter to go to Stephen when he wakes, if you rest +first." + +"I shall rest quite as well here, thank you," said Mrs. Causton. "We +need not trespass further on your time, Mr. Farrant. I am sure you +can ill afford to waste two days in the middle of term." + +"I should be sorry to annoy you by staying," said Donovan, quietly. +"Good-bye." + +He held out his hand gravely. + +"I only hope you may take warning yourself by my poor Stephen's +fate," said Mrs. Causton, relapsing into tears. "It is one of those +mysterious dispensations so hard to resign oneself to, the innocent +suffering and the guilty escaping. I am sure I hope and pray that +you may repent while there is yet time." + +He wished Gladys good-bye and left the room. + +For one moment Gladys sat quite still; then a sudden impulse seized +her; she could not let him go like this, it was too cruel, too +heartless! She opened the door and ran down the passage, catching +sight of him far in front. Would he never stop! Would nothing make +him look round! By the time she reached the head of the stairs he +was half way down them; it seemed to her as if miles of grey and +crimson carpeting stretched between them. + +Half timidly, and yet with a ring of despair in her voice, she called +to him. + +"Donovan!" + +For a moment his heart stood still; he caught at the rail, turned, +and saw her standing far above him. He did not speak, but +waited--waited till she came to him in complete silence. His lips +were firmly pressed together, his face rigid. Was it hard of +him--was it cruel to her to meet her thus? + +The very sound of his own name from her lips had re-awakened the +wildest longing for all that he knew must never be. He waited for +her to speak, but her words only made the tumult within him wilder, +the struggle more intolerable. + +"Do not go like this," she said, pleadingly; "please wait and see +papa. Aunt Margaret doesn't know what she is saying. I know you +could explain it all to papa. Please, please wait!" + +She had not the faintest idea that she was putting the most terrible +temptation before Donovan; but she was almost frightened by the spasm +of pain which passed over his face; his voice too was strange and +hollow, as he answered, sadly, + +"You are mistaken, I can't explain anything." + +His words caused such a sudden downfall of all her hopes that the +tears rose to her eyes, fight against them as she would it was of no +use, and nothing but a sort of despairing womanly pride kept them +from overflowing. + +Poor Donovan saw all, and turned away. That moment was as the +bitterness of death to him. He was giving her pain, making her think +badly of him,--for what? Was it indeed for her good? It could not +surely be--it was so unnatural--so hard--so merciless! He would +speak to her, tell her of his love, tell her that he would do +anything--everything--for her sake! + +And yet was that really true, when he could not keep silence? Oh, +weakness! here he was fighting the old battle which he had fought in +the orchard at Trenant, on the Porthkerran cliffs, on Westminster +Bridge! Each time he thought he had conquered, yet now this deadly +temptation had risen again, as strong--far stronger--than ever. +Should those bitter efforts be wasted? Should his longing for +present relief--for happiness even for her--lead him to speak words +which he had no right to speak? But this silence, this silence as to +Stephen, it was anguish. He must right himself to her! Had not his +own character some claim upon him? Had he not his own rights as well +as Stephen's to bear in mind? That was the great question, it was +clearly Self versus Stephen, a just claim for himself, certainly, yet +a claim for self _only_. Yes, he would be truthful in his +self-arguing, even though it brought keenest pain,--to right himself +would not be to serve Gladys, would not even make her really happier, +he had resolved long ago that she must learn not to care for him. He +would be silent now for her sake as well as for Stephen's--the proof +of his love should be his silence! + +All this passed through his mind in a very few moments. He turned +back to Gladys, she was leaning against the banisters, her head +drooped low, the light from a coloured lamp hanging over the stairs +threw a golden glow over her sunny hair; her face was partly in +shadow, but in the half light her bright colouring looked all the +more lovely. + +He knew it was the last time he should see her, but he would not let +his eyes soften, would not let one trace of his love show itself. + +"It is better that I should go at once," he said, taking her hand, +"believe me, it is much better. Good-bye." + +Gladys looked steadily up at him, her blue eyes were quite clear now, +there was a sort of triumphant trust in her look. + +"Good-bye," she said, softly, not one other word. + +She watched him as he went down the stairs, watched very quietly, but +very intently, noticed his firm, almost sharp step, heard him call +for his bill, and ask the time of the London train, lastly heard the +silence, the aching silence of the quiet hotel when he was really +gone. + +But in spite of her heartache there was the dawning of a rapturous +joy for her even now. For when Donovan had turned to say good-bye to +her, there had been that in his face which had raised her out of +herself. He had looked utterly noble, the very light of Christ had +shone in his face. She thought it was indeed probable that he did +not care for her as he had once cared, but what did that matter? in +the intensity of her joy for him she could not think of her own pain. +For she loved Donovan with her whole heart and soul, and she felt, +nay, she knew, that he was "not far from the kingdom of Heaven." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +OLD FRIENDS. + + Would'st thou the holy hill ascend, + And see the Father's face? + To all his children humbly bend, + And seek the lowest place. + + Thus humbly doing on the earth, + What things the earthly scorn, + Thou shalt assert the lofty birth + Of all the lowly born. + _Violin Songs_. GEORGE MACDONALD. + + +London was shrouded in the murkiest of November fogs; Donovan groped +his way with some difficulty down York Road, opened the door of his +lodgings with a latch key, made his way into the cheerless +sitting-room, lighted the gas, and threw himself back in a chair in +hopeless dejection. The sharpness of the struggle was over, the +bitterness of the pain past, his was now the + + "Stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief + Which finds no outlet or relief." + +Perhaps the most real and unforgetable form of suffering. + +He sat motionless, the light which had so cheered Gladys had died +from his face now, it was clouded, haggard, with dark shadows under +the eyes. + +He was roused at last by hearing Waif's bark in the distance, then +came sounds of opening a door down below, a rush and a patter of feet +on the kitchen stairs, and a violent scratching and impatient whining +at his own door. He dragged himself up, opened it, and received a +frantic welcome from his dog, who had been shut into an empty cellar +during his absence. + +Waif was almost crazy with delight at seeing him back again; he +dashed round and round him, bounded up in the air, whined and +snorted, licked him all over, and finally tore across the room in a +violent hurry to perform his usual act of loyal service, to drag out +the boot-jack, and, one at a time, to deposit his master's slippers +in the fender. + +This evening there was no fire; Waif found that out, and seemed +perplexed; he was not quite capable of striking a match, but he +worried Donovan into doing it, and then sat contentedly watching the +yellow blaze, thudding the floor with his tail in the intensity of +his satisfaction. Donovan watched him thoughtfully. + +"We must jog on together, Waif, my boy," he said, patting the +sagacious black and tan head. + +Waif's eyes twinkled and shone, his tail beat a regular tattoo on the +floor. + +The dog and his master understood each other, and Donovan would +certainly have chosen to spend the rest of the evening with his dumb +companion, to indulge his sad thoughts in silence, but it was not to +be so. There was a knock at the front door before many minutes had +passed; he heard a voice which seemed strangely familiar asking if he +were in; another moment, and Rouge and Noir were ushered into his +room. + +"Tracked you at last," said Noir, his dark face lighting up with a +gleam of satisfaction as he wrung Donovan's hand. + +"And all owing to those lucky races and my quick eyes," said the old +captain. "How's the chap that was pitched out of the dog-cart?" + +"Badly hurt, but doing well now," said Donovan. "How did you find me +out?" + +"Through the light-haired fellow who was holding the horse, a +fellow-student of yours. Why, Waif, old dog, you don't look a day +older!" + +Waif sniffed cautiously at the old captain's clothes, recognised him +after a few minutes, and was pleased to renew the friendship. Noir +meanwhile was speaking in a lowered voice to Donovan. + +"I came here on business--can I have a few words alone with you? Let +us take a turn outside." + +"All right," said Donovan. "You'll stay and have some supper; we'll +be back before long, captain, there's an evening paper for you, and +as many medical books as you like." + +Rouge settled himself comfortably in an armchair, and Noir and +Donovan went out into the foggy street. + +"I am in a scrape," said Noir, abruptly. "I have come to ask if you +will help me. Perhaps, though, you are so respectable and virtuous +now that you have forgotten all about the old times." + +"My memory isn't ruled by will," said Donovan, rather hoarsely. "Go +on." + +"Well, I don't blame you for wishing to forget that year--I wish to +goodness I could, for, milord, I am decidedly up a tree. You +remember Darky Legge? Well, he has been arrested, discovered at +last, after carrying on his old game for years. After you left us, I +was thrown a good deal with him--in fact, at Paris we acted together, +and the wretch, who has no sense of honour, has betrayed me. Unless +I can leave the country at once, I'm a lost man." + +"I can't offer you money," said Donovan, "for I can hardly scrape +along myself." + +"It isn't that I want," said Noir, quietly; "it is this: I can't +afford to take the old captain with me to America--I haven't the cash +for one thing, and besides, he would be like a mill-stone round my +neck. He can live on quietly here for very little, and I will send +him what I can from time to time. But you know what he is with no +one to look after him; he'd kill himself in a year. I want to know +whether you'd mind keeping an eye on the poor old fellow." + +Donovan had at first felt the most intense shrinking from any renewal +of their old friendship; the remembrance of those dark days was a +sort of nightmare to him. He listened to Noir's story silently and +painfully, wondering how he could ever have shared in such doings. +What a wretched misanthrope he had been, half maddened by sorrow and +injustice, hating everything in the world except his dog! + +But he was touched by Noir's thought for his old father, the poor, +weak, old man whom he still, in his rough way, loved and shielded. +They walked a few paces in silence, then Donovan spoke. + +"He had better put up at my place; Causton will never come back to +those rooms, and though I'm out most of the day, I shall be able to +see something of him, and will do my best to keep him straight." + +"You are a trump!" exclaimed Noir, heartily. "But won't he be in +your way? I know you're a cut above us." + +"You forget I am a Republican," said Donovan, quietly. "Let him come +to-morrow, and do you make the best of your way to America." + +Noir was immensely struck by the change in his some-time follower; he +had always respected Donovan since their quarrel and final separation +at Paris, but he felt now at an immense distance from him. After +all, he mused, honesty did indeed seem the best policy. No words +which Donovan could have used would have impressed him half as much +as this visible change and growth, and more than all his readiness to +help the old captain roused a feeling of gratitude which lasted as +one of the few softening influences through the rest of Noir's life. + +And so it was ordered that Donovan should not live alone, should not +be free to indulge his misery in silence, but should again have his +affections drawn out towards a very weak member of the human +brotherhood, should bear again the burden of another's sin, and +struggle perseveringly for his deliverance. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +VIA CRUCIS. + +As for me, I honour, in these loud babbling days, all the Silent +rather. A grand Silence that of Romans;--nay, the grandest of all, +is it not that of the gods! + +* * * * * * * * * * * + + Commend me to the silent English, to the silent Romans. + CARLYLE. + + +Dr. Tremain was very much vexed when he found that Donovan had left +without seeing him, nor could he gather any very distinct account of +what had passed either from Mrs. Causton or Gladys. Mrs. Causton +irritated him considerably by her tearful and highly-coloured +descriptions of the evil which she imagined to have emanated entirely +from her son's companion; Gladys was strangely silent and would +volunteer nothing, but, in answer to a direct question, told her +father that Donovan had refused to see him and would not allow her to +disturb him. All this tended only too effectually to confirm the +doctor's fears. Donovan had fallen back grievously, there could be +little doubt of that; if it had not been so, could he have rushed off +at a moment's notice in this way, studiously avoiding him after a +separation of more than a year? + +Stephen was too ill to be thoroughly questioned on the subject, but +the doctor could not refrain from one or two attempts to gain from +him the favourable testimony to Donovan's character, for which he +hoped against hope. + +Once in the night, when he woke refreshed after a long sleep and lay +in listless quiet, Dr. Tremain hazarded a question. + +"I don't wish you to talk much, Stephen, you are not fit for it; but +just give me a simple yes and no to one or two questions. Has +Donovan Farrant been influencing you in a way which your mother and I +did not expect?" + +"Yes," replied Stephen, glad that the question was put in so +ambiguous a way that he could reply in the affirmative. But the next +question was more direct. + +"I am to understand, then, that my finding you in his company at the +Z---- races is only one instance in many, that he has often been with +you to places which Mrs. Causton--which I myself would have +disapproved?" + +Stephen's colour deepened; this question might still be answered by +that deceptive "yes," but not without very uneasy stirrings of +conscience. And yet how much that was disagreeable might be averted +by that affirmative! He had been led astray, what could be more +probable and pardonable? He should of course repent, turn over a new +leaf, get into the doctor's good graces again, and in no way damage +his prospects as Gladys' lover. But if on the contrary the ugly +truth came out? Then there would be endless reproaches from his +mother, unbearable humiliation; what harm could there be in giving a +slight turn to the meaning of a word? In a minute, by that strange +process of self-deception often noticed in very weak characters, he +had almost persuaded himself that Donovan had led him into evil. + +He turned a flushed face towards the doctor, and unable to speak the +downright lie in one word, softened it down in a sentence. + +"I got into the way of playing, and lost a lot at billiards. Farrant +went with me. I hoped to have made it up here, but----" + +"That will do," said the doctor. "You have spoken more than you +ought." + +There was such pain and disappointment in his tone that Stephen's +conscience tormented him to speak the truth boldly even then, but it +requires a certain amount of moral courage not to stick to a lie when +it has been told, and moral courage was a virtue entirely wanting in +Stephen. He lay silent in palpitating misery, wishing that he had +never seen Donovan, or had never heard of the Z---- races, wishing +that many things had been otherwise, but strangely forgetting to wish +for the much needed increase of his own courage and honour. + +In spite of this mental disturbance, however, he slept again, and the +next day was so much better that Dr. Tremain felt justified in +leaving him for a few hours. He could not rest now till he had seen +Donovan, and entirely satisfied himself that there was no shade of +doubt as to the truth of his fears. + +It was no use to question Stephen or Mrs. Causton any further, but he +made one more attempt on Gladys, who apparently had been the last to +speak to Donovan. + +"Now tell me, dear, plainly what passed between you," said the +doctor, far too deeply engrossed in other matters to notice the +painfully bright colour which rose in Gladys' cheeks. + +"I will tell you, papa, exactly," she said, quieting herself with an +effort. "Aunt Margaret said that she was sure he couldn't afford to +waste two days in term time, and then Donovan, seeing that she wished +him to go, said good-bye at once. I went to the head of the stairs +to speak to him, for it seemed wrong to let him go like that, but he +would not let me call you away from Stephen. And then--then----" her +voice faltered. + +"Well?" said her father, with some lurking hope that a fresh light +might be thrown on the matter. + +"I begged him to stay and explain all to you, for I thought he could. +He didn't answer at first, and looked very, very miserable, but after +a minute he told me that he couldn't explain anything, and that it +was better that he should go at once." + +"Was that all?" said the doctor, grievously disappointed. + +"That was all," said Gladys, firmly. "But, papa," she added, with a +sort of proud enthusiasm in her voice, "if you had seen his face when +he spoke, you could not have believed for a moment that he has done +this." + +For the first time it dawned on Dr. Tremain that his child might +possibly have thought more of Donovan Farrant than was wise. Mrs. +Causton's old advice flashed back into his mind; he had talked of +open-armed charity, and prudence with tied hands, and was this the +ending of it all? He sighed very heavily. + +"Dear little Gladys," he said, drawing her towards him, "we must not +trust too much to faces." + +He could not say more, but he looked very sorrowfully into Gladys' +wistful eyes. + +"You will go to see him, papa," she said, quietly, "and I think you +will believe in him then." + +Her words almost inspired the doctor with a new hope; warm-hearted +and impetuous, he set off at once for London, and early in the +afternoon reached the York Road lodgings. It was Saturday, and +knowing there would be no lectures, he hoped to find Donovan. + +The servant thought he was at home, but was not quite sure. She +asked him to come in. Dr. Tremain following her into the +sitting-room, found himself in the presence of an apple-faced old +man, whose scanty reddish-grey hair was covered by a scarlet +smoking-cap, and who seemed to be dividing his attention between a +long clay pipe and a tumbler of brandy and water. + +"I must have made a mistake, sir," said the doctor, apologising to +the odd figure before him. "These cannot be Mr. Farrant's rooms, I +think?" + +"Donovan Farrant? Oh! yes, these are his rooms. Stunning good +fellow he is too. You know him?" + +The doctor was puzzled and annoyed. + +"Yes, sir, I do know him. Is he in?" + +"Gone not ten minutes ago," said the captain, surveying the doctor +from head to foot with his little, good-humoured, watery eyes. + +Dr. Tremain gave an exclamation of annoyance. + +"Gone! how provoking. I specially wanted to see him. Where is he +gone--do you know?" + +Rouge was all at once seized with the conviction that this stranger +was trying to track Noir and prevent his departure; so mentally +congratulating himself on his acuteness, he resolved on a course of +diplomatic hindrance. + +"Mr. Farrant will no doubt be home in half an hour or so," he said, +in his blandest tone. "Allow me to offer you a chair." + +"You seem to be established here," said the doctor, with a slight +frown. "Do you share Mr. Farrant's rooms?" + +"I have that honour," said the old captain. "We are old +friends--very old friends, I may say--and now in trouble and +destitution, he, like the good fellow he is, holds out----" + +The captain suddenly remembered his line of diplomacy, and covered +his confusion by a cough and a return to the brandy and water. + +The silence was broken by a shrill voice from the window. + +"While-there's-life-there's-hope. While-there's-life-there's-hope. +While-there's-life-there's-hope!" screamed Sweepstakes, in his harsh +nasal voice, with maddening monotony. + +The doctor, chafed and annoyed as he was, could not help laughing, +Sweepstakes mimicking him in a senseless titter, and old Rouge +himself joining heartily. + +"Clever bird, isn't he. Brought him from West Africa years ago. +Would stake my life he's the best talker in England." Then, looking +keenly at the doctor, he said, hesitatingly, "You are not a +detective, are you?" + +The doctor laughed, and told him his name and profession. + +"Oh! that's a comfort," said Rouge, heaving a sigh of relief. "Now +we can talk freely. To tell you the truth, I thought you were +tracking my son, who is just off to America. Boat sails this very +day, in fact Donovan's now gone to see him off. I doubt if he'll be +home till evening." + +"Why, you told me half an hour just now," said the doctor, +impatiently. + +"When I took you for a detective," said Rouge, with a sly smile. + +The doctor was so much vexed that he fairly lost his temper. + +"I don't know who you may be!" he exclaimed, "but I must say I am +surprised to find Donovan Farrant living with people who are in +terror of a detective's visit. Have the goodness to tell me at what +time you _do_ expect him to return." + +Poor Rouge was so much flustered by the doctor's hasty speech that he +was quite incapable of giving a plain and satisfactory answer. + +"I wouldn't for the world bring discredit on the lad," he faltered, +the ever-ready tears slowly trickling down his wrinkled cheeks. "I'm +as fond of the lad as if he were my own son, and it's a son he'll be +to me now that my own has left his native laud." Here he began to +sob like a child, but still struggled to make himself heard. "I'm +not such a fool as I look--time was when I was captain of the +_Metora_--I was driven to it"--he pointed to the brandy bottle--"I +was driven to it--and it's made me what I am!" + +"Will you tell me when Mr. Farrant will be home?" said the +exasperated doctor. + +"Towards evening," faltered the old captain, "but I couldn't say for +certain. Perhaps you'll leave a message?" + +"I will come in again later on," said the doctor, and he hastily took +up his hat and left the room, quite out of patience with the tearful +old captain. + +It was a miserable afternoon, cold and foggy; a fine drizzling rain +fell continuously. The doctor felt very wretched, he had hoped to +gain some fresh light by a conversation with Donovan, but his +interview with Rouge Frewin had only perplexed and disheartened him. +How was it that Donovan had taken up again with his old companions? +How could he endure to have such a maudlin old wretch as a fellow +lodger? Things certainly looked darker and darker! + +Evening came, Dr. Tremain went back to York Road, still Donovan had +not returned, and by this time the old captain had solaced his grief +so frequently and effectively that he was by no means sober. A +wretched hour of waiting followed. The doctor looked at his watch at +least twenty times, the minutes were passing rapidly by, and at the +end of the hour he knew he must leave the house to catch the last +train to Z----. + +Five minutes to eight! the doctor held his watch in his hand now. +Three minutes! No sound but the heavy breathing of the old captain +who had fallen asleep. Two minutes! how fast the hands moved! the +doctor's heart sank down like lead. One minute! with a heavy sigh he +put back his watch, absently brushed his hat with his coat sleeve, +and got up. At that very moment a key was turned in the latch, the +front door was opened and sharply closed, a quick firm step which +must be Donovan's was heard in the passage, the door was opened. +Yes, there he was; the doctor stepped hastily forward. + +"I had just given you up, I've been in town since two o'clock, hoping +to see you!" he exclaimed, anxiously scanning every line of Donovan's +face. + +His last hope died as he did so, for an unmistakeable expression of +surprise, annoyance, and perplexity passed over it; his colour rose; +he glanced from the doctor to the old captain before speaking, then +with no word of regret at having missed so much of his friend's visit +he hastily inquired after Stephen. + +"Stephen is better, going on perfectly well," replied the doctor, +shortly. "I must be off at once, though, or I shall not be able to +get to--to-night. Perhaps you'll walk with me to the station." + +Dr. Tremain was human and he had had a great deal to try him that +day, his tone was almost bitter, Donovan winced under it. One +comfort was that the ordeal must be short; a five minutes' +walk--surely he could hold his tongue for five minutes, keep self +down, strangle the words of self justification which must expose so +much of another's guilt! And yet never before had he felt so little +confidence in himself, the struggle of the previous day seemed to +have exhausted his strength, as he stepped out into the dark rainy +November night he felt an almost unconquerable shrinking from the +inevitable pain which was before him. If he could but win through +with it! If he could but do the difficult Right! and there floated +through his mind the definition of Right which both he and the doctor +held--that which brings the greatest happiness to the greatest number +of people for the greatest length of time. He honestly thought that +his silence would be right, and clung desperately to the one +strengthening thought of the gain to others which this five minutes +might bring. The doctor's voice broke in upon his mental struggle. +He set his face like a flint and listened. + +"I wanted some explanation of all this, Donovan, and I had hoped for +plenty of time with you, we are limited now to a very few minutes. I +must say that all I have seen of your way of life both to-day and +yesterday has surprised and grieved me. I come to your rooms and +find a disreputable old man, in dread of a detective's visit, and not +too sober; he tells me he is an old friend of yours, I thought you +made up your mind to break with such friends as those?" + +"There were special reasons why Captain Frewin should be an exception +to that rule," said Donovan, in a voice so well reined in from +yielding to any sign of feeling that it sounded cold and indifferent. + +"There are always special reasons, I suppose, for backsliding!" said +the doctor, hastily. + +There was a silence, then Dr. Tremain went on more quietly. + +"That is, of course, your own concern; but, as to your relations with +Stephen, I have some right to ask. His father is my oldest friend; +he will hold me responsible for having allowed you to share his +rooms. Stephen has himself told me that he fell into habits of +gambling. I am not surprised; he is grievously weak. But he tells +me that you were with him, and that explains everything far too +easily. You are strong-willed enough to lead him as you please. +Only I could not have believed it of you; I never would have believed +it if I hadn't met you with him at Z----." + +Donovan breathed hard, but did not speak. + +"Have you nothing to say?" said the doctor, in the tone of one +clinging to a forlorn hope. "Can you not tell me that I am at least +in part mistaken? Can you not explain anything to me?" + +He looked steadily at him as he spoke, thinking perhaps of Gladys' +words, "You will believe in him when you see him." But Donovan's +face was dark and cold and hard-looking now. The doctor had never +seen such a look on his face before; he misinterpreted it entirely. +But his very grief made him speak gently and pleadingly. + +"God forgive me, Donovan, if I have been harsh with you; but just let +me know from your own lips that you cannot explain things--cannot +free yourself from blame. Gladys told me what you said to her, but I +couldn't rest till I had heard the truth from you yourself." + +"I have nothing more to say," said Donovan, clenching his hands so +fiercely that even then the feeling of bodily pain came as a relief +to him. "I can explain nothing; it would have been better if you had +not come to see me." + +"Ay, better indeed!" said the doctor, with some bitterness, "for then +I should at least have had some hope that I was mistaken. The only +thing is that Stephen is in part excused if, as he says, you did go +with him, did lead him wrong. One more question let me ask you; I +don't wish to play the inquisitor, but just tell me whether this was +the reason you would not come to us in the summer?" + +For the first time the burning colour rose in Donovan's face. How +could he answer that question? They had just entered the crowded +station: there under the flaring gas-lamps, amid the noisy traffic, +his reply must be made--somehow. What if he told the doctor his real +reason, told him that he loved Gladys? He hated mysteries; it would +be infinitely easier to be perfectly open. Besides, the confession +would explain so much, would at once bring him into his old place +with Dr. Tremain. And yet, taking all things into account, it would +be better for everyone but himself if he just held his tongue. +Better for Stephen, better that he should lose his place in the +Tremain household, and be entirely forgotten, better--infinitely +better--for Gladys. If his name ceased to be mentioned, if they all +believed him to be what he now appeared, in time she too would come +to share that belief. He honestly believed that to forget him would +be her truest happiness, and the remembrance of their last interview, +when she had been unable to hide her pain, strengthened him now. +Anything to save her from a lifelong sorrow! "Think evil of me, dear +love," was now his inward cry, "suffer, if it must be, that short +pain, but only learn to forget!" + +And yet! Even now came a passionate sigh of longing, human weakness +alternating with the lofty self-renunciation. If only there had been +no obstacle! _Why_ was he hemmed in by thick darkness? _why_ were +his doubts insurmountable? And then he shuddered to think that he +was beginning to long for knowledge of the truth, chiefly that he +might be in a position to win Gladys. + +These thoughts had rushed tumultuously through his mind, and meantime +the doctor waited for his answer, and they had walked up the +platform. "Was this the reason you would not come to us?" He could +not tell an untruth; the crimson flush which had risen to his brow, +the long pause, both told unfavourably against him with Dr. Tremain. +So did the iron voice in which at length his unsatisfying answer was +made. + +"I invented an excuse last summer--my real reason for not coming I +entirely decline to tell you." + +"I am disappointed in you, Donovan," said the doctor, and his voice +even more than the words carried a terrible pang with it, and sent a +momentary spasm of pain over Donovan's strong face. + +"Just forget me, that is all I ask of you," he said, unable to free +his tone from all expression as he would have wished. + +The doctor had taken his place; something in that last speech of +Donovan's touched him; he would have spoken in reply, but one of +those trivial interruptions which break in so rudely upon the most +anxious moments of life prevented him. + +The shrill voice of a boy intervened. + +"_Punch, Judy_, or _Fun, Evening Standard_, and _Echo_. Paper, sir?" + +Some passenger wanted an _Evening Standard_; at that minute the train +began to move. By the time the newspaper boy had sprung down from +the step, Dr. Tremain was too far from Donovan to do more than wave a +farewell. Once more Gladys' words flashed back into his mind, "You +will believe in him when you see him," and this time, in spite of all +that had passed, the doctor did waver. For in that tall dark figure +on the platform there seemed to him a certain majesty--a majesty +inseparable from right or absolute conviction of being in the right. +He could not clearly see the face now, but the last look he had seen +on it had been a strange blending of pain and strength, the strength +predominating over the pain. Could he after all have been mistaken? +Like the warm-hearted, impetuous man that he was, the doctor at once +tore a leaf from his pocket-book, and, with tears in his eyes, wrote +Donovan such a letter as the best of fathers might write to his son. + +The ordeal was over, the victory had been complete, self had been +absolutely kept under; but the victor was too entirely crushed to +feel even a shadow of triumph. He stood perfectly still, watching +the train as it steamed out of the station, with an odd +sensation--more numbing than keenly painful--that it was dragging +with it a great part of himself. Presently he must rouse himself to +go on with life, to make the most of what was left. There are great +rents and voids in most lives, at first we feel stunned and helpless, +but after a time we become accustomed to the new order of things, and +live on, "learning perforce," as some one has well expressed it, "to +take up with what is left." + +That the loss had come about by his own will did not at all soften +matters to Donovan, but rather the reverse. He was past reasoning, +almost past thought. When the red lamps on the last carriage had +quite disappeared, he turned slowly away, aware that he had +deliberately, with his own hand, turned the brightest page of his +life's history. A new page must be begun; of that too he was dimly +aware. + +He left the station and walked slowly through the wet, muddy, +cheerless streets. It did not actually rain, and the wind had risen, +there was some comfort in that. With his usual craving for air and +space he bent his steps to the river, walked along the Embankment, +turned on to Blackfriars Bridge, and chose as his halting-place one +of its recesses. + +Not since the first days after Dot's death had such a crushing, +deadening sense of loss oppressed him, and now, as then, he had to +bear his pain alone. But he was stronger than in the old days, +stronger because he was growingly conscious of his own weakness, and +because his heart was infinitely wider in its sympathies. He was not +in the mood to see anything, though the dark, flowing river, and the +reflected lights, and the great looming outline of the dome of St. +Paul's would at any other time have pleased his eye; to-night he just +leant on the parapet, getting a sort of relief from the fresh night +wind, but almost unconscious of time and place. + +He was roused at last by becoming aware that there was another +occupant of the recess. A small elf, whether boy or girl he could +not at first tell, was yawning and stretching itself, having just +awakened from sound sleep. Presently a dismayed exclamation made +Donovan draw a little nearer. + +"By all the blissed saints! if they ain't wet through, all the three +of 'em." + +Then came sounds of violent scraping, Donovan, stooping down a +little, saw that his neighbour, a small ragged boy, was trying +whether a light could possibly be kindled from a box of fusees which +had been soaked through and through. + +"Ye were a fool, Pat, me boy, to go to sleep in the rain!" exclaimed +the elf, with a few superfluous oaths. Finding his efforts to strike +a light ineffectual, he scrambled to his feet, and with great +deliberation and muttered ejaculations about the "blissed saints," +threw the three boxes of fusees one after another into the river. + +"Why do you throw them away?" said Donovan, with some curiosity. + +"They was wet through, yer honour," said the small Irish boy, looking +up at Donovan with a friendly grin. "I chucked 'em into the river +for fear the devil should get into 'em." + +"How?" asked Donovan, with an involuntary smile. + +"Och! yer honour has had no dealings with the devil thin, or he'd +niver ask such a thing. Why, says I to meself, 'Pat, me lad, lave +'em to dry and ye'll sell 'em right enough;' but thin says I to +meself again, 'But, Pat, maybe the devil 'ud be in the coppers ye'd +get for 'em.' Yer honour don't know how terrible aisy it comes to +chate a bit when there ain't nothing else to do." + +"Yes, I do know," said Donovan, gravely. + +"Do ye railly now?" said Pat, with a broad grin. "And did the devil +get inside yer honour? Och, he's a terrible cratur to have dealings +with! Last year, yer honour, I was half starved, and one day I +prigged a loaf hot and frish from a baker's and ate it up like a shot +for fear o' being cotched by the peeler, and if ye'll belave it, yer +honour, the devil was in the loaf; och! I could have danced with the +pain of it, and after that says I to meself, 'Pat, me lad, kape clear +o' the devil, or maybe he'll gripe ye warse next time.'" + +"Do you see that fire at the other end of the bridge, Pat?" said +Donovan, looking down gravely at the little, grubby-faced Irish boy. + +"The petatie stall, yer honour?" said Pat, wistfully. + +"Yes," said Donovan, with a half smile. "Do you think the devil +would be in the potatoes?" + +Pat nodded emphatically. + +"Bedad and I do, yer honour, if I was to stale 'em." + +"But if I were to give them you?" + +"Why, thin, yer honour," cried Pat, grinning from ear to ear, "it wud +be the blissed saints as wud reward ye!" + +"Come along, then," said Donovan, and the strangely contrasted +companions walked off together, the bare-footed, superstitious, but +honest little gamin and the grave, perplexed, but honest agnostic. + +"If yer honour wud but eat one!" exclaimed Pat, looking up with +shining eyes from the double enjoyment of the hot potatoes and the +charcoal fire. + +So Donovan ate a potato--and began his new life. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +TEMPTATION. + + Thy face across his fancy comes + And gives the battle to his hands. + TENNYSON. + + +The encounter with Pat served to turn Donovan's thoughts for a short +time from his trouble, it made him realise that there were other +beings in the world besides Tremains, men, women, and children more +or less poor, more or less suffering, more or less in need of help. + +By-and-by, however, being but human, his own sorrow overpowered him +again, shutting out for the time all thought of others. He was no +novice in sorrow; one by one everything that was of most worth to him +had been either taken away or voluntarily renounced, but this last +call, this greatest sacrifice, seemed to have exhausted his strength +utterly. He went about his work more like a machine than like a man, +he lost all interest in what, but a short time before, had completely +absorbed him. Had he been ordered never to go to the hospital again, +he would have acquiesced without a word; had he been warned of the +most imminent danger, his heart would not have beat more quickly. To +rouse his energy, to awaken his love, hate, interest of any sort +seemed impossible. + +Dr. Tremain's letter did indeed sharpen his pain; and in a few days' +time Mrs. Tremain wrote too--a long letter, cruelly kind, cruelly +trustful, urging in almost irresistible words that Donovan would +write to her and tell her all he could, that he would be open with +her, would remember what old friends they were, and would not allow +any formality, or even any mistake, to raise a barrier between them. + +"Be sure to write to me when you can," the letter ended, "for till I +hear I shall not be happy about you, and you know your place in my +heart is very near Dick's. You see I put my request on selfish +grounds entirely! My husband seems to have seen so little of you the +other day, and I can't help fancying that you misunderstood each +other. + +"Even if it was not so, please let me hear from you; remember that +you adopted Porthkerran as your home, and that even if things have +gone wrong we should like to have a little home confidence." + +Perhaps Donovan had never before realised how much Mrs. Tremain was +to him; in actually leaving Trenant the year before, he had been too +much absorbed with the pain of leaving Gladys to have a thought for +anyone else, but now, as he read the motherly letter and recalled all +Mrs. Tremain's goodness to him, he did realise the truth very +bitterly. How wonderful her sympathy had been at the time of his +illness, how comforting it had been to tell her about Dot! "Remember +that this is your home," how cruelly tempting were the words! If he +could but have written in answer to that letter, if he could but have +given that "home confidence" for which she asked! + +Well! it was no use going over the old arguments again. He had to be +silent,--merely to hold his tongue, merely to let all letters remain +unanswered, an easy enough _rôle_ surely--merely silence. Nothing to +be learnt before that part can be played, no need for beauty of voice +or grace of speech, for the silent player nothing is required but +self-restraint. + +The end of it was that Mrs. Tremain's letter was quietly dropped into +the hottest part of the fire; when the sudden blaze died out, Donovan +turned away, and with something added to the dead weight of +depression which he had borne before, set out for his day's work. + +For some weeks things went on in this way, the only change was that +those black depths of dejection lost their horrible novelty; it +seemed as if for long ages he had fagged through weary uninteresting +days, had borne this load at his heart. In time, however, he came to +realise the truth that dejection is selfishness, and no more +excusable on the ground of naturalness than selfishness is. It was +natural certainly to be dejected after a great loss, it was also +natural to put self first, but it was not for that reason right. He +had been simply wrapped up in himself for weeks, in himself and in +those bitter-sweet recollections of the past. When he was fully +awake to the fact his strength came back again, dejection was not an +easy foe to combat, but he went at it tooth and nail, and the strange +incentive to the work was none other than the old captain. + +Poor Rouge was a curious person perhaps to save a fellow-being from +spiritual death, but nevertheless his presence did save Donovan. It +was the sight of that feeble old man dragging through his useless, +aimless days, with his pipe and his brandy and water, his weak fits +of laughter and his maudlin tears, which first roused him. + +How he had neglected the poor old fellow! what a gloomy taciturn +companion he had been! what single thing had he done for Rouge beyond +offering him the use of his sitting-room? He must alter his conduct, +or the old man might as well not have come to him at all, and would +really have some excuse for slowly drinking himself to death. It was +on a Saturday that Donovan first became alive to these facts. It was +raining heavily, a walk was out of the question, the old captain was +asleep on the sofa, Waif slept on the hearthrug, the fire smouldered +in the grate, the only waking creature in the room besides himself +was Sweepstakes. By way of a first step out of his self-absorption, +Donovan walked across to the window, and tried to get up a quarrel +with the parrot; it was desperately hard work. + +There is an old legend which tells how two monks, finding the tedious +routine of their life intolerably dull, resolved that they would try +to quarrel by way of enlivenment. They agreed that one should make +an assertion and the other should contradict it, this would make an +opening for impassioned argument. + +"Black is white," asserted the younger monk. + +"It is not," replied the elder. + +"Black is white," repeated the first speaker. + +"Oh, very well, brother," rejoined the other, meekly, "if you say so." + +The habit of meek deference had grown so strong, that they found it +impossible to quarrel. + +Neither Donovan nor Sweepstakes was meek, but nevertheless their +quarrel was but a tame one. It required such an exertion to get up +the requisite energy. However, after a time the bird did call forth +the good-natured teazing which he liked best, and was stimulated into +flapping his wings, screaming, chattering, swearing; finally he made +it up again, and accepted a Brazil nut as a peace-offering. + +When he subsided into quiet, Donovan turned his attention to the +outside world, which for days he had seen without seeing. York Road +looked very dreary it must be owned. Exactly opposite his window was +the establishment of Swimming and Vapour Baths, then came grim, +uninteresting houses; far down to the left was the entrance to a +timber-yard, where he could see the tops of wooden planks swaying to +and fro in the wind. And all the time the rain came down steadily, +ceaselessly, with a dull, monotonous drip on the flags, the wheels on +the road passed by with a dull, hollow roll, the foot-passengers on +the pavement with dull, thudding footsteps, the wind in its gloomy +strait of houses with dull, faint meanings. A grey world, but one +which must be gone through with, and made the best of. + +He felt that his absorption in his trouble had weakened him not a +little. All this time his brain had seemed half dead, he had read to +no purpose, had lived to no purpose. Worst of all the sense of his +complete and final separation from Gladys had come to him for the +first time in full force, proving only too clearly that, though he +had willed more than a year before not to see her again, he had all +the time nursed a faint hope of a possible re-union. He had really +renounced her before, but the most honestly-intentioned being in the +world cannot altogether shut out every ray of hope; he had hoped +without knowing that he hoped, he only knew that it had been so by +feeling aware that he had sunk now into a blacker depth. Clearly the +only thing for the present was to will not to think of her, the +hardest thing in the world. But the idea of putting every thought of +her away from him was more tolerable than the idea of letting her +memory chain him down in a selfishness which she would abhor. + +Now for more days than he cared to remember Donovan had allowed +himself the pleasing pain of continually looking at the photograph +which the doctor had taken in the orchard, on that summer afternoon +which had ended so painfully. To study that family group, to note +Gladys' sweet face turned up to his, to see little Nesta on his own +shoulder, to recall that beautiful summer dream, was gratifying but +very weakening torture. Looking out on the grey world this +afternoon, the world which contrasted so strangely with the bright +picture of the past, he made up his mind that he must waste no +more--well, yes--sentiment, he was honest enough to use the true +word, over the photograph. Without any more delay he fetched it from +his room and burnt it. Also a certain sixpence which he had worn +with Dot's miniature since Gladys had put it into his hand one summer +day at the door of Trevethan's forge, was deliberately removed, and +found its way into his pocket with the ordinary unhallowed coins. +Then, having done his best to clear out his heart, he set to work to +fill up the vacuum with that strange substitute--the old captain. + +Rouge at once perceived that, as he expressed it, the wind had +changed, when he awoke that Saturday afternoon; his companion for the +first time seemed approachable, he no longer felt uncomfortable in +his presence, he felt as if he could venture to talk freely. After +dinner they had a pipe together, and then Rouge launched out into one +of his long "yarns," about which there was generally a sort of dry +humour. To-night the old man, who was shrewd and curious, made his +story turn on his first love, and Donovan listened with an +imperturbable countenance, till the idea of old Rouge Frewin in love +with a beautiful Venetian lady of high rank tickled his fancy and +made him laugh. The name of the fair one, too, Ceccarella +Bonaventura, when reduced by Rouge's pronunciation to "Kickerella +Bunnyventury," was sufficiently ludicrous, and when it came to the +description of the gorgeous palace on the grand canal, with eight +masts at the door, when Rouge graphically sketched the beauties of +Venice from the Bridge of Sighs to "the beautiful cafés in the +Piazza," when he related how he had "got into hot water" over his +serenade, that is had had a pailful poured on his head from a window +by way of recompense, it was impossible to resist the keen sense of +the ridiculous which was almost his only Irish characteristic. + +"And did you really love this signorina?" asked Donovan. + +"Love her!" exclaimed Rouge. "I adored her, kissed the ground she +trod on--there's not much ground though in Venice--ruined myself in +gondolas that I might pass fifty times a day under her windows, wrote +verses about her, raved about her, dreamed of her--and then--" + +He paused, a merry twinkle lurking in his little grey eyes. + +"Well?" asked Donovan. + +"The good ship sailed down the Adriatic, and knowing of course that +it must be so, I became resigned, and--forgot her again." + +The utterly prosaic tone in which he said the last words had a very +comical effect. Donovan smiled. + +"We all do," said Rouge, in the tone of one adding the moral to the +story. "It's the way with first loves, you know." + +"Indeed!" ejaculated Donovan, mentally. But guessing that the +observant old captain had discovered the real cause of his +depression, and had produced his moral tale on purpose, he gave an +apparently careless turn to the conversation, for he would not for +the world have had him come a degree nearer his secret trouble, that +aching loss, of which it would have seemed sacrilege to speak to one +like Rouge. + +Not many days after this, however, the dull, tedious monotony of life +was suddenly broken. Donovan had felt as if he could never again +really care for anything in the world, but now a sudden and violent +re-action set in. + +"Do you ever go to Israel's now?" questioned Rouge one evening. + +"Not since I went last with you," returned Donovan. + +But therewith arose a fearful craving for his old pastime. He had, +during these years of self-denial, been occasionally seized with a +great desire for play, and when Stephen had shared his rooms he had +often had to bear the great irritation of seeing cards in the hands +of other people. But never before had the desire been so +irresistible, the temptation so terribly strong. He had resolved not +to play; had willed that he would utterly renounce gaming, but he +found himself now rebelling against the restraint, albeit it was a +self-restraint. He had a horror of pledges as pledges. The +consciousness of this self-made curb began to gall him unbearably. +He questioned its wisdom. It might have been necessary once, but now +might he not safely indulge in his favourite amusement--of course in +moderation? Having schooled himself all this time, might he not +relax a little, and satisfy this miserable craving? It was hard that +by his own doing he should cut himself off from the one amusement +that seemed left to him in the dull, grey world. + +His strong nature would not quickly yield, however, to such +arguments. The struggle went on with fearful intensity for days. +Perhaps he would have stifled it sooner had he not been worn out with +the trouble of the last few weeks; however it might be, the +temptation proved the most severe of his whole life. It was as if +the lower self were making one final and desperate effort to gain the +mastery. + +One day, in the thick of this inward struggle, he happened to be at +work in the dissecting-room, and though, as a rule, he took very +little note of the talk that went on there, it chanced that day that, +being anxious to escape from his own thoughts, he made himself +listen. There were plenty of Freethinkers among the students, and +many were at the dogmatic stage of atheism which Donovan had just +passed out of. Discussion on the points of discord between religion +and science was very frequent, but Donovan rarely joined in it, +partly because he was taciturn, partly because he was too much in the +borderland of doubt to care to make any assertion, partly because of +that strange and utterly unaccountable sense of reverence which was +pained by hearing the Unknown--the possibly non-Existent--spoken of +slightingly. The discussion to-day on the existence of the soul was +neither edifying nor interesting. Donovan, who was in the worst of +tempers, was chafed and irritated by the worthlessness of the +arguments on each side. "Pack of idiots!" he exclaimed to himself, +"if they must babble about what they don't understand, why can't they +put a little life into their talk?" He wandered back to his own all +too haunting thoughts, but was recalled by the peculiarly confident +tone of his neighbour, a young fellow of about two and twenty, who +was eagerly attempting to prove the truth of the theory admirably +summed up once by old Mrs. Doery, that "Death ends us all up." + +"Well," remarked the student, as if he had got hold of a clinching +argument, "I've been at work here for some time, but I never yet +found a soul in the dissecting-room." + +There was a general laugh, but it was checked by a quick retort, +uttered in a voice which was made powerful by a ring of indignation +and a slight touch of scorn. + +"No one but a fool would look for one there." + +"Bravo!" cried Donovan, delighted with the ready reply, though by no +means convinced of the existence of the soul. + +He glanced with some interest and a good deal of curiosity at the +speaker. He was a certain Brian Osmond, a clever, hard-working, +silent fellow, with the reputation of being stiff and very "churchy," +the latter accusation having probably for its sole foundation the +fact that his father was a clergyman. Looking at him to-day, Donovan +for the first time felt drawn towards him; he admired him and +respected him, as much perhaps for his subsequent silence as for his +sharp retort. Few know when they have said enough. Apparently Brian +Osmond did know, for he spoke no more, but went on with his work with +a slightly heightened colour, as if the speaking had been something +of an effort. + +That night it so happened that Donovan and three other students were +told off for duty in the accident ward. There was a patient who +needed constant attendance; these four were to take it in turns to be +with him, two at a time. Not a little to his satisfaction, Donovan +found that Brian Osmond was to be his companion--he really wanted to +know him; they were now of course on speaking terms, but, being both +reserved men, they would never have got nearer had not an opportunity +such as this been thrown in their way. + +Now all the evening Donovan's fierce craving for play had been +growing more and more irresistible; when the other two students +relieved guard, and he and Brian Osmond went to rest in an adjoining +room, the first thing he saw on the table was a pack of cards. He +did not say anything, but Brian at once caught sight of them. + +"Hullo! these fellows have been playing," he remarked. "They've done +their game--let's have a turn at écarté to keep us awake." + +Donovan did not speak an assent, but he took up the pack; if his +hands had been steel, and the cards so many magnets, the power which +drew him towards them could not have been more irresistible; the +struggle within him was ceasing, a delicious calm set in. The mere +sight of the cards was to him what the sight of bread is to a hungry +man--to feel them once more in his hands was bliss. Was the world, +after all, so grey? With scarcely a word he shuffled and dealt. His +hand was one to make the heart of a card-player leap within him, the +old passion had him well in its grip, the old fierce, delicious +excitement sent the blood coursing at double time through his veins; +after years of plodding work, after weeks of blank depression, this +was rapture. + +"Stop a minute," said Brian; "we didn't settle points. I draw the +line at sixpence--is that too mild for you?" + +Donovan produced a handful of coins from his pocket; among them was +the sixpence with the hole in it--Gladys' sixpence--he saw it at +once, and that instant her face rose before him in its purity and +guilelessness. Then the delicious calm gave place to deadly +struggle, his better self pleading eagerly--"This play calls out all +the bad in you, makes you the direct opposite of all that is pure and +noble, all that is like Gladys." + +But the lower self was ready with bitter taunts--"What, a strong man +letting himself be bound by a mere ideal of a girl--a girl whom he +has renounced--who is nothing to him! Have your game, and don't be a +fool." + +"You willed not to play, and it was the right you willed," urged one +voice. + +"Nothing is so weak as to stick to a mistake," urged the other; +"there's no such thing as actual right or wrong--you can't prove it." + +"There is right and wrong, there is purity of heart," urged the +higher counsellor--"think of Gladys." + +He did think, and it saved him. + +Brian thought him slightly crazed, for he threw down the cards, got +up from the table, and began to pace the room like a caged lion. +Before very long, however, he quieted down, threw himself back in a +chair, and in a matter-of-fact tone which belied his look of +exhaustion, said, + +"I beg your pardon, Osmond, but I can't play; the fact is, it makes a +sort of demon of me." + +Brian was surprised, for Donovan looked much too stern and +self-controlled for his idea of a gambler, but the struggle he had +just witnessed proved the truth of the words. + +"I suppose there is a tremendous fascination in cards, if you're +anything of a player," he said. "I'm sorry I suggested a game." + +"You couldn't know whom you had to deal with," returned Donovan, +gathering up the cards--he was strong enough to touch them now. "Who +would have thought that in this trumpery pack there was such +tremendous power? It's horribly humiliating when one comes to think +of it." + +Feeling that he owed Brian a sort of apology for spoiling his game, +he overcame his reserve, and continued, + +"You wouldn't wonder that I daren't play, if you knew how low these +magical things have dragged me. The last time I played, which is +getting on for three years ago, I won a small fortune, which my +adversary had in his turn won at Monte Carlo. On losing it he +absconded, hinting to his wife that he should commit suicide. The +horror of that was enough to make one renounce gambling, you would +think. Lately, though, the craving after it has come back; but I see +it won't do for me even in moderation. I suppose, having once +thoroughly abused a thing, you're never fit to use it again." + +"That holds, I think, in some other cases," said Brian. + +"You're thinking of the drunkard and total abstinence," said Donovan, +laughing. "Never mind, I don't object to being taken as a parallel +case, for it's perfectly true--the two vices are very nearly akin. I +daresay it's as hard to you to understand or sympathise with my +temptation as it is to me to sympathise with the poor old fellow who +shares my rooms, who is slowly drinking himself to death. No one can +understand or make allowance for utterly unknown temptations." + +"I don't know that," said Brian, slowly. "One man at least I know +who can sympathise with anyone; but then he is that rare being--a +Christ-like man." + +"Rare indeed," said Donovan, drily; "not too much of that sort of +thing in this nineteenth century. I see you think I speak bitterly; +perhaps you are right. I speak as an unbeliever, and I can count on +my fingers the Christians who have had so much as a kind word to give +me." + +Brian began to feel very much drawn to his companion; in their next +interval of rest he took up the thread of the conversation again. + +"That is almost too horrible to be believed," he said. "I know +people are intolerant, but that so few should have--" he paused for a +word, and Donovan broke in. + +"Mind I don't say I laid myself out for their kindness. I didn't +cringe and fawn or disguise the views I then held; but to be +conscious that people would receive you if you were judiciously +hypocritical, does not raise your opinion either of them or of their +religion." + +"No, indeed!" said Brian. + +"Besides," resumed Donovan, "if they are in earnest, as people who +have made such a profession ought to be, surely they must see that +isolating atheists as if they were lepers is the worst thing both for +themselves and the atheists. I don't think it's in a man to feel +kindly to those who treat him unjustly, and the good folks of our +neighbourhood drove me as fast as they could into misanthropy. One +man put a spoke in the wheel, but he was an atheist--the prophet of +atheism." + +"What, Raeburn?" + +Donovan nodded an assent. + +"I don't know that I agree with his views now any more than I agree +with Christianity, but I do believe that man gets hold of selfish +fellows and makes them downright ashamed of their selfishness." + +"You have heard him lecture?" + +"Only once, but I shall never forget it. The magnetism of the man is +extraordinary; he means what he says, and has had to suffer for +it--that, I expect, gives him his tremendous force. If you +Christians only knew the harm you do your cause by injustice, you'd +be more careful. St. Paul is not the only one who, for the sake of +what he believed the truth, has borne imprisonment, stonings, +watchings, fastings, perils of robbers, and perils of his own +countrymen. I don't wonder at St. Paul making converts, and I don't +wonder at Raeburn making converts, and as long as you persecute him, +as long as you are uncharitable to him, you may be sure atheism will +spread." + +"If you admired him so much, why did you not go to hear him again?" + +"Because, when I could have heard him again, I had sunk too low. I +had suffered a great injustice, and it had made me hate the whole +race--for a time. Once I half thought of going to see him, for I was +in great need of work; but, do you know, I was ashamed to. +Christians may scoff at the idea of being ashamed to go to see +Raeburn, but anyone who is living in the vindictive misanthropy which +I was living in may well be ashamed to go to one who leads a +self-denying, hard-working life for others, whatever his creed." + +"But you do not go to hear him now, though you still admire him?" + +"No, for I've found the great blank in atheism; it can never satisfy +a man's needs." + +"Have you ever given the other side a hearing?" asked Brian. + +"A reading, not a hearing; it is difficult to do that without either +being a hypocrite or disturbing a congregation." + +Brian seemed about to speak, but he checked himself, and very soon +they were called to go into the ward. They did not have much more +conversation that night, but their friendship was begun; when Donovan +gave confidence and liking at all, he gave them without stint, and +Brian, in spite of his reputation for stiffness and punctilious +observance, became more and more fond of him. In some points they +were a little like each other, in some they were curiously different, +but both had found--Brian as a high churchman, Donovan as an +agnostic--that the secret of life is loving self-sacrifice. + +They were exactly fitted to rub off each other's angles. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +CHARLES OSMOND. + + Thou art no Sabbath drawler of old saws, + Distill'd from some worm-canker'd homily; + But spurr'd at heart to fieriest energy + To embattail and to wall about thy cause + With iron-worded proof, hating to hark + The humming of the drowsy pulpit-drone + Half God's good Sabbath, while the worn-out clerk + Brow-beats his desk below. Thou from a throne + Mounted in heaven wilt shoot into the dark + Arrows of lightnings. I will stand and mark. + TENNYSON. + + +The deadly temptation of that night did not return, but, though +Donovan was no longer torn by the fierce, inward struggle, what had +happened made him think more seriously. He was disappointed and +perplexed to find that, after these years of struggle and repression, +the old passionate desire was still as strong as ever within him. +With all his endeavours--and he knew that he had honestly tried with +all his might--he had only been able to check the outward actions; he +had cut off bravely enough the visible growth, he had, as it were, +razed to the ground this evil passion, but its roots were still +untouched. He smiled a little as he thought of it. + +"Radical that I am, can I fail to root out the evil in myself? +Professing to go straight to the root of all grievances, must I yet +be unable to get rid of this?" + +He was obliged to own that his power was absolutely limited to the +suppression of evil in action; he had come to the very end of his +strength, he might by great effort be pure in deed, but pure in heart +he could never make himself. Yet actual purity was no dream. Gladys +was pure, purity was written on every line of her face; he could not +imagine her harbouring an impure thought or desire for an instant. +Yet he knew that she was not in herself perfect; he was not at all +the sort of man to fall blindly in love; he had noticed many trifling +faults in Gladys, had heard her speak hastily, had discovered that +she was a little too desirous of standing first with those she loved, +was apt to exaggerate and to tell small incidents with pretty little +imaginative touches of her own. She was not faultless, but, in spite +of occasional and momentary falls, she was pervaded by a purity of +thought and deed, of word and desire, which to Donovan was utterly +incomprehensible. He was conscious, as he had latterly been with +Dot, that she was breathing an altogether different atmosphere. He +was like the shaded valley, little air and little light reaching him, +she was like a beautiful snowy mountain peak in sunshine; a passing +fault like a cloud might for a time dim the brightness, but only for +a time--the sunshine would illumine all again. And then his own +metaphor flashed a conviction on him--it must be a reflected +brightness, a reflected loveliness that he saw in Gladys! + +Unsatisfied as he had long been with agnosticism, he was now fully +aware that he had reached the limit of what it could give him; he had +tried with all his might to live a self-denying, pure life, and in +some degree he had succeeded, but if he lived a hundred years he saw +no chance of getting further; there would of course be constant +opportunities for fresh self-denial, but he could not of himself ever +attain to purity of heart. What then? There was a great want +somewhere; he was incomplete, he reproached himself with being so, +but yet had he not striven to the utmost? Might there not be a +living Purity, a living Strength other than himself, to fill this +void, to round off this incompleteness? It was only a speculation, +but speculations are helpful if they go hand-in-hand with honest +work; if they lead to nothing, they at least teach us our own +ignorance, and they may lead towards the unveiling of the hidden +truth. + +One Sunday, in January, it happened that Donovan was out alone, for +though Rouge generally went with him on his long Sunday rambles, the +afternoon had seemed so raw and cold and unpromising that he had +preferred to stay indoors. It certainly was not a comfortable sort +of day, but the weekly chance of a twenty mile stretch was not to be +lightly lost, and, rain or shine, Donovan generally spent the greater +part of the Sunday in exercise. Even had he not been exceedingly +fond of walking, there was Waif to be considered; as it was, both dog +and master looked forward to the day of rest, and used it to the best +of their present abilities. + +It was quite dark by the time they had reached the suburbs; walking +on at a brisk pace they made their way further into London. The +bells had ceased ringing, and, becoming aware that he was exceedingly +hungry, Donovan glanced at his watch, finding to his surprise that it +was already a quarter to eight. They were passing through a very +poor neighbourhood, and he had just turned from a crowded +thoroughfare into a quiet side street, when a man, flushed, +bare-headed, and breathless, dashed out of a building to the left, +and in his haste almost knocked Donovan over. + +"Beg pardon, sir," he panted; "a lady in a fit in the church, and +heaven knows where I'm to find a doctor!" + +"Better have me, I'm half a doctor," said Donovan. "Be quick, +anything's better than losing time." + +"A providence!" gasped the verger. "This way, sir, this way." + +Now the church had been built on what an architect would have +considered a very "_in_eligible site," for it was wedged in between +the houses in a way which cruelly spoilt its beauty. The site, +however, was in other respects exceedingly "eligible," that is to +say, it was within a stone's throw of hundreds of the poor and +ignorant. It was not, however, a convenient church for people +afflicted with fits, for there was no separate entrance to the +vestry, and the vestry was at the east end. The verger, followed by +Donovan and Waif, walked straight up the church, to the distraction +of the congregation; some people were amused, some were scandalised +at the entrance of the fox-terrier. One of the churchwardens tried +to drive him back; but Waif's master had called him to heel, and to +heel he would keep, though all the churchwardens in the world were to +set upon him. + +Donovan found his patient stretched on the floor in an epileptic fit, +an old woman kneeling beside her, vainly trying to restrain her wild +movements. The little room was used as a choir vestry, two unused +surplices were hanging on the wall, he snatched one of them down, +crushed the white folds remorselessly together, and put them between +his patient's teeth. Presently she grew quieter. Donovan, seeing a +half open door, glanced in, and found a second room, with a sofa and +a larger window; with the verger's help he carried the girl in, and +soon she became herself again. He decreed, however, that she should +rest where she was till the service was over, when the verger could +get her a cab. + +Leaving her under her mother's care, he went back into the little +outer vestry; but realising that Waif might be considered _de trop_ +in a church he would not again go down the aisle; besides, it might +be better that he should see his patient fairly out of her trouble. +The waiting, however, was dull; to pass the time he noiselessly +opened the vestry door and, through the narrowest of openings, took a +glance at the congregation. They appeared to be listening very +intently. He could not see the preacher, but he could hear him quite +plainly, and instinctively he too began to listen. How many years +was it since he had heard a sermon? Very nearly seven, and the last +had been that never-to-be-forgotten sermon in the school chapel. +Even now the recollection of it brought an angry glow to his face. + +But the remembrance died away as soon as he began to listen to the +clear tones of the present speaker, whose rather uncommon delivery +attracted him not a little; it was manly, straightforward, quite free +from the touch of patronage or the conventional sanctimonious drawl +which goes far towards making many sermons unpalatable. + +"I speak now more particularly to those who have some faith in God, +but whose faith is weak, variable, largely mingled with distrust. I +ask you to look at your everyday life and tell me this: Which suffers +most, the father who disciplines, or the child who is disciplined? +You who have had anything to do with little children will surely +answer, 'It is the one who disciplines who suffers most--the father +bears his own pain and his child's as well.' + +"Look once more at your daily life and answer me one more question. +Two friends are estranged, which suffers most, the one who doubts or +the one who is unjustly doubted? You who can speak from experience +will, I think, answer without hesitation, 'the one who is doubted.' + +"Believe me, you who are in the twilight of a half faith, you who are +in the darkness of scepticism, you who are hungering after you +scarcely know what, hungering perhaps for an unknown goodness, a far +distant holiness, your pain, cruel and gnawing and remorseless as it +is, is a mere nothing compared with the pain which He whom you doubt +suffers. + +"Yes, look again at your own experience, realise as keenly as you can +what is the pain of being unjustly doubted. Take it all ways, the +sting of the injustice, the grievous disappointment in your friend, +the dull ache of forsakenness, that is your own share, but you bear +your friend's as well. There is his disappointment, his loneliness, +his sense of betrayal, his indignation to be taken into account, the +thought of it weighs on you more than your own personal pain. Oh! +without question the pain of the one doubted is keener than the pain +of the one who doubts, it is double pain. And in proportion to the +strength of the love will be the sharpness of the suffering. + +"To infinite, unthinkable love, therefore, we who doubt must bring +infinite, unthinkable pain. + +"It can hardly be, however, that in this congregation there have not +been many dissentient thoughts during to-night's sermon. Even as I +read my text I wondered how many will object to those words, 'the +Father of lights with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of +turning.' + +"Father! How many shrink from using the word! Sometimes they are +people who tell you they believe in 'a God;' I notice that they +always use the word 'a,' they do not say 'we believe in _the_ God.' +Sometimes they are people who accept the latter part of the text +only, they believe in a 'force' in which there is 'no variableness.' +Sometimes they believe in an 'impersonal God,' which--allowing that +by person you mean the 'ego,' the spirit--is about equal to speaking +of an 'unspiritual God.' I do not wish to say one harsh word about +those of you who hold such views, but before you urge again the old +objections, 'degrading ideas,' 'anthropomorphism,' and such like, I +should like you to ask yourselves, with perfect honesty, this +question: 'Did not my first objection to the word father rise from +dislike to the necessary sequence that I was His child, rather than +from real belief that the term was degrading to the Deity?' + +"Spiritual life has its analogies with natural life; there does come +a time when, with the consciousness of a certain strength, we long to +be free agents, to shake off all authority, to go out in the world +and feud for ourselves. And the real recognition of a father implies +obedience, and obedience is hard to all men. + +"But, on the other hand, I must defend my use of the word father from +misconceptions. Not in the Mahomedan sense of a gigantic man do we +call God our Father. The term given to us by Christ brings to our +mind a conception of love and protection, it ought to rouse in us the +child sense of reverence, obedience--in a word, 'sonship.' 'Words!' +you exclaim, 'mere terms!' But remember that we must use finite +terms in this life, even in speaking of infinity. You feel the terms +to be a limitation? Perhaps that is well; to be conscious of +limitation points to a larger, fuller, grander possibility dawning +for us in the hereafter. Why should we for that reason be too proud +to use the grand, simple Anglo-Saxon word 'father'? You will not +better it with all your laborious efforts, your many worded and +complicated substitutes. + +"Using, then, this much abused term, let us turn back to our +recollections of childhood. Some of us at least--I hope very +many--have had fathers worthy of the name. We did not understand our +father, but we revered and loved him, he was at once friend and +counsellor, our standard in everything. What would have been his +feeling if in later life we had doubted him, doubted his very love +for us, cast off our family name, lived in independence and +lovelessness? The really loving father would be grieved, cut to the +heart, never vindictively wrathful. + +"This father I would take as the shadow of the Divine reality. I +cannot doubt that God has often been represented to you as a jealous +potentate, an autocrat with human passions; but I would beg you +to-night to put those thoughts from you, to turn instead to the +revelation of Jesus Christ, the revelation, that is, of the 'Father +of lights,' the Father in whom is no variableness or shadow of +turning, who in spite of our sin, our doubt, our unworthiness, will +be our Father for ever and ever. + +"My friends, my brothers, will you not think of the infinite pain +which is caused by the doubt of one heart? Will you not struggle to +free yourselves from it? + +"'But,' I think I hear some one say, 'this man can know nothing about +doubt or unbelief; if he did he would know the impossibility of +willing to believe, willing to free yourself from doubt.' + +"Yes, that is true. To will belief is quite impossible. By +struggling to free yourselves from doubt, I mean making a constant +effort to live the Christ-life--the life of self-renunciation that +God has consecrated and ordained as the high road to Himself. There +may be some here who know nothing of God, some who know Him in part, +but to all alike there is but that one road which can lead to +knowledge of things divine--the road of the cross. + +"'The law of the spirit of life in Christ Jesus,' says St. Paul, 'has +made me free from the law of sin and death.' + +"The law that is of loving self-sacrifice, Christ's new law, is the +law which sets us free from selfishness and ignorance of God. + +"And that hard road of self-denial, so uncongenial to us all in +itself, has proved to everyone who has taken his way honestly along +it, in very truth the way of light. For the Father of lights will +Himself meet us as we walk that road, when we are 'yet a great way +off' He will appear to us from afar, saying--'Yea, I have loved thee +with an everlasting love; therefore with loving-kindness have I drawn +thee.' + +"Now unto Him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all we +can ask or think, &c." + +The congregation rose, Donovan pushed the door to. + +"H'm, so that's what you think about it," he muttered to himself, +giving his mind a sort of matter-of-fact twist because he was +conscious of a certain choking sensation in his throat. "Yet could +anyone imagine such a Being? It would take a strangely pure mind to +form such a conception. If there were a God, He must be like that; +the utter lovelessness of Doery's 'offended autocrat' had been its +own disproof. Could there be truth in that saying in the sermon on +the mount, 'The pure in heart shall see God.'" + +From a confused train of thought like this he was roused by the sound +of one of Dot's favourite hymns, Newman's "Lead, kindly light, amid +the encircling gloom." Why it had been such a favourite of hers he +had never found out, it was hardly a child's hymn, and Dot had been +the simplest of little children. Perhaps the pure Saxon English had +attracted her, as it usually does attract simple childlike souls. +How many times could Donovan remember playing the tune for her! He +seemed now almost to hear the soft child-voice singing with the +congregation. With almost painful intentness he listened, the words +of the last verse floating in to him with perfect distinctness. + + "So long Thy power hath blessed me, sure it still + Will lead me on + O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till + The night is gone. + And with the morn those angel faces smile, + Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile." + + +He turned away with hot tears in his eyes. He had lost all his +"angel faces," and did not yet believe that "the morn" was coming, he +could not believe in the hereafter, and he had given up all that was +beautiful in the present. Life will feel black to such. + +He began to poke the fire, he picked up the crumpled surplice from +the floor, folded it methodically, and laid it on the table, then, +finding such work too mechanical to answer his purpose, he retreated +into the inner vestry, and began to talk to his patient's mother. + +Before very long there was a hum of voices in the next room, then the +door opened and the verger appeared, followed to Donovan's utter +amazement by Brian Osmond. + +"Hullo, who would have thought of seeing you here?" he exclaimed. +"Why didn't you hurry to the rescue?" + +"I was the other side of the choir, and didn't see what was up," said +Brian; "the first thing I did see was the entrance of you and Waif. +How's your patient?" + +"All right again," said Donovan, "we must get her a cab." + +"Brown will do that. You come with me now, I want you to see my +father." + +"Your father?" + +"This is his church, did you not know?" + +Was it then Brian's father who had been preaching? Donovan did not +ask, but followed him into the other vestry, where several rather +shabby-looking little boys were just disappearing through the +doorway, having left what Mrs. Doery would have called their "whites" +behind them. There was only one clergyman, he was standing by the +fire talking to the organist, and Donovan had a minute or two in +which to take a survey of him. + +Charles Osmond was a man of eight and forty; he was tall, nearly six +feet, squarely made rather, muscularly very strong, but +constitutionally delicate. His character was much like his body; he +united in a very rare way the man's strength and the woman's +tenderness. Looking at him superficially, he seemed older than his +years, for he was nearly bald, and the fringe of hair that remained +round what he called his "tonsure" was quite grey; but his eyes were +young, his voice was young; there was a sprightliness, almost a +boyishness in his manner at times. + +"Clever and honest, and not too clerical," was Donovan's comment, the +last adjective being, from his lips, of the nature of a compliment, +for he had a great dislike of the clergy as a class. He had received +from individual members of the profession some injustice and no +kindness, and he not unnaturally proceeded to judge them as a class, +and to abuse them wholesale. A patient who has received mistaken +treatment from a doctor, invariably scoffs at all doctors, and ever +after terms them quacks. A client receiving an exorbitant bill from +his solicitor, relieves his annoyance by proclaiming all lawyers to +be grasping and avaricious. In this, as in other cases, a little +fire kindles a great matter. + +Charles Osmond turned in a minute or two, and Brian introduced +Donovan. + +"I saw you and your dog come in," he observed, with laughter in his +eyes. "Now, if certain religious newspapers get hold of that +incident, we shall have some beautiful paragraphs. 'Strange new +innovation,' 'Canine processions,' etc. I hope your patient is +better?" + +By this time Donovan liked the man, instinctively liked and trusted +him. Charles Osmond had a very strange fascination about him. He +had an extraordinary power in his touch; to shake hands with him was +to receive no conventional greeting, but to be taken closer to the +man himself, to be assured of his hearty, honest sympathy. His eyes +were to Donovan like Waif's eyes; all his soul seemed to look out of +them; they were eyes which never looked in a hard way at people, +never seemed to be forming an opinion about them, but, like the +bright eager eyes of a dog, expressed almost as clearly as words, +"let us come as near each other as we can." + +He was a man who cared not a rush for what was said of people, a man +who would have preferred dining with an excommunicated heretic to +dining with the queen. He was no respecter of persons, and rather +disliked official dignitaries as such, but he could admire worth +whatever its surroundings, and he had a profound respect for man as +man. + +For a few minutes he was left alone with Donovan, while Brian and the +verger were helping the patient to a cab. + +Before this there had been ordinary small talk, a sort of jumble of +epileptic fits, fox-terriers, Barnard and Bishop stoves, etc., but as +soon as they were alone, Donovan, obeying the plea of those dog-like +eyes, did draw a little nearer, a little more out of his shell. + +"I heard the end of your sermon to-night," he said, rather abruptly. +"It is the first I have heard for several years. If it wouldn't be +asking too much, would you let me have it to read?" + +"With all my heart, if it were readable," said Mr. Osmond, with a +humorous twinkle in his eyes, as he handed half a sheet of paper to +Donovan, with a few notes written on it. + +"Oh! you preach extempore. I am sorry," remarked Donovan. + +"It is the only way for a church like mine," said Mr. Osmond. "But I +can, if you like, give you plenty of sermons on that subject, and +books too, much more to the point than anything you can have heard +to-night." + +"Thank you," said Donovan, "but I am afraid I must ungraciously +refuse that offer. I have read some dozens of theological books to +very little purpose, and have just made a clean sweep of them, and +bought a polariser for my microscope with the proceeds." + +"And find it of much more use, I daresay," said Mr. Osmond, laughing. +"But if you cared enough for such matters to get and read theological +books, why were you so many years without the far less tedious +process of sermon hearing?" + +"Because I am an agnostic," said Donovan, "and as there is no +necessity, I do not care to stand, sit, and kneel through a +meaningless form. I would not do it even to hear you again, and I +own that I should like to hear you." + +"Then any Sunday that you care to look in here at a quarter to eight, +you shall find the seat nearest the door empty," said Mr. Osmond. +"Of course we extend the invitation to the dog as long as he'll sit +quiet; I see you are inseparable. What an intelligent-looking mortal +he is!" + +"I could not quite tell you the number of times he has saved my +life," said Donovan. "He won't defile your church; he's much more of +a Christian than many church-goers I have known." + +"Did you ever hear the story of the eccentric man of Bruges?" said +Mr. Osmond. "He was passionately fond of his dogs; the _curé_ +remonstrated with him, and told him that if he went to heaven he must +part with them. 'I will go nowhere,' exclaimed the good man, 'where +I cannot take my dogs.'" + +"Capital fellow!" said Donovan, laughing. "I quite agree with him." + +By that time Brian had returned; the verger was beginning to turn out +the gas. + +"Come and have supper with us," said Mr. Osmond, as they walked +together down the empty church. + +"Thank you," replied Donovan, "I am afraid I must go home; I have +been out most of the day." + +"Microscope, or the old man of the sea?" questioned Brian. + +"The latter," said Donovan, with a laugh. "Good night." + +He whistled to Waif, and they disappeared in the dark street. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +WHAT IS FORGIVENESS? + + Skilful alike with tongue and pen, + He preached to all men everywhere + The Gospel of the Golden Rule, + The new commandment given to men, + Thinking the deed, and not the creed, + Would help us in our utmost need. + With reverent feet the earth he trod, + Nor banished Nature from his plan, + But studied still with deep research + To build the Universal Church, + Lofty as is the love of God, + And ample as the wants of man. + _Tales of a Wayside Inn_. LONGFELLOW. + + +As he walked home, Donovan thought a good deal of the scene he had +just left, and for the first time it struck him that the sermon had +been rather an unusual one for such a congregation. Charles Osmond +seemed to take it for granted that his people thought; the +congregation was chiefly composed of working men and women and +tradespeople, but he by no means preached down to what some would +have considered their level. He entered into all the questions of +the day freely and fearlessly, took as much pains with his sermons as +if they were to be preached before the most searching critics in the +country, and avoided only the use of many-syllabled words--speaking, +indeed, in almost pure Saxon-English, the "tongue understanded of the +people." + +How he came to be in such a place was another question which +perplexed Donovan. Had he known the reason, he would have been +doubly attracted to the man; but it was some time before he found out. + +Charles Osmond's history was a strange one. He was exceedingly +clever, an original sort of man, full of resources, intensely +conscious of latent power which he might probably never have time or +opportunity for bringing into exercise. But the strength of the man +was in his extraordinary gift of insight; there was something almost +uncanny about his power of reading people. He would have made a good +diplomatist, a first-rate detective, had not his power of sympathy +been quite as strong as his power of insight. He had that gift of +"magnetism" which Donovan had ascribed to Raeburn; almost all who had +anything to do with him were attracted, they scarcely knew why or +how. He had a way of treating each individual as if for the time +being his only desire was to get nearer to him, and, although he was +the most wide-minded of men, he could so concentrate his world-wide +sympathy as to bring its full power to bear on one heart. His +influence was simply marvellous! he was like a sort of sun; the +coldest, most frozen, icebound natures melted in his genial presence. +He could draw out the most reserved people in a way astonishing to +themselves. He spoke little of "souls" in the lump, never obtruded +the conventional red-tapism of clerical life, but each individual was +to him a wonderful and absorbing study. He rarely even in thought +massed them together as "his parish," but took them as his inner +circle of brothers and sisters, a tiny fragment of the one great +family. + +Of course, he was almost worshipped by those who knew him, but with a +certain class of character he could make no way. He had one great +fault--a fault which repelled some people, generally the "unco guid +or rigidly righteous," or those comfortable people who feel no need +or desire for sympathy. His fault was this--he was too conscious of +his influence; he knew that he had exceptional gifts, and all his +life long he had been struggling with that deadliest of foes, +conceit. He had the exquisite candour to call his fault by its true +name, a very rare virtue; and few things angered him more than to +hear conceit confounded with self-respect or proper pride of +independence. Conceit was conceit pure and simple; the word pride +had lost its objectionable meaning. To tell a man that he was proud +would make him feel almost gratified, would give him a sense of +dignity, but to tell him he was conceited would be sure to give him a +hard home-thrust. So he went on in his straightforward way, +struggling with his deadly hindrance, daily--almost hourly--checking +himself, pulling himself up, as he drifted into the all too natural +habit of self-approval. He had not crushed his foe as yet, but he +had risen immensely by the effort. It had helped greatly to increase +the manliness, the honesty, the large-minded tolerance which +characterized him. Intensely conscious that he had not "already +attained, neither was already perfect," he was a thousand times more +helpful to those in need than many of his brethren who looked down on +him, blandly content with their own progress in righteousness--at any +rate, convinced that Charles Osmond's very apparent fault must unfit +him for his work. Certainly it did prevent his ever assuming the +conventional tone of priest to penitent; he never felt himself on a +higher platform than his congregation, but perhaps for that very +reason he succeeded in attracting, by his brotherliness rather than +his priestliness, those whom no one else could attract. + +The reason that he was still to be found toiling away in an obscure +parish in one of the poor parts of London was not without its pathos. +Very few were aware of the real cause. Naturally he was not without +a good deal of ambition, and at a certain time in his life his +advances had been rapid. He had written a series of articles which +had brought him into notice, and almost at the same time two offers +were made to him. The one was the offer of a living in London worth +perhaps £300 a year, the other was to a position of great +responsibility, invariably made the stepping-stone to high places. +Charles Osmond was human; it cost him a great deal to give up the +prospect of rapid and honourable preferment, and in refusing the +offer he gave up many other things which he much desired--the +opportunity of mixing with his equals, the chance of intellectual +society, the greater ease of speaking to a highly educated +congregation. In many respects he was, and knew that he was, +admirably fitted for such a position, but, weighing it all in his +honest mind, he came to the conclusion that he could not trust +himself to accept it. His power, his influence, his worldly position +would be immensely raised; he did not feel himself sufficiently +strong to resist such increased temptations. + +So the chance of promotion was honourably rejected, and Charles +Osmond settled down to terribly up-hill work in London. Life never +could be easy to such a man; he was too sensitive, too wide-minded, +too entirely saturated with the spirit of Christ to be ever without +his share of Christ's burden--the burden of the suffering, the +sinning, the doubting. He was, too, in a certain sense an isolated +man; all through his life he had been greatly misunderstood. By one +set he was stigmatized as "High Church," by another as "dangerously +Broad," by a third as "almost a Dissenter." Attacked thus from all +points, his life would have been almost intolerable had it not been +for the growing love and devotion of his own particular people. His +church became a sort of Cave of Adullam--a refuge for numbers of the +distressed; and as years went by, the work began to tell, and a real +improvement could be noted. This alone was almost enough to make up +for the hostility which he encountered in other quarters, though he +was not the sort of man to whom persecution could ever be otherwise +than painful. He had lately incurred great odium by urging in public +that Raeburn, the atheist, ought to be treated with as much justice, +and courtesy, and consideration as if he had been a Christian. The +narrow-minded were thereby much scandalized; the atheists began to +believe that it was _possible_ for a clergyman to be honest and +unprejudiced. + +The walk home after Sunday evening service was generally the part of +the day's work which Brian dreaded most for his father. He knew it +was then that the burden pressed most heavily on him, for the sin and +evil were fearfully apparent in those back streets, and Charles +Osmond keenly alive to it all, wearied with the exertions of the day, +and aware of his inability to cope with the immense wickedness +around, often fell a prey to the haunting consciousness of failure +and to blank depression. + +This evening, however, as they parted from Donovan at the church +door, he seemed quite unusually brisk and animated, and though +generally too tired to care to speak an unnecessary word, he had not +walked a hundred yards before he began to question his son. + +"So that is your new friend?" + +"Yes," returned Brian, "what do you think of him?" + +"I think he's a friend worth having." + +"I knew you would like him," said Brian, triumphantly, "if it were +only because he is of your 'seeps.' Is there an honest atheist in +the world whom you don't like, I wonder!" + +"I hope not," said Charles Osmond, with a touch of quiet humour in +his tone. + +"I wouldn't say much about Farrant before you had seen him, for he's +not the sort of fellow to be known at second hand, and I was +determined you should somehow meet him. Odd that such a chance as +that girl's illness should have brought you together after all." + +"Just as well," said Charles Osmond. "He is a fellow to be led, not +driven, or to be driven only by the One who knows when to use the +snaffle, when the curb." + +"Yes, one is afraid of pushing him the wrong way rather," said Brian, +"even, I mean, in chance talk without any intention of pushing at +all." + +"That we always must feel in speaking to those whom the world has +held at arm's length. I should like to know what helped to bring +that fellow to atheism, have you any idea?" + +"The un-Christlikeness of Christians, I fancy--and something he said +of injustice with which he had been treated, but he has only once +spoken of it at all and then merely because he grew hot at the +mention of Raeburn." + +Charles Osmond sighed heavily, it was another instance added to the +hundreds he already knew of the harm caused by injustice and want of +charity. He fell into a sorrowful reverie, but roused himself after +a time to ask what his son knew of Donovan's history. + +"I know very little," said Brian, "he seems to be alone in the world, +and he is very poor. We are of the same year; he came up at October +two years ago and got a scholarship at once. He's by far the +cleverest fellow we have, no one else has a chance while he's there; +any amount of brains, you know, and works furiously--as if it were +the only thing he cared for." + +"I thought as much," observed Charles Osmond. "There's the dog +though--wonderful to see the devotion between those two; no man in +the world, as the old saying goes, who can't find a dog and a woman +to love him. Who is the 'old man of the sea' you spoke of?" + +"The queerest old fellow you ever saw who has come to live with him, +an old captain something, I forget the name. Quite of another grade +to Farrant, and trying to live with I should fancy, for he's a +regular old tippler, but he's devoted to 'Donovan,' as he always +calls him." + +"Oh! that's his name, is he connected with the Donovans of Kilbeggan, +I wonder? grannie has their family tree by heart." + +"There's nothing Irish about Farrant," said Brian. + +"I'm not so sure of that, I fancy there's a good deal of humour in +him, stifled by circumstances perhaps, and I'll stake my reputation +as an observer that somewhere in his ancestry you'll find an Italian?" + +Brian laughed; his father was very fond of tracing the tokens of +differing nationalities and had many theories on the subject; +sometimes his theories fell wide of the mark, however, and Brian was +inclined to think he had made a bad shot this time, for to him +Donovan seemed entirely--almost typically--English. + +A few days after this Donovan was induced to dine with the Osmonds, +not without much persuasion from Brian, who was now sufficiently his +friend to be comfortably rude to him. + +"You'll grow into a bear, a misanthrope, if you never go anywhere," +he urged, as Donovan pleaded his want of time. "You'll addle your +brains, knock up before the exam, grow into the 'dull boy' of the +proverb. I can see that this unmitigated grind is beginning to tell +on you already; you look as old again as you did before the October +term." + +Donovan flushed a little at this, said abruptly that he would come, +and gave a rapid turn to the conversation. + +The Osmonds lived in Bloomsbury, in an old house which had belonged +to Charles Osmond's grandfather in the days when Bloomsbury was a +fashionable region. It was a comfortable, roomy house, not too far +from the parish to be inconvenient, and all the better for being far +removed from West End gaieties, as the Osmonds were something of +Bohemians, dined at an unpardonably early hour, and rather set at +naught the conventionalities of life. + +Donovan was shown into a charming, old-fashioned drawing-room, not +old-fashioned according to the recent high art revival of +spindle-legged forms and Queen Anne uncomfortableness, but such a +room as might have been found at the beginning of the century. +Everything was massive and good of its kind. There were capacious +arm-chairs and most restful sofas covered with the real old chintz +worth any number of modern cretonnes, an old-fashioned Erard piano +that had seen good service, beautifully inlaid tables, some good oil +paintings, and a delightful array of books in long, low bookcases, +bound in old yellow calf and that everlasting morocco which was +somehow procurable in the good old times when book-binding was an +art, not a trade. A few modern knick-knacks here and there relieved +the stiffness of the furniture, while a faint smell of dried roses +was wafted from old china bowls and vases which would have awakened +the envy of anyone suffering from the china mania. + +Mrs. Osmond, Brian's grandmother, just completed the old-world +picture. Donovan fell in love with her at once. She was indeed a +very beautiful old lady, her silvery hair, her mild, blue eyes, her +peculiarly sweet smile were all in their way perfect, but it was the +exquisite courtesy, the delicate grace of the past day that attracted +everyone so irresistibly, that beautiful, old-fashioned sweetness of +manner which has somehow perished in the heat and struggle--the +"hurrying life" of the nineteenth century. She made him a charming, +gracious, little curtsey, then held out her hand, and Donovan, +Republican though he was, did not shake it, but, acting as he +occasionally did by impulse, bent low and kissed it. + +The old lady seemed touched and gratified; she at once introduced the +names of her old friends the Donovans of Kilkeggan, and there ensued +an animated discussion as to the younger branches of the family, +resulting in the oft-made discovery that the world is smaller than we +think, and that Donovan's grandfather, General Donovan, had been Mrs. +Osmond's old playfellow. The gong sounded, and the dear, old, +stately lady went down to dinner on Donovan's arm, still talking of +her young days in Ireland, then drifting on to the London life of +long ago, dwelling in the loving, tender way of the old on the +celebrities of her time, the Kembles, Jenny Lind, Grisi, Sontag, Miss +Stephens, and Braham; then on to the Chartist rising of '48, when +Charles Osmond took his turn and spoke of the "Christian Socialism" +scheme, from which they passed to the Radicalism of to-day, a subject +which Donovan himself would not have ventured to introduce in a +clergyman's house, but which he found discussed with perfect +fairness. Indeed, though Charles Osmond rarely meddled with +politics, his work lay so entirely among "the people" that he was +really able to see matters from their point of view, and in the main +he was ready to agree with Donovan. + +About the house, or rather the home, there was the same atmosphere as +at Porthkerran, the same wideness of sympathy, the same loving regard +for the work and interests of others, the same "one and all" +principle carried into beautiful practice. The parish was not made a +bore to the other members of the family, Brian's work was not +obtruded in a tiresome way, nor Mrs. Osmond's manifold feminine +occupations; all was well balanced, well regulated, and Donovan +realised how perfect a home can be in which are the three +generations. Past, present, and future, when really united, do make +the strongest threefold cord, and perhaps no house is quite complete +without the quick perception of the young, the steady judgment of the +middle-aged, the golden experience of the old. + +Part of the evening Donovan spent alone with Charles Osmond in his +study, a comfortable room, methodically arranged, and lined with +books, theological, anti-theological, and scientific. Judged by his +books, it might perhaps have; been hard to say which of Charles +Osmond's abusers were right; whether he was really high, broad, or +half a dissenter; perhaps he was a little of all three, or perhaps he +had reached above and beyond those earthly distinctions. + +However this might be, as the two sat that evening over their coffee, +Donovan fairly forgot he was speaking to that, to him, obnoxious +being--a clergyman. Not even to Dr. Tremain had he ever talked with +such perfect openness. Those dog-like eyes, with their constant +appeal, "let us come nearer," were utterly irresistible. He found +himself almost thinking aloud, and as his thinking meant great +questioning, the possibility of having a being outside himself +capable of listening, sympathising, and answering was a rare delight. +And because he was conscious of Charles Osmond's unasserted but very +real superiority, he cared not what he said, felt no restriction, no +fear of going too far, or of giving too much confidence. The really +clever, really great, really good, inspire trust, where the mediocre +inspire dread. + +As they talked, a little of Donovan's private history, which Charles +Osmond had speculated about, was revealed. They had been speaking of +Mill's notable allowance that, on the whole, men could not do better +than try to imitate the life of Christ. + +"But," urged Donovan, "however much one may resolve to do so, I find +endless difficulties when it comes to actual practice. Take this, +for instance--I wish to find what is Christ's law of forgiveness, and +am met with such contradictions as these: I am first told to offer +the other cheek, to let my cloak follow my coat, not to resist evil. +I am told another time to bring the matter before witnesses, before +the church, and, if all is of no avail, to let my enemy be to me as a +heathen man and a publican. How do you explain that?" + +"I think the first referred to injuries received by a Christian from +an unbeliever, the second to injuries received from a +fellow-Christian," said Charles Osmond. + +"Then what is an atheist to do when injured by a Christian?" asked +Donovan. "I will tell you the actual case, and then you will see the +difficulty. A certain cousin of mine has defrauded me of my +property. I have actual proof, though unfortunately not legal proof, +that he destroyed my father's last will; he then married my mother, +and when I came of age coolly turned me out of the house without a +farthing. He now lives on my estate, spends my money, enjoys himself +thoroughly, as far as I know, and kindly condescends to make me an +allowance of £100 a year, though the wretch knows that I know of his +villainy." + +"You can't bring an action against him?" + +"Unfortunately not. It is too great a risk. There is only one +living witness of the destroyed will, and the expenses of a lawsuit +would be enormous. Now, what I want to know is, what you expect me +to feel towards that man?" + +"It is a hard case," said Charles Osmond. "I should like to know +what you do feel." + +"All I have been able to do is to will to think of him as little as +possible. When I do think of him, I confess that I often get red-hot +with indignation. Happily, I've plenty of work and need not dwell on +it, so that except twice a year, when his beggarly cheques come in, I +nearly forget his existence. If this is letting him be to me a +heathen and a publican, I have so far fulfilled the Christian law, +but----" + +"Ah! yes, I'm glad you put in a but," said Charles Osmond. "For +though, after you have done all in your power to reconcile and win +back your enemy, you are told to leave him, and have no more to do +with him, you must remember that that command pre-supposes that you +are a Christian, and therefore one who loves all men, who recognizes +the universal brotherhood, who tries to imitate the One who makes his +sun to shine on the evil as well as on the good. The very first +principles of Christianity show that you must love this man, though +he is your enemy, and though it may be best for you to have no +personal communication with him." + +"You mean I must love Ellis Farrant? It is impossible. You've no +conception what a scoundrel he is. I could horsewhip him with the +greatest pleasure." + +"Then, of course, you have not forgiven him?" + +"No, I have not," said Donovan, emphatically. "And I don't see how +you can expect me to while every day the fellow is adding to his sin, +while every day he's defrauding me of my own." + +"You must not think me hard on you," said Charles Osmond. "Your +feeling is exceedingly natural, and I think perhaps you can't get +much further than this until you believe in God. It was Christ who +taught us what real forgiveness is. Now you tell me that although +you do not believe in God, and regard Christ merely as a very good +man, yet you consider the ideal God as a very beautiful ideal." + +"Yes," said Donovan. + +"Well, then, just listen to me while I put your words as though they +were spoken by the ideal God. 'This man is mine, I caused him to be, +gave him all that he possesses, he owes me love and obedience, for +years he has defrauded me of both, defrauded me of my due, and he has +done it wilfully. I am full of indignation, and I will not to think +of him any more. To love him is impossible, he is a perfect +scoundrel, and every day he is adding to his sin.' The God in whom I +believe did not speak like this; you will allow that if He had thus +spoken He would not have been an ideal God at all. Instead of +thinking of the rights of which He had been defrauded, He thought +first of the child of His who was defrauding Him, how miserable his +existence was in reality, how everything was distorted to his view so +that he had even lost sight of their original relationship, and +regarded his Father as an angry tyrant. Somehow the child must be +made to understand that although it had sinned, its Father, being its +Father, was only longing to forgive it, to break down the barrier +which had risen between them. He revealed His wonderful love in such +a way that the simplest could not fail to see it, His forgiveness was +there, waiting for all who would take it. It was not a forgiveness +to be obtained after much pleading, it was there as a free gift for +all who had the least real and honest wish to be reconciled. That is +the forgiveness of God, and the example which you must follow." + +"It is impossible," said Donovan, with sad emphasis. + +"Perhaps it may be until you have realised what God has forgiven you." + +"But how am I to love what is hateful?" + +"I never asked you to." + +"The man is utterly hateful, a lying, deceitful, hypocritical knave." + +"No man is altogether evil, there is latent good in him that you +cannot perceive. I don't ask you to love the evil in him, but to +love him because he is a man. He is your brother whether you will or +not, and if you want to imitate Christ you must love him." + +Donovan shook his head, and sighed. + +"It's no good, I can hardly make myself even wish to love him; it's +somehow against one's sense of justice." + +"'Though justice be thy plea, consider this, that in the course of +justice none of us should see salvation,'" quoted Charles Osmond, +smiling. "But don't think I am speaking easily of the thing, +forgiveness is hard, in a case like yours it is frightfully hard. I +have merely told you what I consider ideal forgiveness, if you aim at +the highest you will often and often fall short of the mark." + +"The worst of it is this struggling to copy the life of Christ is +such frightfully discouraging work," said Donovan. "The more one +tries the harder it gets, and one is always coming to some new demand +which it is almost impossible to meet." + +"Did you ever climb in Alp?" asked Charles Osmond. "As you get +higher you find it harder work, the air is more rarefied, the way +more abrupt; but when you reach the summit, what do you care for all +the labour? The work was weary, but the end was worth all! When the +full vision breaks upon us----" he paused, and there was a minute's +silence, but the light in his face was more eloquent than words. + +"If there be a summit and a vision," said Donovan, in a low voice. + +"Though it tarry, wait for it," was Charles Osmond's answer. + +After that they passed to matters nearer the surface, and before long +Brian came down, and tae three drew in their chairs to the fire, and +sat smoking and talking till late in the evening. Charles Osmond +had, in spite of his harassing life, kept a wonderful reserve fund of +high spirits, and just now in the relief of having to do with one so +honest and high-minded as Donovan he forgot the hundred and one cares +of his parish, and was the life of the party. His comical anecdotes, +told in the raciest way imaginable, drew forth shouts of laughter +from the listeners, and, feeling convinced that Donovan did not often +exercise his lungs in that way, he kept up an almost ceaseless flow +of the very wittiest talk. A great love of fun and a certain absence +of conventional decorum proved the nationality of the Osmonds, but it +was with something far beyond the sense of good fellowship that +Donovan went home that night; he was cheered and amused certainly, +but the home-like reception at the clergyman's house had already +widened him and softened his clerical antipathies, while his growing +admiration for Charles Osmond did him a world of good. + +Who does not know the absolute delight of intercourse with a greater +mind, the enthusiasm which springs from the mere fact of looking up +to another, the inspiriting sense of being bettered, raised, +stimulated to fresh exertion? + +Cut off by his act of self-sacrifice from the Tremain household, and +with poor old Rouge Frewin for his sole companion, Donovan was in +great need of friends whom he could revere as well as love; the +Osmonds were exactly fitted to meet his need, and perhaps for that +reason the friendship deepened and strengthened very rapidly, + +After he had left that evening the father and son lingered over the +fire, indulging a little in that general habit of discussing the +departed guest. + +"Wasn't it rare to hear him laugh?" said Brian. "I'd no idea he'd +such a lot of fun in him. His hatred of the clergy will die a +natural death now that he has got to know you! It was the biggest +joke to see the way in which every now and then he chanced to notice +your tie, and received a sort of shock realising that you actually +were one of the hated class." + +"It is hardly to be wondered at," said Charles Osmond. "We clergy +are terribly apt to forget that we must follow St. Paul and try to be +'all things to all men.' I should like to know how many parsons have +said so much as a kind word to that fellow, who must have been +nominally under the charge of some one all his life. Our beautiful +parochial system is fearfully apt to degenerate into a mere skeleton." + +"What do you think? will he come round? or will he always be an +agnostic?" + +"I cannot tell," said Charles Osmond, with a sigh, "he seems to be +living with all his might up to the light he has, but he is not the +sort of man to change rapidly, and his private history is all against +it. An atheist shamefully wronged by those who call themselves +Christians cannot but feel that he has a strong case against +Christianity." + +"But he will never rest satisfied with what he has got," said Brian. +"His very face tells that he knows he is incomplete." + +"Yes, he knows that," said Charles Osmond. "In talking to him +to-night I couldn't help thinking of Browning's description of the +grand old ship dismasted and storm-battered, but still bearing on, +with something in her infinite possibilities which raised her above +the mere lifeboats, + + "Make perfect your good ship as these, + And what were her performances!" + + +"And yet you doubt whether he will be perfected?" said Brian. + +"Never!" exclaimed Charles Osmond, warmly. "I never said so! That +he will be the grand character he was meant to be I have not a doubt, +but whether he will be anything but an agnostic in _this_ world God +only knows." + +No more was said. Brian fell to thinking of all the contradictory +statements about the Eternities, his father returned to the almost +ceaseless intercession which was the undercurrent of his exceedingly +practical life. Highly illogical, according to Raeburn, and a great +mistake according to others, as most of the intercessions were for +those whom a righteously indignant Christian once denounced as +"_past_ praying for"! But to him it was a necessity of life; one of +the world's sin-bearers, he would long ago have sunk under the burden +if he had tried to bear it alone. As it was, how _could_ he be +intolerant, how _could_ he be uncharitable? For were not the +nineteenth century "publicans and sinners" among the strongest of his +bonds of union with the Unseen? He was one of those who cannot help +caring more for the lost sheep than for the ninety and nine in the +fold, and though he was by no means inclined weakly to condone sin, +or to make light of it, no one had ever heard him denounce a sinner, +or speak a harsh word of any whom society had condemned. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +CONTRASTED LOVERS. + + What we love perfectly, for its own sake + We love, and not our own, being ready thus + Whate'er self-sacrifice is ask'd to make; + That which is best for it is best for us. + R. SOUTHEY. + + +Stephen Causton did not return to the hospital till March. Coming +home one afternoon, Donovan found the sitting-room in some confusion, +scraps of newspaper and dilapidated note-books scattered about here +and there, and a yawning space in the book-shelves which Stephen's +books had hitherto occupied. + +"Hullo! has Causton been in?" he asked old Rouge, who, with a +somewhat disturbed air, was sitting over the fire with his long clay +pipe. + +"I don't know if that's his name," replied the old captain, in an +offended tone, "but a tallow-faced, bumptious lad has been here +making no end of dust and noise, carrying off your books, too, for +aught I know." + +"No, no, they were his own," said Donovan, laughing. "But tell me +about him, captain. Did he ask for me? did he leave no message?" + +"Not he," said Rouge, angrily. "He walked in as coolly as if the +place belonged to him, rowed the landlady for not having his things +ready packed, and pitched the books into a carpet bag as if they were +so many pebbles. Then, facing round on me without so much as lifting +his hat, he said, 'I suppose you are a friend of Farrant's?' There +was a sneer in his voice, and my blood got up as I said I had the +honour to be your friend, and that it was an honour the best in the +land might covet." + +Donovan laughed prodigiously. Rouge continued, + +"At that he sneered again, and said, 'You needn't preach about his +virtues; I know a little more about him than you do.' 'Indeed!' said +I, hotly; 'then I wonder the knowledge hasn't improved your manners.' +'I might return the compliment,' he said. 'But of course living with +a knave like Farrant is enough to contaminate anyone.' At that, +milord, I sprang up and thundered at him. I wasn't going to sit +still and hear you libelled, and, if you'll believe it, the coward +turned as white as a sheet when I challenged him." + +"By Jove!" said Donovan. "You don't mean you really did? His mother +will never get over it." + +"He won't come poking his nose in here again in a hurry," said Rouge, +with satisfaction. "He skulked off at double quick time, muttering +that duelling days were over." + +"Well, I agree with him there," said Donovan, "though it was good of +you all the same, captain, to stand up for me as you did." + +"As if I could help it," said old Rouge, with tears in his eyes. +"It's not likely I should let that scamp have his say out without +putting in my word. I flatter myself he has heard more home truths +to-day than in all his priggish young life before. How does he come +to hate you so, milord?" + +"He has done a shabby thing by me," said Donovan, "and that's the +surest way in the world to make him hate me. But we won't rake it +all up again; he can't do us any good, and he's already done me all +the harm he can." + +But, though he would not speak any more of Stephen, the thought of +him would not be banished. He had come straight from Porthkerran, +might have told him something of Gladys, might possibly have brought +him one of the unanswerable letters from Mrs. Tremain or the doctor, +or at least a message. And then he could not help wondering at the +extraordinary malice of his gratuitous insults. Had his weak and +distorted mind really worked itself into the belief that he was the +wronged one? What account would reach Porthkerran of his stormy +interview with the old captain? Something tremendous might, without +much difficulty, be twisted and squeezed out of the truth. Here was +another case demanding Charles Osmond's ideal forgiveness. But he +was nearer forgiving Stephen than Ellis, because he had a great deal +of pity for him; besides, the consciousness that he might have +cleared himself by exposing Stephen was in itself of a more softening +nature than the terribly irritating sense that Ellis had him very +unjustly in his power. + +Brian Osmond did not fail to notice that Causton, who had been +formerly Donovan's companion, now cut him entirely. When he had +heard the true explanation, his righteous indignation was pleasant to +see. He came constantly to York Road for the sake of reading with +Donovan, and before long had become really fond of the poor old +captain, while Waif and Sweepstakes, with their touching devotion to +their respective masters, added a sort of picturesqueness to that +curiously-assorted group. In the summer vacation Brian persuaded +Donovan to take a real holiday. The two years of unbroken work added +to his private troubles were beginning to tell on him; he looked worn +and fagged, but brightened up at the suggestion of taking a +walking-tour with his friend. They set off together in August, had a +glorious tramp through Derbyshire and the West Riding of Yorkshire, +roughing it to an enjoyable extent, and both coming back to town all +the better for their outing, and as inseparable in their friendship +as David and Jonathan. + +It was not, however, until late in the autumn that Brian learnt even +the existence of Gladys. + +One November evening his well-known knock at the house in York Road +roused old Rouge from his after-dinner nap. Donovan, who was +stretched at full length on the hearthrug, was so entirely absorbed +in some of the abstruse speculations which now very often occupied +him that he heard nothing, and did not stir till Brian was fairly in +the room. + +"Hullo! doing the _dolce far niente_ for once," he said, laughing. +"Who would have thought of catching you away from the books?" + +"Comes from the effects of Yorkshire air," said Donovan, getting up +and stretching himself. But the real fact was that he was beginning +now to dare to allow himself brief intervals of rest, his thoughts +did not wander so hopelessly to Porthkerran, his work instinctively +slackened a little, he worked as well--perhaps better--but less +furiously, and without the sense that relaxation was, above all +things, to be distrusted and avoided. + +"I've got a spare ticket for Gale's lecture at St. James's Hall," +said Brian, "will you come with me?" + +"Who's Gale? I never heard of him." + +"What, you a teetotaler and never heard of Gale! why, he's the great +champion of temperance, and a first-rate speaker!" + +"Better take the captain," said Donovan, half in earnest as he +glanced round at the sofa; but Rouge had already fallen asleep again. +"It would be no good, I'm afraid." + +"Poor old fellow," said Brian, "has he had another outbreak?" + +"Yes," replied Donovan, "and his brain is too fuddled now to take in +anything; it would be no use taking him, he'd only be asleep in two +minutes. I somehow make an awful failure of keeping other folk in +order." + +"Rather an unmanageable couple, yours," said Brian, "I wonder what +Gale would say to a case like the captain's." + +"Incurable," said Donovan. "He means well, but his power of will has +gone. I used to think he might conquer it, but the more I see of him +the more I doubt it. I can do nothing for him except help to make +his remorse keener each time, for he thinks his outbreaks are a +personal injury to me; and then we have any amount of maudlin tears +and good resolutions never to do it again--till the next time." + +He sighed. + +"Poor old fellow," said Brian, "you were never meant to have such an +old man of the sea tacked on to you. I like to fancy the different +mortal you'll be by-and-by when you settle down with your ideal wife, +home, and practice." + +"Ideal humbug!" exclaimed Donovan, with a short laugh, in which there +lurked more pain than merriment. "Come on, what time does the Gale +begin?" + +They walked off arm-in-arm, and were early enough to secure front +seats in the balcony close to the platform. Donovan seemed in good +spirits, he leant forward with his arms on the crimson velvet rail +making comments on the audience below, classifying them into rabid +teetotalers, sensible supporters of the cause, and merely fashionable +adherents. A sudden exclamation of surprise from Brian put a stop, +however, to his ease. + +"Why, who would have thought it! there's Causton in one of the +stalls. What could have brought him here? Don't you see him? To +the left there, talking to that pretty girl." + +Donovan, looked and saw only too plainly Stephen and Mrs Causton, and +between them Gladys. + +Yes, she was there, not a hundred yards from him, her pure, fresh, +child-like face not in the least altered! he remembered an old fancy +of his that she was like a blush rose; she looked very flower-like +now in that crowd of London faces. For a minute he watched her quite +calmly, then, strong man as he was, a deathly pallor stole over his +face, he drew back with an uncontrollable shudder. + +"Look here, I must go," he said to Brian, and without further +explanation he made his way along the balcony. In another moment he +felt sure his eyes must draw hers, there always had been a strange +magnetism between them without any conscious willing on his part. It +would never do for her to see him, he must leave at once. + +Brian, not liking his looks, followed him out of the hall; he seemed +as if he were walking in his sleep, never pausing for an instant, +noting nothing, and yet passing all obstacles. At the head of the +staircase Brian linked his arm within his, they went down silently +into the street. There Donovan seemed to come to himself again, his +rigid face relaxed, the strange glassy look left his eyes, and for +the first time he realised that he was not alone. + +"What, you here, old fellow!" he exclaimed. "Don't let me lose you +your lecture." + +"All right," said Brian. "I don't care about it. You're in some +trouble, Donovan--don't pretend, now, that you're not. Was it that +you saw Causton with that girl?" + +"In a way, yes--I mean it was the seeing her at all," said Donovan, +incoherently. "Come on quick, only let us get out into the open, +away from these houses." + +"You don't imagine he's in love with her?" said Brian. "Causton's an +awfully cold-blooded creature; it's not at all in his line, I should +think." + +"I don't know," gasped Donovan; "it--it won't make much difference to +me." + +"Why?" asked Brian, boldly. They were both by nature reserved men, +but their friendship was real and strong, and Brian knew intuitively +that he had touched the secret spring of Donovan's trouble, and that, +unless he could get him to speak of it now, a barrier would always be +between them; so he spoke out boldly that monosyllable--"Why?" + +"Because," answered Donovan, in a quick, agitated way--"because, +years ago, I made up my mind not to see her again. It's +impossible--it can't be--I'm a fool to be so shaken just by the sight +of her." + +"Has she refused you?" + +He turned his strangely powerful eyes full on Brian's face at the +question, and answered, with a sort of indignation, + +"Do you think I am fit to ask Gladys Tremain to be my wife?" + +There was something grand in his humility. Brian could only mentally +ejaculate, "You splendid fellow! you're fit to ask a queen among +women." But he was carried away by his enthusiasm, and he could not +but own that there was truth in Donovan's next speech. + +"It could never be--there could be no real union between us. It's +all very well in the way of friendship; you and I can rub up against +each other's differences without any hurt, but when it comes to +anything nearer, it doesn't do. I've tried, and it's +torture--torture that I'll never bring to her." + +"Is Causton her cousin?" + +"No, but a two generations' friend." + +"I should dearly like to give him a piece of my mind," said Brian. +"However, of course she'll have nothing to say to such a fellow." + +"There are times when I could wish she would," said Donovan, +hoarsely. "Not now, though--not just now." + +"My dear fellow, that's rather too strong," said Brian. "Even I, a +mere stranger, can see that she's miles above him." + +"Of course," said Donovan; "but it might save her from worse pain." + +"Well, if Miss Tremain knows you, and has any idea that you care for +her, her face must belie her strangely if she could turn to a fellow +like Causton." + +"She does not know I love her--at least, I hope not." + +"You old brick of a Roman! I can quite fancy how you would hide it +all." + +There was a silence after that. They had reached the Embankment, and +Donovan seemed to lose the sense of oppression, and to breathe freely +again. Presently he turned to Brian, speaking quite in his natural +voice. + +"Well, I'm sorry to have lost you your lecture, but I'm not sorry +that you know about this, which is more than I could say to anyone +else in the world. I must get to work quickly, or the blue devils +will get the better of me. Come back too, won't you, and we'll have +a grind at Niemeyer." + +So they went back to the York Road lodgings together. The old +captain was too stupid to notice them, but Waif was unusually +demonstrative, and even as he read Brian noticed that Donovan kept +his arm round the dog, while Waif tried to put all his devotion into +the soft warm tongue with which he licked his master's hand. Trouble +had an odd way of drawing those two together. + +Brian went home that night with much questioning going on in his +mind. He honoured Donovan for his conduct, and yet regretted very +much that he should be thus cut off from one who must have had so +much influence over him. He could not help seeing the matter from +his friend's side, whereas Donovan thought only how it would affect +Gladys. + +Little indeed did Gladys think, as she sat in the crowded hall, that +she was so near Donovan. Though she was actually thinking of him, it +never occurred to her that he might be there. Instead she was +recollecting some of their discussions at Porthkerran on this +temperance question, and recalling his stories of the old captain who +had nursed him in his illness, and had with great devotedness managed +to keep really sober at Monaco, in case "the Frenchmen" should poison +his patient! + +She was not very happy just now, poor child. They had fancied that +she needed change of air, and Mrs. Causton had been charmed to have +her at Richmond for a few weeks, in the same little villa which they +had rented four years ago. But the change did her more harm than +good, for the Causton atmosphere was oppressive, and the +consciousness that Stephen was in the way of seeing Donovan every +day, added to the impossibility of hearing anything about him, was +almost more than she could endure. She found herself losing +self-control, and drifting into more constant thoughts of Donovan +than she considered right; nor were her feminine occupations so +helpful in the difficult mental battle as his mind-engrossing studies. + +As they went home that night from John Gale's lecture, it chanced +that for the first time since her arrival Donovan's name was +mentioned. + +"What a pity you could not have done good for evil," sighed Mrs. +Causton, "and induced that poor drunkard who challenged you in the +spring to come to this lecture. I fear there is no chance that +Donovan Farrant would take him to hear such a man." + +"I should rather think not," said Stephen, unpleasantly. + +"Oh! but he is a great temperance advocate," said Gladys, thankful +that in the darkness her burning cheeks could not be noticed. + +"He was, my dear," said Mrs. Causton, markedly, "but you must +remember he is greatly changed since you knew him, and he is living +with a most disreputable companion." + +Her heart beat so indignantly at this that she felt almost choked, +but seeing that she was losing her opportunity she quieted herself +with an effort, and asked gravely, but quite naturally, + +"Donovan is still at the hospital, I suppose? Do you see anything of +him now?" + +"I see him," said Stephen, "but of course we're not on speaking +terms." + +"It is much better that you should have nothing more to do with him," +said Mrs. Causton solemnly, and she added a text which seemed to her +appropriate, but which drove Gladys into a white hot passion--dumb +perforce. + +All this time she was far too much absorbed to notice an impending +danger. The days dragged on slowly, she cared for the visits, +picture-galleries, and concerts only in so far as they brought her +into closer proximity with St. Thomas's. However angry she might be +with herself at night for having allowed her thoughts too much +liberty, the following day always found her with the same unexpressed +but unquenchable longing. Nothing but the heart-sickness brought by +that long-deferred hope could have blinded her to the fact that +Stephen's half boyish admiration was re-awaking, that his attentions +were disagreeable and obtrusive, that he was as much in love with her +as it was possible for such a man to be. But, as it was, she noticed +nothing, she only wearied intensely of the long evenings, when +Stephen tried to enliven them, and of the long mornings when she was +alone with Mrs. Causton; of the two she disliked the evenings least, +but merely because there was a chance of hearing the one name she +cared to hear. + +It came upon her like a thunderclap at last. One Saturday morning +she was sitting in the little drawing-room, writing to her mother, +when Stephen, who had no lectures that day, sauntered into the room. +He began an aimless conversation, she was a little cross, for it +seemed as if he might go on for ever, and she wanted to write. After +enduring half an hour of it she grew impatient. + +"Let me finish this, Stephen, or it will be too late for the post," +she said. "We are to go out after lunch, you know." + +"You grudge me the one free morning I have," said Stephen, +reproachfully, "but listen to me a minute longer, Gladys, for days I +have been waiting to find an opportunity of speaking to you. I think +you must have seen that I love you, that all I care for is to please +you, will you say that you will try to love me?--won't you try, dear?" + +In spite of Gladys' surprise and dismay she had hard work to suppress +a smile, a wicked sprite seemed to chant in her ear the refrain of +the song in "Alice in Wonderland," + + "Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the + dance." + +She found herself going on with the parody in a sort of dream, +instead of giving Stephen his answer. + +He was far on in a second and more vehement statement of his case +before she fully recovered her senses; then at once the true womanly +unselfish Gladys hastened to check him. + +"Hush, Stephen," she said, quietly, but with a touch of dignity in +her tone. "Please do not say any more of this. I am very, very +sorry if you have misunderstood me in any way, we are such old +friends, you see; but indeed it could never be as you wish--never." + +"You don't know what you are saying," he cried. "You are ruining all +my life, all my happiness. Surely you won't be so utterly cruel? I +will wait any length of time, if only you will think it over--if only +you will try to love me." + +"If I waited fifty years, it would make no difference," said Gladys. +"I can never love you, never, never. Don't think me unkind to speak +so plainly. It is better to be true than to let you have false +hopes." + +"Then you love some one else," said Stephen, in a voice in which +despair and malice were strangely mingled, "That is what makes you so +positive, so merciless." + +Gladys' eyes flashed. + +"I might well be angry with you, Stephen, for daring to say that, but +since you wish it I will tell you quite plainly why I cannot love you +in the way you wish. The man I love must be true and strong, +faithful to his friends, and merciful to his enemies, he must be so +noble and self-denying that I shall be able to look up to him as my +head--my lord--as naturally in the lesser degree as I look to Christ +in the greater." + +"If you set up an ideal character like that, of course I've no +chance," said Stephen, with a very crestfallen air. + +"It is not I who set it up," said Gladys, a little impatiently. +"Have you forgotten what St. Paul said? Oh! Stephen, I don't want +to vex you more than I need, but indeed, indeed you must not speak of +this again." + +"It is all very well to talk about not vexing me, but you are taking +away every hope I have," said Stephen, petulantly. "You girls will +never learn how much you have in your power. With you to help me, I +might perhaps grow better, become the paragon of perfection you wish, +but if you turn away from me----" + +He paused. It did not strike Gladys just at that minute what a +strange manner of making love it was, but her clear common sense +showed her that to yield to such an argument--even had it been +possible--would have been exceedingly foolish. + +"You may be right, Stephen," she answered. "Perhaps we have more in +our power than we know, but I don't think it ever can be right for a +woman to marry one whom she cannot look up to. You and I have been +friends--old playfellows--for years, but, though of course I wish +still to be your friend, I can't say that I very much respect you. +Don't think I want you to be a paragon of perfection, but after last +autumn I don't think you can expect----" + +He interrupted her. + +"It is cruel to bring up past mistakes against me." + +"I don't wish to, but I am afraid, till you can think of them as +something deeper than mistakes, you will yourself often remind us of +them. How can you really forsake them till you are really sorry?" + +"You are very hard on me," said Stephen. "You forget what excuse I +had; you forget that I was left alone with Donovan Farrant, that he +led me into temptation." + +He hardly knew what he was saying, for he was very desperate in his +intense selfishness, but he had just enough shame left to flush a +little as the untruth passed his lips. + +Gladys' eyes seemed to search him through and through. There was a +moment's silence. Then, with a little quiver of indignation in her +voice, she said, gravely, + +"You are telling a lie, Stephen, and you know it." + +He did not attempt to exculpate himself, he was too thoroughly +abashed. When he looked up again in a minute or two he found that +she had left the room. + +Mrs. Causton was too genuinely good a woman to resent Gladys' refusal +of her son, but at the same time it was such a bitter disappointment +to her that it was impossible she should be quite just and kind to +her visitor. + +"You see, my dear," she kept urging, as she sat beside the sofa in +Gladys' bed-room, "though you may be quite right to refuse dear +Stephen, yet, humanly speaking, you did seem so exactly fitted to +make the real helpmeet for him." + +Gladys was by no means selfish, but she did not think it either right +or necessary to sacrifice herself so entirely on the altar of the +well-being of Mrs. Causton's only son, she could only repeat that she +was very sorry, but it was quite impossible, and entreat Mrs. Causton +to let her go home at once. However, it was too late to think of +going down to Cornwall that day, and the next day was Sunday, so she +had time enough to be exceedingly miserable, and to long unspeakably +for her mother before the happy moment of her departure arrived. She +was so much relieved to be away from the Caustons that she could have +sung from mere lightness of heart when her train had actually +started, but Mrs. Causton had put her in charge of an elderly lady, +so she had to discuss the weather, and make herself agreeable instead. + +That night in her mother's room she forgot all her trouble, however, +in the delicious peacefulness which seemed always to come in those +evening talks. And as they sat hand in hand in their own particular +nook on the old-fashioned sofa, Mrs. Tremain gradually won from +Gladys not only the history of her visit to the Caustons, but much +that had never passed her lips before. Her mother had long ago +guessed what was the secret of her trouble; she had said nothing +because she thought silence the best cure; but now--being her +mother--she knew that the time for speaking had come, and very wisely +and tenderly she met Gladys' shy confidence half way. Then, when all +was told, she sat thinking for a minute or two in silence, while +Gladys nestled more closely to her, too tired to think at all, but +tracing in an aimless sort of way the ivy-pattern chintz of the +well-known sofa cover. + +"I think, little girl, that the truth of it is this," said Mrs. +Tremain at last, "I think you had a good deal of influence with +Donovan, you were almost the first woman he had known well, and you +were a good deal thrown together. For the present he has passed away +out of our lives, you know how sorry I am for it, it is quite his own +doing; but whether the separation is for ever or not, I think you may +have this comfort, that whatever in your love was true and unselfish +will not be wasted, but will always last. I do not think it very +likely that he will come here again, and even if he did you would +perhaps find it all quite different and have a cold waking from your +dream." + +"Then ought I not to think of him?" + +"I think you should not allow yourself to believe that he is in love +with you. No woman has a right to think that till a man has actually +asked her to be his wife. Put away the selfish side of the question +altogether, but don't make yourself miserable by trying to kill the +spiritual part of it. However much you have been mistaken there was +most likely a bit of the real truth in your love; don't be afraid of +keeping that, no one need be ashamed of the pure, spiritual, endless +side of love, and I should be sorry to think that Donovan should be +defrauded of it; you may do more for him even now, Gladys, than you +think." + +"If we could only find out the truth," sighed Gladys. "I am sure +Stephen has somehow misled us." + +"I would not worry about that," replied Mrs. Tremain. "You can't +sift that matter to the bottom, and I don't think it is very good for +you to dwell upon it. Only be quite sure of this, that the more pure +and unselfish and trustful you try to become the better you will be +able to help him, even if you never see him again. The side of love +you must cultivate does not depend upon sight, or time, or place. +Have I been too hard on you, little one? Does it seem very +difficult?" + +"It is always hard to be good," said Gladys, with the child-like look +in her face which had first awakened Donovan's love; "but I will try, +and you will help me, mother. I'm so glad you know." + +In another hour she was sleeping as peacefully as little Nesta; but +her mother had a very wakeful night, thinking over the future of her +child, and grieving over Donovan's defection. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +"LAME DOGS OVER STILES." + + We cannot kindle when we will + The fire which in the heart resides; + The spirit bloweth and is still, + In mystery our soul abides. + But tasks in hours of insight will'd + Can be through hours of gloom fulfill'd. + + With aching hands and bleeding feet + We dig and heap, lay stone on stone; + We bear the burden and the heat + Of the long day, and wish 't were done. + Not till the hours of light return, + All we have built do we discern. + MATTHEW ARNOLD. + + +"There's been a scrap of a child here asking for you," said the old +captain to Donovan, as they returned to their rooms one evening after +dining at a restaurant. "I couldn't make out what she wanted, but +she's been here twice to see if you weren't come home." + +"What sort of child?" + +"Oh! a shabby-looking little lass. She wouldn't tell me what she +wanted with you, only she must see Mr. Farrant, and when would he be +in." + +"She'll turn up again, I suppose," said Donovan. "I'm pretty free +this evening; shall we do those slides?" + +Old Rouge had lately developed a most satisfactory love for the +microscope, and whenever it was possible Donovan asked his help over +it, or awakened his interest in some new specimen to be seen. There +were now actually three things in the world besides himself and his +toddy which the old captain cared for--Donovan, Sweepstakes, and the +microscope. He loved them all exceedingly in his odd way, and, on +the whole, the year which he had spent in York Road was almost the +happiest year of his life. + +They were hard at work with their slides, specimens, and Canada +balsam when the doorbell rang and the mysterious "child" was +announced. + +"Show her in here," said Donovan to the landlady. + +"Indeed, sir, she ain't fit," returned the woman. "It's a-pouring +with rain, and she be that wet and dirty." + +Donovan frowned the frown of a Republican, deposited his section of +the brain of a gorilla in a safe place, and went out into the +passage. The smallest little white-faced child imaginable stood on +the mat; the rain had soaked her, the water dripped down from her +dark hair, from her ragged shawl, from her indescribably-draggled +skirt; she looked the picture of misery. + +"Come in and dry yourself by the fire," said Donovan, and the small +elf, too frightened to refuse, followed him into the sitting-room. +The old captain bowed to her as gallantly as if she had been a +princess, Waif sniffed at her wet frock and yielded up his place in +front of the fender, Donovan drew a stool for her on to the +hearthrug, and the elf sat down and instinctively spread out her +frozen fingers to the blaze. + +"You wanted to see me?" asked Donovan. "What was it about?" + +"Please it was father, sir." + +"What is your father's name?" + +"Smith, sir, and please he's very ill with something in his inside, +and he wants to see you." + +"But I'm not a doctor; he must get the parish doctor." + +"Oh! please, it isn't for his inside he wants you," said the elf, +looking frightened. + +"What does he want?" + +"Please I don't know, but he said I was to ask Mr. Farrant to come." + +"But I don't know your father; he's not been at St. Thomas's, has he?" + +"No, sir, but please do come, for he'll be dreadful vexed if you +don't," and her eyes filled with tears. + +"Don't cry," said Donovan, "I'll come with you. Is it far? You must +show me the way." + +They set off together, Donovan taking the elf under his umbrella to +her unspeakable pride and delight, and Waif soberly trotting at their +heels. + +"And how did your father know where I lived, do you think?" he asked, +as they crossed Westminster Bridge. + +"Please he had it all wrote down on a card, and he can read very well +indeed, father can." + +Big Ben struck nine, and therewith a recollection awoke in Donovan's +mind, a fierce struggle which he had once had just on that spot, a +sight of Stephen passing by, a hurried pursuit to a well-known +billiard-saloon, and a strange recognition of a Cornish face. He had +written his address on a card, of course! He remembered it perfectly +well now. This must be a message from Trevethan's son. + +The elf did not speak again, but led him down Horseferry Road into +one of the most horrible of the Westminster slums. He took the +precaution of picking up Waif and carrying him under his arm; he was +his only valuable. They were unmolested, however, and the child, +turning into a forlorn-looking house, led the way up a steep and +dirty staircase, and turning a door-handle showed Donovan into a +perfectly dark room redolent of tobacco. + +"Here's the gentleman, father; give us a light," she said, groping +her way in. + +A match was struck, and Donovan could see by the fitful light a +comfortless-looking room, and in the corner a man propped up in bed +with a short pipe in his hand. The elf produced a tallow candle, +Donovan drew near to the bed, and at once recognised the +billiard-marker. + +"I thought the message was from you; I'm glad you've sent for me at +last," he said. + +"I thought it was too late," said the man, "and then when the child +found you out, I thought it was that you wouldn't come. Sit down;" +he pointed to a chair, then went on speaking in the most absolutely +free and easy tone. "I'm dying, or next door to it, so I thought I'd +like to hear of the old man down at Porthkerran. He asked you to +look out for me, did he?" + +"It was his greatest wish to find you," said Donovan. "And after you +sent him that five-pound note he told me about you, said he thought +you must be in London, and having very little idea of the sort of +place London is, he asked me to look for you. You are like him; I +recognised you at once that night." + +"No flattery to the poor old man to say I'm like him," said +Trevethan, with a laugh. "This one is like him, though; come here, +little one, are you wet? it rains, don't it?" + +He drew the child towards him, touching her ragged dress with his +thin white hands. + +"The gentleman made me dry it by the fire, and he held his umbrella +over me as we comed back," said the elf. + +"Thank you, sir," said Trevethan, a softened expression playing about +his cynical mouth. "She's a bit of the real Cornish in her, though +London smoke has nearly spoilt it. There, run away and get your +supper, Gladys." + +Donovan started and coloured. + +"Yes, 'tis a queer name for the likes of her," observed Trevethan, +scanning Donovan's face curiously with his keen blue eyes. "But I +made up my mind the little one should have at least one good honest +name, though may be Miss Gladys wouldn't be best pleased to have her +name given to such a poor little brat." + +"Oh! yes, she would be very glad to see that you remembered +Porthkerran and still cared for it," said Donovan. "But it's a pity +to let the poor child grow up here when your father would be only too +glad to have her." + +"That's what I wanted you for," said Trevethan. "Would he be kind to +her? is he too strait-laced to take in my poor little lass? Some of +those religionists are hard as nails, and I want my little lass to be +happy." + +"He would be very good to her," said Donovan, without hesitation. +"Your father is one of the best men I know." + +"Odd that he should have such a son, isn't it?" said Trevethan, +trying to laugh. + +"Happily the least deserving of us do often have good fathers," said +Donovan, rather huskily. + +Then he listened to the history of the blacksmith's son, a very sad +history, which need not be written here. The man was now evidently +very ill, not at all fit to be left alone with no better nurse than +his child, but he had fought against the idea of being moved to a +hospital because he could not endure the thought of leaving little +Gladys alone, or of having her sent to the workhouse. Donovan +offered to pay her expenses down to Porthkerran, but even that seemed +intolerable to the poor man, as long as he lived he could not make up +his mind to part with her. Nor would he let Donovan write to his +father. + +"Not now. Don't write now," he urged, "it would only make the old +man miserable, wait till I'm either dead or better. Do you think +there's a chance of my getting better? I should like to make a fresh +start." + +"There would be a very good chance for you if you would go to a +hospital, you cannot be properly nursed here. Think over it, and I +will see whether I can't find some one in London who would look after +your child." + +"If she could come to see me," said Trevethan, wistfully. + +So Donovan left, promising to look in again the next evening and talk +things over. + +There was evidently no time to be lost, he thought the matter over as +he walked home, and suddenly arriving at a possible solution of the +difficulty, he turned into the station instead of going on to York +Road, took a ticket to Gower Street, and was soon making his way to +the Osmonds. + +Charles Osmond was at church, but Brian and Mrs. Osmond wore at home, +and were quite ready to hear the story of the sick man. + +"Another _protégé_ for you," said Brian, laughing, "and of course a +ne'er-do-weel." + +"Birds of a feather flock together," said Donovan, smiling. "We've a +natural affinity, you see. The great difficulty is about the child, +I don't know what's to be done with her." + +"We might get her into some home," said Mrs. Osmond. "I know one or +two where she would be happy." + +"But she wouldn't be allowed to go and see her father," said Donovan. +"And it would never do to separate them, the child is the great hope +for him." + +"What child is the great hope, and for whom?" said Charles Osmond, +coming into the room with his peculiarly soft slow step. "Do I +actually hear you, Donovan, discussing such things as men and +children, I thought you were up to the eyes in work for the exam?" + +Donovan told his story. + +"You see," he added, at the close. "From any school or home she +would never be allowed to come out and go to the hospital." + +"What's the child's name?" + +"Gladys." Then as Brian looked greatly surprised and Charles Osmond +made an exclamation, he continued,--"Trevethan comes from +Porthkerran, and Miss Tremain is worshipped down there; she is the +tutelary saint of the place--and he called his child after her." + +"Well, I think Gladys had better come to this home," said Charles +Osmond. "What do you say, mother--will Mrs. Maloney make the kitchen +too hot to hold her?" + +"Oh, no, she is much too good-natured." + +"But you don't realise, I'm afraid," said Donovan. "She's the most +neglected-looking little thing altogether, dirty and unkempt, and too +young to be of any use to you." + +"She must be an odd child if we don't find her of use," said Charles +Osmond, with a strange smile in his eyes. "Why, I thought, Donovan, +you were one who believed in the influence of children." + +"For those who want it, yes," said Donovan. "But----" + +"But we don't want it, and are to be left to ourselves--is that it?" + +"She's scarcely fit to come here," said Donovan; "she's ragged and +dirty to a degree." + +"Oh, you soul of cleanliness!" said Charles Osmond, laughing. "Is +there not water in the land of Bloomsbury?--can we not scrub this +blackamoor white? And as to raggedness, it will be odd if with four +women in the house--all of them longing to be Dorcases--we can't +clothe one poor little elf. Can you get your man admitted to St. +Thomas's?" + +"I think so." + +"Very well, then, as soon as he is moved we will be ready to have the +little girl." + +Donovan went home with the words ringing in his ears, "A stranger and +ye took me in." And instinctively his thoughts travelled back to a +certain summer day years ago, when, with muddy, travel-stained +clothes, he too had been taken into a home, ill and penniless and +utterly ignorant of that strange love which had been revealed to him. +He feared it was against the rules of political economy, and quite +against all worldly wisdom; but however that might be, such living +Christianity had a strange power of touching his heart. + +It seemed to touch Trevethan's heart too; evidently kindness to the +child was the way to get hold of him. For attention to himself he +was not particularly grateful, grumbled at the prospect of losing his +pipe at the hospital, swore fearfully if, in helping him to move, +Donovan caused him any pain, and was so surly and off-hand in manner +that, had his attendant been a believer in class and caste, he could +hardly have borne it patiently. + +Every evening for the next week he went to that, dismal room in +Westminster; it was thankless work, and yet Trevethan was very fond +of him, and would hardly have dragged through the wretched days +without the hope of those nightly visits. He was far too sullen and +miserable and ashamed to let this appear, however, and made it seem +rather a favour to admit his visitor. At the end of the week he was +able to be moved to St. Thomas's, and on the afternoon of the same +day Donovan took little Gladys to the Osmonds. + +When he got back to his rooms he found, to his intense surprise, that +instead of old Rouge's well-known figure sitting over the fire, there +was a lady in the arm-chair, well-dressed, quite at her ease, +apparently engrossed in a newspaper. He made a sort of inarticulate +exclamation, upon which she turned hastily round. + +It was Adela. + +"My dear Augustus Cæsar, how delightful to see you again!" she +exclaimed, holding out both her hands. "Were you very much +astonished to see an unknown female in possession of your fire-side?" + +"How good of you to come and look me up!" said Donovan, really +pleased to see her, for she was the first of his family whom he had +met for years. + +"Good!" exclaimed Adela, in her old bantering tone--"why, I've been +longing to come over since I knew your whereabouts--ever since that +good Cornishman came and enlightened me at Oakdene. But there's been +a conspiracy among the fates against me! if you'll believe it, I've +hardly been in town since that time. I've been half over the world +since I saw you last--Italy, Austria, Greece, Switzerland--in fact, +the grand tour; but as to getting a day in town unmolested by friends +or dressmakers, in which to visit you, I assure you it's been as +unattainable as the moon." + +Donovan, a good deal amused by this thoroughly characteristic speech, +brought a foot-stool for his cousin, poked the fire, rang the bell +for tea, and finally settled himself on the opposite side of the +fireplace. + +"We will be comfortable, and you shall talk just as you did in the +old times," he said. "I declare it makes me feel quite inclined to +turn misanthropical again for the sake of one of the old arguments." + +"There, I was right, then. You have actually renounced it all and +become a philanthropist! To tell you the truth, the immediate cause +of my visit was this: I happened to be in the Underground this +afternoon, and imagine my feelings when, on the platform at Gower +Street, I caught sight of my misanthropical cousin pioneering a +little City Arab through the crowd. My curiosity was so intense that +I was really obliged to come and solve the problem at once. Besides, +it was tantalising to see you so near, and to have my frantic signals +disregarded. You are immensely altered, Donovan; I almost wonder now +that I knew you." + +She looked at him attentively for a minute, as if trying to find out +in what the great change consisted. + +"It is a long time since we met," said Donovan; "I should think it +rather odd if I were not changed." + +"You have had a hard life, I'm afraid," said Adela. "You know, of +course, how vexed I am about Ellis's conduct; he ought to have made +you a proper allowance. I said all I could to him, but that brother +of mine is terribly like a mule; when once he has made up his mind to +dislike a person, nothing will change his opinion." + +"We won't discuss him," said Donovan, afraid that inadvertently he +might reveal to Adela the real depth of her brother's treachery. +"Tell me instead about my mother; it is more than a year since I had +any news of her." + +"She is well, I think," said Adela, in a doubtful voice; "but, to +tell you the truth, I have been very little at Oakdene. Whether +Ellis has any idea that I act as a medium between you and your +mother, I don't know, but he makes it unbearably uncomfortable for +me. I oughtn't to say it to you, I suppose, but I must confess that +that marriage seems to me to have been a fearful mistake. Ellis is +not half as jolly as in his poor bachelor days; he has all that heart +can wish or money buy, and yet every time I go to stay with them he +seems to me more depressed and irritable and dissatisfied with +things." + +"Does he manage the estate well?" + +"Oh! he leaves it all to the bailiff; he knows nothing whatever about +it, moons about all day with his cigar, scolding anyone who dares to +interrupt him." + +"Are they coming up for the season?" + +"No, he has let the Connaught Square house till July; but they think +of spending next winter either there or abroad, for your mother +fancies the Manor damp, and she has certainly had a good deal of +rheumatism lately. That is absolutely all I know about them. Now +let us talk of something more cheerful; haven't you got some nice, +wicked medical student stories for me? You are a dreadful lot, are +you not? Now amuse me a little, there's a good boy, for, to tell you +the truth, I'm dying of _ennui_ in this most prosaic of worlds." + +"We are very prosaic here," said Donovan, smiling, "nothing, I fear, +to re-vivify you except ponderous works on anatomy and medicine. +Come, you shall be my first patient; in less than a year you will +perhaps see the family name on a brass plate, not a useless brass in +a church, but a most utilitarian plate on a surgery door." + +"You dreadful boy, what made you take up such a trade?" + +"Take care how you speak of my profession," said Donovan, laughing. +"I'll prescribe the most horrible remedies for your _ennui_ if you +are not respectful. I chose it because it's to my mind the only +really satisfactory profession." + +"If you had any interest in the medical world, and were likely to get +a good West End practice; but otherwise, just think of the sort of +people it will throw you among. You'll have to go among poverty and +dirt and everything that's disagreeable. Besides, you will lose +caste." + +"You forget that I don't believe I have any to lose," said Donovan, +smiling. "You should turn Republican, it saves so many small +annoyances." + +"What were you doing this afternoon with that beggar-child?" + +"Taking her to some friends of mine who have promised to house her +while her father is in the hospital." + +Adela lifted up her hands in horror. + +"Taking that child to a gentleman's house, my dear boy--what an odd +set you must have got into! That sort of thing sounds very nice, but +it's dreadfully extravagant and romantic." + +"It has a way of seeming very practical to the one who is taken in," +said Donovan, in a voice which revealed a good deal to Adela. + +"You are thinking of your good Cornishman," she exclaimed. "But you +were a more eligible subject than that little beggar-girl, more fit +to be in a gentleman's house." + +"Much you know about it!" said Donovan, with a half smile, and again +Adela realised that the five years which had passed so uneventfully +with her, had brought to her cousin a knowledge both of evil and good +quite beyond her understanding. + +"I tried my misanthropical creed for some time," he continued after a +minute's pause, "and found it a dead failure. And then I had the +good fortune to come across some people who lived exactly on the +opposite system." + +"From extreme to extreme, of course," said Adela, "that is always the +way. I suppose you've become a Wesleyan or a Methodist." + +He could not help smiling a little at her tone, and at her +fashionable horror of dissent, but his grave answer brought back to +her the remembrance that even in the old days he never could endure +to have matters of religious belief or unbelief lightly touched upon. + +"I do not see my way to Christianity at all as yet." + +"And you don't go to church?" said Adela, regretfully. It had always +been the one great thing she had urged upon him. + +"Not quite in the way you would approve of," replied Donovan, +smiling, "but I do go in for the sermon now and then at my friend's +church. I am afraid you would think his teaching of the 'extravagant +and romantic' order, he has a habit of bringing Christianity to bear +on every-day life in rather a difficult and inconvenient way." + +Adela looked thoughtful. + +"He is right, of course," she said, sadly; "but I don't think people +know how hard it is when one is a great deal in society. I can't +adopt beggar children or teach in Sunday schools, it's not in my +line." + +She spoke so much more seriously than usual that Donovan's heart went +out to her. + +"I sometimes think," he said, "that in its way Dot's life was about +the most perfect one can fancy. It seemed such a matter of course +that she should be the patient, loving little thing she was, that at +the time it didn't strike one. But just think of it now, with +everything to make her selfish she was always the first to think of +other people, with scarcely a day of her life free from pain she was +always the one bit of sunshine in the house. And yet she was as +unconscious of it as if she had been a baby. Depend upon it it's not +the teaching in Sunday schools or the adopting of children that makes +the difference, the spirit of love can be brought into any kind of +life. What had Dot to do with philanthropy and good works? Yet if +it had not been for that little child's life I should have been a +downright fiend long ago. I don't believe you women know how much +you can do for us, not by your district-visitings and +conventionalities, but by just being the pure beings you were meant +to be." + +Adela was silent. She knew she had talked a great deal of nonsense +in her life, had flirted with innumerable men, had flattered dozens +of foolish young fellows whom in her heart she had all the time +despised. She felt truly enough that her influence must all have +gone into the wrong scale, and that while meaning harmlessly to amuse +herself, she had all the time been lowering that standard of +womanhood of which Donovan seemed to think so much. + +"And yet you know," she said, piteously, "if you subtracted the vein +of fun and banter and chaff from me there would be nothing left but a +dull old spinster beginning to turn grey, whom you would all wish to +get rid of. I'm like poor little Miss Moucher, volatile I was born, +and volatile I shall die." + +"We can ill afford to lose any of the real fun in the world," said +Donovan. "I hope you won't turn puritanical. I don't think I could +like a person who had no sense of humour, so please don't talk of +subtracting yours." + +"I suppose the real fun, as you call it, is good," said Adela. "And +the artificial nonsense is bad. At the same time it is hard to get +up anything but forced fun when life is a long bit of _ennui_." + +"But you have the secret for making life something very different," +said Donovan. + +"I believe you envy me!" said Adela; "but, oh! my dear Donovan, it is +quite possible to have prescriptions, and medicines, and a doctor +within reach, and yet to be very ill and miserable." + +"It seems then that we are both in a bad way," said Donovan, smiling. +"You know the remedies, but have not will enough to use them. I have +the will to use them, but have not the remedies." + +"Well, what is to help us?" said Adela. + +"Go to some one better fitted to tell you," replied Donovan. "This +is a good sort of working motto, though." + +He opened Kingsley's life, which was lying on the table, and pointed +to the following lines: + + "Do the work that's nearest, + Though it's dull at whiles, + Helping, when you meet them, + Lame dogs over stiles." + + +"I'll be your 'lame dog' for this afternoon, and you shall grace this +bachelor room and pour out tea for us. By-the-by, talking of +bachelors, how is old Mr. Hayes? it is an age since I heard of him." + +They drifted off into talk about Oakdene and Greyshot neighbours, +feeling that they had touched upon deeper matters than they cared to +discuss. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +OF EVOLUTION, AND A NINETEENTH CENTURY FOE. + + "Say not the struggle nought availeth, + The labour and the wounds are vain, + The enemy faints not, nor faileth, + And as things have been they remain. + * * * * * * * * + For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, + Seem here no painful inch to gain, + Far back, through creeks and inlets making, + Comes silent, flooding in, the main. + + And not by eastern windows only, + When daylight comes, comes in the light, + In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly, + But westward look, the land is light." + A. H. CLOUGH. + + +Late in the afternoon of a sunny August day two pedestrians might +have been seen skirting the shore of one of the beautiful little +lakes which lie cradled in the arms of the grand old monarch of Welsh +mountains. The elder, grey-bearded and somewhat bent, had yet an air +of alertness, a certain elasticity of step which bespoke a buoyant +temperament; the younger, lacking entirely this touch of triumph, +walked firmly and sharply, following in his companion's wake, and +himself closely followed by a fox-terrier. Very still was the +mountain side, for miles round not another living creature was in +sight; above them to the right towered the most abrupt side of +Snowdon, rugged and wild and grim-looking, its chaos of grey rocks +relieved here and there by tufts of coarse mountain grass or clumps +of fern; to the left, in striking contrast, lay the little lake, +small and insignificant enough to be scarcely known by its name, and +yet in the beauty of its situation and in its majesty of calmness +attracting the eye almost as much as its stately bearer. + +"There's a stiffish climb before us," said Charles Osmond, pausing as +he looked up the mountain path. "What do you say to an hour's rest +here? we couldn't have a lovelier place." + +"Very well, and Waif shall have a swim," replied Donovan, "I'll just +give him a stone or two. We have plenty of time if we're to see the +sunset from the top." + +Whistling to the dog, he ran down the slope to the lake, while Waif, +in a tremor of delighted excitement, plunged into the cool water +after the sticks and stones which his master threw. Charles Osmond, +stretched out on the grass with one of the grey boulders by way of a +pillow, watched the two thoughtfully, the spirited swimming of the +fox-terrier, the fine strongly-made figure of the man hurling the +stones into the lake with a vigour and directness and force +which--albeit there was no mark--bespoke him a good marksman. After +a time he made his way again up the slope, and threw himself down at +full length beside his companion with a sigh of comfortable content. + +"You old Italian!" said Charles Osmond, with a laugh, "what a way you +have of throwing yourself in an instant into exactly the most +comfortable position! now a true-born Britisher fidgets, and +wriggles, and grumbles, and in the end does not look as if he'd found +the right place." + +"One of the bequests of my great-great-grandmother," said Donovan, +"by nature I do go straight out on the hearthrug when other fellows +would crouch up in an arm-chair." + +"Oh! it is four generations back, is it! I staked my reputation as +an observer that you had a bit of the Italian in you the very first +time we met, though Brian scouted the idea." + +"It comes out in that and in the way I owned to you before," said +Donovan, "the endlessness of the feud when once begun. We've some +bloodthirsty proverbs as to enemies in Italy." + +"I shouldn't have thought you revengeful by nature." + +"It smoulders, and does not often show itself in flame," said +Donovan. "I'm afraid there have often been times when I could have +done something desperate to Ellis Farrant if I'd had a chance. Even +now, professing to go by very different rules, I believe if I saw him +fall into that lake, the fiend of revenge in me would try hard to +hold me still on the shore. Good folk may shudder, but that's the +plain unvarnished truth. I have shocked even you, though, by the +confession." + +"No," said Charles Osmond, slowly, "you've only surprised me a +little. Having come to such blanks in yourself and your system, I +wonder rather that the fitness of Christianity to fill those blanks +does not seem more striking. The lesson of forgiveness, for +instance, could only have been taught by Christ--by the great +Forgiver. I wonder that your need does not throw more light on +Christianity." + +"Proof," sighed Donovan. "It is that we want." + +He thought of his talks with Dr. Tremain as the words passed his +lips, but though the doctor's argument was still fresh in his mind, +he had by no means come yet to think that logical proof could be +willingly renounced. + +"But the sense of need is an indirect proof," said Charles Osmond. + +"I cannot see it in that way," said Donovan. "That a man in a desert +is dying of thirst is no proof that there is water in the place." + +"No; but it is a proof that the natural place for man is not the said +desert, and that the water he longs for does exist, that it is his +natural means of life, and that without it he will certainly die." + +"It is not much good to talk by metaphors," said Donovan, "and, since +we have broken the ice, I should very much like to ask you one or two +questions in plainest English. It is all very well to speak of need +and thirst and the rest of it, but there are gigantic difficulties in +the way. I should like very much to know, for instance, how you get +over the evolution theory." + +"You speak as if it were a wall," said Charles Osmond, laughing a +little. "I never thought of 'getting over it.' To my mind, it is +one of the most beautiful of the 'ladders set up to Heaven from +earth,' and if folks hadn't been scared by the conglomeration of +narrow-minded fearfulness and atheistical cock-crowings, the +probabilities are that more would have seen the real beauty and +grandeur of the idea." + +"I noticed Hæckel's 'Creation' and 'Evolution of Man' in your +book-shelves the very first night I came to you," said Donovan; "and +I've always wondered how you did get over it." + +"There you are again, making my ladder a wall," said Charles Osmond, +with a little twinkle in his deep, bright eyes. + +"Well, it is a wall to me," said Donovan. "Having all come into +existence so exceedingly well without a God----" + +"And," interrupted Charles Osmond, "finding it so hard to live +without Him, being so conscious of a grave deficiency in our nature +which yet nature does not give us the means to supply. In honesty, +you must remember that you've previously admitted that." + +"Yes, but surely you see the difficulty," said Donovan, with a touch +of impatience in his tone. + +"I do," said Charles Osmond, gravely, "that is, I think I see where +your difficulty is. For myself, as I told you, the theory of +evolution seems to me in absolute harmony with all that I know or can +conceive of God. I accept it fully as His plan for the world, or +rather, perhaps I should say, as an imperfect glimpse of the beauty +of His plan, the best and clearest that present science can give us. +In another hundred years we may know much more." + +"But you cannot make Hæckel square with the Bible." + +"I certainly do not accept all Hæckel's conclusions, for they are +often drawn from premises which are utterly illogical; nor do I +accept all his assumptions, for he often practically claims +omniscience. At the same time, he has done us a great service, and +the false deductions of a teacher cannot spoil or alter the truth of +his system. If it were so, it would be a bad look out for +Christianity, with its two hundred and odd sects. Do you consider +that spontaneous generation is already proved?" + +"Not absolutely," said Donovan, "but quite sufficiently for working +purposes, and in time I can't doubt that it will be completely +proved. What will then become of the Author of the Universe, to +adopt the current phrase?" + +"If it should be proved, as I fully expect it will be," replied +Charles Osmond, "it will merely carry us one step further back in our +appreciation of the original Will-power. We shall still recognise +the one Mind impressing one final and all-embracing law upon what we +call matter and force, and then leaving force and matter to elaborate +the performance of that law." + +"You assume a good deal there," said Donovan. "Why should we imagine +that law--still less, a personal Will--existed before the existence +of primordial cells?" + +"You must either assume that there existed only one primordial cell, +or else that there was a law of order impressed upon the infinite +number of primordial cells," said Charles Osmond. + +Donovan left off twisting the grasses which grew beside him, and +knitted his brows in thought. This idea was a new one to him. He +was silent for a minute or two, then, keeping his judgment entirely +suspended, he said, slowly, + +"And what then? I should like to hear that borne out a little." + +"The question is, how has the absolute uniformity of action been +attained? If matter be self-existent, there must have been at the +very first outset an infinite number of cells, and also an infinite +possibility of variation. Say, just for illustration, a million +cells, each capable of varying in a million ways. Now just calculate +the mathematical chances that ultimate order could result from this +disorder, and, if so, what length of time, approximately, it would +occupy, allowing each cell an hour of existence, and then to give +birth to another cell, probably differing from itself!" + +Donovan laughed a little, and mused, and presently Charles Osmond +continued. + +"No, it seems to me that orderly transmission of hereditary form or +habit is only possible on the supposition either of the one +self-existent cell, to which there are many objections, or on the +supposition of a law of order, which must have been antecedent to the +cells, or it could not have impressed them." + +"I daresay many would willingly concede as much as that," said +Donovan. "It is only when you go on to assert that the law came from +a law-giver that we cry out." + +"Well, where did it come from?" said Charles Osmond. + +"I suppose it was a fortuitous concourse of atoms," said Donovan, +doubtfully. + +"That is a thoroughly unscientific hypothesis," returned Charles +Osmond. "Mind, I don't assert that my theory is proved, but I claim +this, that both physical and mathematical science demonstrate the +probability of some law existing before primordial cells existed, and +that this probability is at least as reasonable as a working +hypothesis, as is that of evolution in explaining the method in which +that primordial law has operated." + +"But what will my old 'soul-preserving' friends say to you?" observed +Donovan, smiling. "You agree to the disenthronement of that +all-important being--man." + +"Do I?" said Charles Osmond. + +"Well, you accept as your oldest ancestor something more +insignificant than an amœba." + +"Yes, but I thought the longer the pedigree the better," said Charles +Osmond, with laughter in his eyes. + +"But, seriously, where do you make your spirit-world begin?" + +"I think," said Charles Osmond, "there was once a wise man, but who +he was I haven't an idea, and this was his wise utterance, 'The +spirit sleeps in the stone, dreams in the animal, and wakes in man.' +The revelation, or, if you will, the awakening, appeared to be +sudden, it came as it were in a flash; but it was the result of long +processes, it followed the universal rule--a gradual advance, then a +sudden unfolding. And in this way, I take it, all revelation comes." + +Donovan looked full into his companion's face for a moment, a +question, and a very eager one, was trembling on his lips, his whole +face was a question, the question which Charles Osmond would fain +have answered if he could. But a reserved man does not easily talk +of that which affects him most nearly, and in this case certainly out +of the abundance of the heart the mouth did not speak. The firm yet +sensitive lips were closed again, but perhaps the very silence +revealed more to Charles Osmond than any spoken words could have +done, and by a hundred other slight indications he knew perfectly +well that Donovan's heart was full of the spirit hunger. + +"Let me just for a minute fall back on the Mosaic account," he said, +after a little time had passed. "You think that account incompatible +with the evolution theory, to my mind it expresses in a simple, clear +way, such as a wise teacher might use with young children, the very +truths that recent researches have wonderfully enlarged upon. If you +will notice it carefully the very order given to the creation in the +first of Genesis is exactly borne out by modern science. Then we are +told in the grand old simple words which only were fit for such a +purpose--that God breathed into him, and man became a living soul. +To man evolved probably from the simplest of organisms, to gradually +perfected man the revelation is made: God breathes into him the +breath of life, that is the knowledge of Himself, life according to +Christ's definition being knowledge of God. Man was now fully alive, +fully awake, the spirit had slept, had dreamed, but the revelation +was made, and his dormant spirit sprang into life." + +"But I am not conscious of this spirit," said Donovan, "I am aware of +nothing that cannot be explained as a function of the brain, thought, +mind, will." + +"Yet you are conscious of being incomplete," said Charles Osmond. +"It seems to me that for a time we get on very well as body and soul +men, or body and mind, if you like it better; but sooner or later +comes the craving for something higher, which something, I take it, +is the spirit life. And one thing more, if you will let me say it, +you tell me you are conscious of nothing but body and mind, but I +can't help thinking that your love for that little sister whom you +mentioned to me was the purest spiritual love, to which no scientific +theory will apply." + +For many minutes Donovan did not speak, not because he was actually +thinking of his companion's words, but because a vision of the past +was with him; little Dot in her purity, her child-like trust, her +clinging devotion rose once more before him. How had she learnt the +truths which to him were so unattainable? Brought up for years in a +way which could not possibly bias her mind, how was it that she had, +apparently without the least difficulty, taken hold of such an +abstraction, such a mysterious, incomprehensible idea? She had not +believed on "authority," for naturally the nurse-maid's authority +would have weighed less with her than his own, yet in some way the +Unseen, the Unknown, the to him Unknowable, had become to her the +most intense reality. She had very rarely spoken to him on that +subject because she knew it grieved him; he could only remember one +instance in which she had definitely expressed the reality of her +faith. He had been remonstrating with her a little, and she had +answered in a half-timid way which somehow angered him because it was +so unusual with her. + +"You see, Dono, I can't help knowing that God is, because He is +nearer to me even than you." + +He could almost feel the little face nestling closer to him as the +shy words were ended, and clearly could he recall the terrible pang +which that faltering childish sentence had caused him. He had then +believed that she was under a great delusion, now he inclined to +think that her pure soul had grasped a great truth which still +remained to him utterly unknowable. This was almost all that he had +actually heard her say, except the last half unconscious prayer, the +speech of a little child to its father containing no pompous title, +no ascriptions of praise, but only the most absolute trust. She had +never fallen into conventional religious phraseology; but perhaps +nothing could have so exactly met Donovan's wants that summer +afternoon as her last perfectly peaceful words, "He is so very good, +you know--you will know." No argument, however subtle, no sermon, +however eloquent, had the hope-giving power which lay in the little +child's words--words which had lain dormant in his heart for years, +apparently with no effect whatever. + +Charles Osmond saw that his reference had awakened a long train of +thought; he would not look at the changes on the face of his +companion, for just now in its naturalness it was exceedingly like a +book, and a book which he felt it hardly fair to read. Instead he +gazed across the quiet little lake to the sunny landscape beyond, +battled with a conceited thought which had arisen within him, and was +ready with his beautiful, honest mind and hearty sympathy to come +back to Donovan's standpoint as soon as he seemed to wish it. + +Waif, having studied the group from a distance for some minutes, and +having given himself a series of severe shakings to wring the water +from his coat, seemed to consider himself dry enough for society. He +came back to his master, sniffed at his clothes, and finding that his +remonstrating whines received no notice, began to lick his face. +Then Donovan came back to the world of realities, and perhaps because +of the softening influence of the past vision, perhaps merely out of +gratitude to the dumb friend who understood his moods so well and +filled so great a blank for him, he threw his arms round the dog, wet +as he was, hugged him, patted him, praised and petted him in a way +which put the fox-terrier into his seventh heaven of happiness. + +Charles Osmond was touched and amused by the manner in which the +silence was ended. Presently Donovan turned towards him again with a +much brightened face. + +"There is one thing which you Christians will have to face before +long," he began, "or rather I should think must face now, with the +theory of evolution so nearly established." + +"Well?" said Charles Osmond. + +"I mean this," continued Donovan: "Our original ancestors and their +living representatives can hardly be left out of your scheme of +immortality. It seems to me a very half-and-half scheme if it only +includes mankind. You know," he added, laughing a little, "even the +idea of heaven you gave us in your sermon the other night--about the +least material and the most beautiful I ever heard--would scarcely be +perfect to me without Waif." + +"I quite agree with you," said Charles Osmond. "Nor can I understand +why people object so much to the idea. Luther, you know, fully +admitted his belief that animals might share in the hereafter, and to +appeal to a still higher authority it seems to me that, unless we +deliberately narrow the meaning of the words, St. Paul clearly +asserts the deliverance of the whole creation from the bondage of +corruption into the deliverance of the glory of the children of God. +I believe in One who fills all things, by whom all things consist, +therefore I certainly do believe in the immortality of animals." + +"Well, seeing how infinitely more loving my dog is than most men, I +own that it seems to me unfair to shut him out of your scheme. The +old Norsemen walked with their dogs in the 'Happy Hunting Fields,' +and, however material that old legend, there is a touch of beauty in +it which is somehow wanting--at any rate, to dog-lovers--in the +ordinary, and I must say equally material, descriptions of the +gorgeous halls of Zion." + +"You two are very fond of each other," said Charles Osmond, looking +at the dog and his master. + +"We have been through a good deal together, and I believe, to begin +with, the mere fact of his wanting me when no one else did, of his +following me so persistently in the Strand just at the time when +everyone had hard words to throw at me, drew me towards him. I've +watched him nearly dying with distemper, and somehow dragged him +through. He has watched me nearly dying in a bog, and, by his sense +and persistency, got me rescued. Besides that, at least three times +he has saved me from a worse death, just by being what he is, the +most loving little brute in England." + +"Brave little Waif! I shall never forget my first sight of him," +said Charles Osmond, smiling. "It was a wonder you two didn't put me +out that night, the fit was distracting enough; but when I saw you +and the fox-terrier walking up the aisle, head No. 1 nearly went into +space, though I could have told the people every one of your +characteristic features, and should have known Waif among a thousand +dogs!" + +"But to go back once more to our old subject," said Donovan; "does +not your theory bring you to something very like Pantheism?" + +"I think it is the Higher Pantheism," said Charles Osmond. "While +we've been lying here, Tennyson's lines have been haunting me. You +know them, I suppose?" + +Donovan only knew one poem in the world, however, and he asked to +hear this one. Charles Osmond repeated it, and, because he loved it, +rendered it very well. + +"You see," he said, after a pause, "it is this Higher Pantheism which +leads us up to the greatest heights. + + 'Speak to Him thou, for He hears and Spirit with Spirit + can meet, + Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than hands and feet.' + +It leads us to no vague impersonal Force, but to the Spirit by whom +and in whom we live and move and have our being." + +Donovan did not speak, and before long they began to climb their +mountain; but, though he said no word to his companion, he moved to a +sort of soundless tune which set itself to a verse of the poem, + + "Dark is the world to thee: thyself art the reason why; + For is He not all but thou, that hast power to feel 'I am I'?" + + +The climb was rather a stiff one, and by the time they reached the +summit they were glad enough of the fresh breeze which was there to +greet them as they made their way up to the little cairn. The sun +was within a quarter of an hour of setting, its red beams were +bathing the landscape in a flood of glory; around the mountains stood +in solemn grandeur, as if doing homage to the parting king, the red +beams lighted up one or two, but more were in solemn shade, varying +from pearly grey to the softest purple. There was something +perfectly indescribable in the sense of breadth and height and beauty +combined; in their different ways the two pedestrians revelled in it. +The creases seemed to smooth themselves out of Charles Osmond's brow, +he lost the weight of care which the long year's work brought, not +always to be shaken off in the summer holiday. But here it was +impossible to be earth-bound; his whole being was echoing the words, + + "Are not these, oh! soul, the vision of Him who reigns?" + +And Donovan, exulting in that sense of space which was so dear to +him, realised as he had never realised before that it is the Infinite +only which can satisfy the Infinite. + +The lofty is often closely followed by the prosaic, and in the +neighbourhood of great heights there lurk the dangers of the +precipice. Donovan had reached high ground, but in a minute came the +most violent re-action, the most humiliating fall. + +They were not the only tourists who had made the ascent that +afternoon. A very different party sat drinking and smoking on the +other side of one of the huts; their laughter was borne across every +now and then to the westward side of the cairn, but both Charles +Osmond and Donovan were too much absorbed in their own thoughts to be +at all disturbed by it. The rudeness of the shock was therefore +quite unbroken. From high but unfortunately fruitless aspirations, +Donovan was recalled to the hardest of facts by a sudden shadow +arising between him and the sun. A dark and rather good-looking man +stood on the very edge of the rock looking at the sky, very possibly +not seeing it much, but looking at it just for want of something +better to do. Charles Osmond glanced at him, then, as if struck by +some curious resemblance, he turned towards his companion, and at +once knew that the stranger could be none other than Ellis Farrant, +for Donovan's face bore a look of such fearful struggle as in his +life of half a century the clergyman had never before seen. + +Before long Ellis turned, and finding himself face to face with the +man he had so shamefully wronged, had the grace to flush deeply. But +in a minute he recovered himself, and assumed the _rôle_ of the +easy-mannered gentleman, which he knew so well how to play. + +"Why, Donovan!" he exclaimed. "Who would have thought of meeting you +up here? Pity your mother's not with me, but I'm only here for a +week's fishing with Mackinnon." + +The struggle had apparently ceased, Donovan had set his face like a +flint, but his eyes flashed fire, and as he drew himself up and +folded his arms, at the same time making a backward movement in order +to be as far from Ellis as the narrow platform would admit, he was +certainly a formidable-looking foe. There was no doubt whatever as +to his sentiments; he might have stood for a model of one of the old +Romans righteously hating his enemy. Ellis shrank beneath his +glance, but it somehow made him malicious. + +"You must remember Mackinnon," he continued, in his bland voice. "He +was with us, if you recollect, on the night of that unfortunate +dance, when poor little----" + +He broke off, for Donovan, with the look of a man goaded beyond +bearing, bent forward, and with the extraordinary vehemence which +contrasted so strangely with his usually repressed manner, thundered +rather than spoke the words, + +"Be silent." + +Being a cowardly man, Ellis did not feel disposed to stay in the +neighbourhood of his foe; he not only obeyed the injunction but +disappeared from the scene as quickly as possible. + +Donovan once more leant back against the cairn with folded arms, and +for many minutes did not stir. Charles Osmond did not venture to +speak to him; in perfect silence the two stood watching the setting +sun, which was now like a golden-red globe on the horizon line. Many +hundreds of times had the sun gone down on Donovan's wrath, and this +evening proved no exception to the rule. By the time the last red +rim had disappeared, however, all traces of agitation had passed from +him, and he turned to his companion a quiet, cold face, observing, in +the most matter-of-fact tone, + +"We must be making our way home, I suppose." + +"Certainly, if we're to eat the captain's trout for supper," said +Charles Osmond. + +And without further remark they began the descent, Donovan showing +traces of latent irritation in the headlong way in which he plunged +down the steep path. Charles Osmond, following much more slowly, +found him beside the little lake where they had rested in the +afternoon; perhaps the place or some recollection of their talk had +softened him, at any rate, he was quite himself again. Charles +Osmond put his arm within his, and they walked on steadily down the +less abrupt part of the mountain to Pen-y-pass, and along the Capel +Currig road to Bettws-y-Coed. + +Presently Donovan broke the silence. + +"Well, you have seen Ellis Farrant at last. Odd that he should have +turned up just after we had been talking of him. I hope you were +satisfied with my Christian forbearance." + +Charles Osmond was silent, not quite liking his tone. + +"I have offended you," said Donovan. "I will take away the +adjective." + +"I daresay your forbearance was very great," said Charles Osmond, +"and your provocation far greater than I can understand, but you must +forgive me for saying that I saw nothing Christian in it." + +"What did you see?" asked Donovan, a little amused. + +"I saw a perfect example of the way in which a nineteenth century +gentleman hates his enemy, the hatred of the ancients kept in check +by the power of modern civilization." + +"And how would you have had me meet him?" cried Donovan. "Did you +expect a stage reconciliation, while he is still defrauding me? Did +you wish me to embrace him and wish him good speed?" + +"I wished you to act as I think Christ would have acted," said +Charles Osmond, quietly. + +"Oh! once more I tell you this idealism is impossible!" exclaimed +Donovan, impatiently. "I am but a mortal man, and cannot help hating +this fellow." + +"You see in copying Him whom I consider to be more than mortal man, +we do realise our own short-comings," said Charles Osmond. + +"Well, what do you imagine Christ would have done in such a case?" + +"I think you can answer that question for yourself," said Charles +Osmond. "But to put it on what to me is a lower footing, consider +how the best man you ever knew would have acted, and then carry his +conduct still further. Your father, for instance--how would he have +treated an enemy?" + +Unconsciously Charles Osmond had touched on Donovan's tenderest part. +He fell into a reverie, and they walked a mile before he spoke again. + +"I believe you are right," he said at last; and there was something +of pathos in the words coming from one so strong and so exceedingly +slow to own himself conquered. "I'm afraid up there on the mountain +I've fallen when I might have risen." + +"I daresay you will have another opportunity given you," said Charles +Osmond, by way of consolation. + +"Don't be in too great a hurry," said Donovan, smiling. "I'm afraid +I can't honestly wish for it yet." + +Then they fell to talking of every-day matters, and late in the +evening they reached the cottage where they were spending a few +weeks--a somewhat curious quartette--the Osmonds, father and son, old +Rouge Frewin, and Donovan. The captain was supremely happy; went out +fishing every day, and partly from his love to Donovan and his desire +to do him credit, partly from his awe of a "parson out of the +pulpit," really managed to keep sober through the whole of their stay +in Wales. But perhaps no one got quite so much from the Welsh +holiday as Donovan himself. He went back to work with both body and +mind invigorated, having learnt more in that month's intercourse with +Charles Osmond than he would have learnt in years of solitary life. + +There now remained only a few months of his medical course. Then +"the world was all before him." He had not as yet formed any plans, +but as the autumn advanced public events pointed the way for him, and +he found his vocation. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +DUTY'S CALL. + + Faith shares the future's promise; love's + Self-offering is a triumph won; + And each good thought or action moves + The dark world nearer to the sun. + + Then faint not, falter not, nor plead + Thy weakness; truth itself is strong; + The lion's strength, the eagle's speed, + Are not alone vouchsafed to wrong. + + Thy nature, which through fire and flood, + To place or gain finds out its way, + Has power to seek the highest good, + And duty's holiest call obey!" + WHITTIER. + + +England was just at this time engaged in a contest of which Donovan +very strongly disapproved, but perhaps his political views only +increased the desire which had arisen within him to go out as +assistant-surgeon to the seat of war. The belief that many hundreds +of Englishmen were being sacrificed in an unjust cause could not fail +to rouse such a lover of justice, and he lost no time in making +arrangements with an ambulance society which was sending out help, +and was in want of assistants. Charles Osmond, on the whole, +approved of his choice, though regretting very much that he should +for some time lose sight of him; but he felt that the life of action +would be quite in Donovan's line, and that the entire change of scene +would be good for him. Brian would have been only too glad to join +him, but his work was already cut out for him in London, where he was +to take the place of junior partner to an uncle of his who had a +large practice in the Bloomsbury district. + +It so chanced that Stephen Causton, who had been hindered both by +illness and idleness, went in for his final examination at the same +time. All three passed successfully. The autumn had been a very +busy one, but Donovan was well and in good spirits, eager to begin +his fresh life, and too much engrossed with the present and future to +let the past weigh upon him. Still, as one January day he went in to +St. Thomas's to take leave of Trevethan, not even his strong will +could prevent a few very sad thoughts arising as he spoke of +Porthkerran and the Tremains. Trevethan's recovery had been very +slow, but he was now really well, and it had been arranged that he +should go down to Porthkerran with his little girl the following +week. His illness, and the kindness he had met with, had softened +him very much, and though his manner was still brusque in the +extreme, no one who really knew the man could have doubted his +gratitude. In his odd fashion he half worshipped Donovan, and it was +really from the desire to please him that he had overcome his shame +and reluctance, and written to ask his father to receive him again. +The blacksmith's intense happiness was so evident from the ill-spelt +but warmly expressed reply, that Trevethan the younger began to feel +drawn to him, and to look forward to his return with less +apprehension and more eagerness. + +Having left him directions as to fetching little Gladys from the +Osmonds, Donovan took leave of him and went home to make his final +preparations, a trifle saddened by the conversation. But after all, +he reasoned with himself, he had more cause for rejoicing, for he had +certainly been of use to one of the Porthkerran villagers, and Gladys +would be heartily pleased to hear old Trevethan's good news. To have +helped even indirectly to please her was something to be thankful +for; besides, had he not renounced the thought of personal happiness +as such? had he not chosen the way of sacrifice and willed to find +his happiness in serving his fellow-men? And then once more he +returned with all his former eagerness to the anticipation of his +coming work, work which bid fair to call out all his faculties, and +which made his pulses beat quicker even to think of, for perhaps no +one but an awakened misanthropist can feel with such keenness the +delights of the enthusiasm of humanity. + +His key was in the latch when the sound of a carriage stopping at the +door made him glance round; to his utter astonishment he saw his +mother. He hurried forward, surprise and not unnatural emotion in +his look and manner. + +"Why, mother! this is very good of you," he exclaimed, helping her to +alight. + +"My dear Donovan!" she said, in a hurried nervous voice, "let me come +in to your rooms for a minute, I am in dreadful trouble." + +He brought her into the little sitting-room and made her sit down by +the fire, perplexed by her agitation. It was many years since they +had met, and time had altered Mrs. Farrant, she looked worn and +faded; there was something piteous in the alteration. Donovan bent +down and kissed the once beautiful face with a sort of reverence +which he had never felt before. + +"How did you get leave to come to me?" he asked. + +Then Mrs. Farrant's tears began to flow. + +"Oh! the most terrible thing has happened," she said, vainly trying +to check her sobs. "Ellis, your cousin, has been unwell for some +days, and this morning the doctor declares that he has small-pox, and +if you will believe it, I have actually been in his room the whole +time! they said I had better leave for Oakdene, but I am so unnerved, +so shaken, I thought you would take me to the station and arrange +things. I thought I should like to see you and tell you. Oh! +Donovan, do you think I shall take it? do you think it is infectious +at the beginning?" + +It was the same selfish nature, the same incapability of thinking of +the well-being of others, which had caused Donovan so much pain all +through his life. His mother was, after all, only altered +externally. The hard look of his childhood came back into his face. + +"Then you mean to go to Oakdene and leave your husband?" he asked, +with a severity in his voice which he could not disguise. + +"Don't be hard on me," she sobbed, "I have such a horror of this; if +it were fever I would have stayed, but small-pox! No, no, it is +impossible, I must go, I must indeed. Besides, I am not strong +enough to nurse him. The doctor will send a trained nurse. Indeed! +you must not urge me to go back, Donovan, it would kill me." + +Her agony of distress made him reproach himself for having spoken so +strongly; he paced the room in silence. It was unnatural of her to +leave her husband, but yet there was truth in her words, she would be +absolutely useless as a nurse, and her nervous terror would very +likely render her liable to infection. Besides, what right had he to +judge her? He could not trust himself to discuss the right and wrong +of the question, he felt that he must leave it to her own conscience, +and when he spoke it was merely to ask details of Ellis's state, and +the doctor's opinion of it. + +"You had better rest here for a little time," he said, when she had +answered his questions in her unsatisfactory way. "It must have been +a great shock to you!" He spoke in a very different tone now, and +Mrs. Farrant, feeling all the comfort of having a stronger will to +repose upon, allowed herself to be made comfortable on the sofa, and +lay silently watching her son's movements with a sort of interested +curiosity, like a placid patient watching the preparations of a +dentist, or a sleepy child following with its eyes the nurse as she +sets the room in order for the night. Her son was very much altered; +he still set about everything in the same quiet methodical way, but +his angles had been rounded off, and the bitter cynicism which had +always alarmed and repulsed her seemed quite gone. He had taken +paper and ink and was writing hurriedly; presently he pushed his +chair back from the table, and folding the written sheet, came +towards her. + +"I am just going to the hospital, and then to the telegraph-office +with this," he said. "I have ordered Mrs. Doery to have everything +ready for you. Presently I think you must let me vaccinate you. It +is something new to have a doctor in the family, isn't it?" + +"I'm only so shocked that you should have been driven to it," sighed +Mrs. Farrant. "You should have gone into the army. You have grown +so like your father, Donovan." + +He bent down once more and kissed her. Then, promising she should +not be disturbed, he hurried away with the telegram. + +"So like your father!" The words rang in his ears, but never had he +felt farther from any likeness to the noble, calm, self-governed man +whose image stood out so clearly in his memory, the three days' +intercourse with the pure mind having left a deeper impress than +months and years of intercourse with those of lower type. But just +now his mind was in a seething chaos, his whole world shaken, whether +by conflicting duties or conflicting passions he hardly knew, only he +feared it was the latter. Rapidly walking along the crowded streets +he tried to fight the battle out, mechanically taking off his hat to +an acquaintance, mechanically going through his business as people +must do even when the deadliest mental conflict is raging, even +when--perhaps unknown to them--the decision for good or evil, for +life or death is hanging in the balance. Previous arrangement and +strong inclination drew him almost irresistibly towards the +fulfilment of his engagement to the ambulance. Of course other men +would willingly take his place at a day's notice, but his whole mind +was set on going out to the war, the thought of foregoing it was +almost unendurable. And yet a perverse voice within him kept urging +on him that others might go out to the war, but that he was the only +man called to take charge of a poor neglected wretch in a certain +West-End Square. + +Yet did not the fellow deserve his fate? Donovan would have suddenly +changed natures if the justice of the thing had not struck him. Was +it not perfectly satisfactory? Here was Nemesis at last--his foe +would be justly punished! And then, being exceedingly human, he drew +one of those fascinating little mind pictures which, if delineated by +men, are certainly engraved by the devil. In this picture self, the +hero, went out to the war, won unheard of honours, received +honourable wounds, and then was greeted with the news that his enemy +had perished miserably in a luxurious house which he had no right to +be in. "So like your father," with the sharpest satire the words +again rang in his ears. + +God be thanked that the devil's alluring pictures cannot stand side +by side with the image of a true, noble, whole-hearted man! God be +thanked that the ideal man has lightened the world's darkness! + +Donovan's struggle was by no means over by the time he returned to +his mother; it raged all the time that he was attending to her, all +the time that he talked quiet commonplaces, brought her tea and toast +and all that the house would afford, soothed her nervous terrors as +to infection, and quoted small-pox statistics. + +"Could you not come down with me to Oakdene?" said Mrs. Farrant, +suddenly. "You say your course is over, why not come with me now?" + +He knew then that the supreme moment had come. + +"I will see you safely into the train," he said; "but I can't come to +Oakdene." + +"Why not?" urged Mrs. Farrant. + +There was a minute's silence, then, as quietly as if he had been +speaking of an afternoon stroll, Donovan replied, + +"Because I'm going round to Connaught Square presently." + +Mrs. Farrant stared at him. Perhaps he hardly felt inclined just +then for inquiry or argument; muttering some excuse, he left the +room, drew a long breath, and walked slowly upstairs. + +In his bed-room were all the preparations for the coming +journey--travelling gear, books, instruments; he felt a sharp pang as +he realised that all his plans were changed--perhaps there was even a +slight fear lest his resolution should be shaken, for he began to +toss some clothes into a portmanteau in a hurried and unmethodical +way quite unnatural to him; but he quieted down as he took Dot's +miniature from its place. For a minute he looked at it intently, and +afterwards there was no more haste in his manner. + +Mrs. Farrant could not resist questioning him when he came downstairs +again. + +"Do you really think you are wise to go?" she urged. "Why put +yourself to such a risk?" + +"You forget I am a doctor," he said, smiling a little. + +Mrs. Farrant of course knew nothing of her husband's real treachery, +but she knew that he and Donovan were sworn foes, and could not +understand her son's resolution. + +"But he has a trained nurse," she continued, "and I should have +thought that, disliking each other as you do, it would be unlikely +that you could do much for him; he may not like to have you there." + +"Possibly," said Donovan, "but I must go and see." + +"And then you will have been in the way of infection for nothing," +urged his mother. "Come, change your mind. Why must you go?" + +"Because it is right," said Donovan; and there was something in his +tone which kept Mrs. Farrant from further objections. + +She looked uneasy and troubled; perhaps for the first time it struck +her that there could be an absolute right and wrong in such a +question--perhaps she was a little doubtful about her own conduct. +It was at any rate with a feeling of relief that she parted with +Donovan at the Paddington Station, for people whose consciences are +just enough awake to know that they are half asleep never feel +comfortable with those who have and obey an imperative conscience. + +When the Greyshot train had started, Donovan hurried off to make +arrangements with the ambulance, to hunt up a substitute, to find the +old captain and tell him his change of plans, to write notes, give +orders, and make Waif understand the parting. How much he disliked +it all, how intensely he shrank from the work before him, he hardly +allowed himself time to think. + + +Late that evening, as Charles Osmond was sitting in his study hard at +work over the parish accounts, Brian hurried in, an open letter in +his hand. + +"Just look here!" he exclaimed, too full of his subject to notice +that he interrupted his father half-way up a column. "Would you have +believed the fellow could have thrown it all up?" + +Charles Osmond held out his hand for the note, and read as follows:-- + + +"DEAR BRIAN, + +"After all, I'm not going south. Smithson was only too thankful to +step into my shoes, and will sail on Friday. If you can, get him to +trade for some of my goodly Babylonish garments, as I can't well +sport them in England. I only saw him for five minutes this +afternoon, when we'd other matters to talk over. Ellis Farrant is +down with small-pox, and I'm going to see after him. Look in now and +then on Waif and the captain, if you can; they are in the depths. + + "Ever yours, + "D. F." + + +"My grand old Roman!" exclaimed Charles Osmond, half aloud. "You've +grown a good deal since the day we climbed Snowdon." + +"But it's such folly to throw up this just at the last moment," said +Brian. "Besides, he's fagged with the exam, and now, instead of +having the voyage to set him up, he goes straight into this +plague-house all for the sake of one wretched man." + +"You may be quite sure that Donovan was very certain of the right +before he took such a step," said Charles Osmond; "he's not the sort +of fellow to change his mind or his plans lightly, whereas you----" +He laughed and shrugged his shoulders. + +Brian smiled too, for it was the family proverb that he was the most +impetuous and impulsive of mortals. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +VIA LUCIS. + + O Beauty, old yet ever new! + Eternal Voice and Inward Word, + The Logos of the Greek and Jew, + The old sphere music which the Samian heard. + Truth which the sage and prophet saw, + Long sought without, but found within, + The Law of Love beyond all law, + The life o'erflooding mortal death and sin! + + Shine on us with the light which glowed + Upon the trance-bound shepherd's way, + Who saw the Darkness overflowed, + And drowned by tides of everlasting Day. + Shine, light of God!--make broad thy scope + To all who sin and suffer; more + And better than we dare to hope + With Heaven's compassion make our longings poor! + WHITTIER. + + +It was evening by the time that Donovan's preparations were ended. +About seven o'clock he was set down at the Marble Arch, and hastily +made his way to Connaught Square. As he stood on the steps waiting +till the door was opened, the newly-risen moon, looked full down on +him through the trees in the garden; the quiet silvery light was not +quite in keeping with his state of mind, for the whole afternoon he +had, as it were, been rowing against tide, and quietly as he had made +his resolution, and steadily as he had gone through with all which it +involved, there was no denying that it was sorely against his +inclination. + +It was certainly a curious position. Here he was, after years of +absence, ringing at the door of his own house, not with a view to +taking possession, but merely to see and help the unlawful occupant. +He could not even to himself explain or understand the line of +conduct he was taking, he did not think it particularly just, or at +all politic, and there was no doubt that it was exceedingly painful. +He was no saint at present, only an honest man walking in the +twilight. + +He rang at least three times, and was beginning to feel impatient, +when at length the door was opened about an inch and some one within +asked what he wanted. + +"I want to come in, Phœbe," he replied, recognising the voice. + +The maid opened the door wider, astonishment and some perplexity in +her look. + +"Oh, Mr. Donovan, sir!" she exclaimed. "How little I thought to see +you again! But don't come in, sir, please don't, for we've small-pox +in the house." + +"I know," said Donovan, "and I'm glad to see that you've not deserted +your master, Phœbe; I might have known that you at least would be +staunch. We must keep you out of the way of infection, though. Have +you been with Mr. Farrant at all?" + +"I helped to move him, sir, this morning," said Phœbe. + +"Oh! he's up at the top, is he? That's well. Don't you come further +than the second floor then, I will fetch everything from there." + +"You mean to stay?" said Phœbe, surprised, but evidently relieved. + +"I have come to nurse him," said Donovan. "You can make me up a bed +in" (with an effort) "Miss Dot's room." + +In a few minutes more he was striding upstairs two steps at a time, +perhaps moving the quicker because even now a voice within him was +urging him to turn back, calling him a fool for his pains. + +Since their meeting in Wales he had often wondered whether he should +again see Ellis Farrant, and if so how they would meet and where. He +had rehearsed possible meetings in which he might combine perfect +coldness with the forgiveness which Charles Osmond had spoken of. +Cold Christliness--a curious idea, certainly! + +But when it came to the point he somehow lost sight of himself and +his wrongs altogether. A dim yellow light pervaded the room, the +sick-nurse came to meet him as he opened the door, he gave her a +low-toned explanation, then turned to the bed where Ellis Farrant lay. + +After all he was a man--a man tossing to and fro in weary misery, +racked with pain, scorched by fever, fearfully ill, and fearfully +alone, left at least with only paid attendants. He was delirious, +but he at once noticed Donovan's entrance, mistaking him, however, +for his father. He started up with outstretched hands. "Ralph! dear +old fellow, I knew you'd come," he cried. "Save me from that old +hag, it's old Molly the matron; don't you remember her? Stay with +me, Ralph; promise! She's a hag, I tell you, a cursed old hag! +She's been trying to poison me. Don't leave me with her, don't leave +me!" + +"I have come to stay with you," said Donovan, touched by the +reference to the past, to the school days when his father and Ellis +had been the greatest of friends. "I shall stay and nurse you +through this; no one shall hurt you." + +After the promise had been repeated again and again Ellis grew more +quiet. + +"There's one other thing," he began, incoherently. "I owe a +sovereign to one of the sixth; you'll pay it for me if I die--promise +me--the honour of the family, you know--the Farrant honour; his name +is--what is his name? I can't remember it! Plague on the fellow! +_Donovan!_ That's it. Pay Donovan a sovereign, will you? And there +was something else--a paper; what did I do with it? Tell me, for +heaven's sake! There were six bits; I could join them. Give them to +me, give them, I say; don't burn them, don't!" his voice rose to a +scream. "Fire! fire! the bits are flying round me. Save me, Ralph! +it's that dreadful Donovan, he's pelting me!" + +"I'll settle him," said Donovan, quietly. "Don't be afraid." + +"But you can't get the paper--it's the paper he wants, and it's +burnt. Oh, God! what shall I do? There he is again! he won't +speak--his dreadful eyes are looking at me!" + +"No, no, you've made a mistake," said Donovan, re-assuringly; "he +doesn't want the paper, he wants you to go to sleep. Come, now, you +must try to settle off." + +With that he laid his hand on Ellis's burning forehead, and before +long had really quieted him; he fell into a sort of doze. + +Then Donovan turned to make his peace with the much-maligned nurse, a +good-natured old creature in a gorgeous dressing-gown rather +painfully suggestive of defunct patients. She was not at all +unwilling to share the burden of nursing with the young doctor, and +it ended not unnaturally in his taking by far the greatest part. For +Ellis remained for several days under the same delusion, and would +accept no services from anyone but the supposed cousin and +school-fellow. + +His ravings were painful enough to listen to, and Donovan saw plainly +that his guilt weighed heavily on him. The fatal "paper," with its +six fluttering bits, sometimes red-hot, sometimes black and charred, +sometimes only freshly torn, recurred constantly in his delirium. +The last meeting on Snowdon haunted him too, and Donovan would have +given much to be able to blot out the strong impression which his +silent wrath had made. + +By the time the fever subsided, and the second stage of the illness +set in, he had grown so perfectly absorbed in the progress of his +patient that all sense of the strangeness of his own position had +died away. He had scarcely time to realise that he was in his own +house; when in his brief intervals of rest he was set free from the +sick-room, and could emerge from the carbolic-steeped barrier which +separated the upper part of the house from the lower, he had no +leisure to think of possessions or rights; there were orders to be +given, telegrams to be sent; every now and then in the early morning, +or after dusk when few passengers were stirring, there was the chance +of a breath of air in the park. + +But to the sick man the discovery was a great surprise and a very +sudden shock. The fever left him, the delirium faded away, and he +found that the attendant from whom he hoped everything, the only +person he could bear to touch him, and the one in whom he had put the +blindest faith, was not his old friend and school-fellow at all, but +his enemy--Donovan. He tried in vain to think that this too was a +delusion. A hundred horrible fears rushed through his mind; had he +come to take his revenge? He dared not say a word, but accepted +everything sullenly and silently. At length, after many days, +Donovan's persevering care and tenderness began to touch his heart. +When the secondary fever set in, his ravings were less of the burning +paper, and more of "coals of fire,"--coals which, nevertheless, he +could ill have dispensed with. + +It was the strangest, saddest, most pitiful sick-bed, and in many +ways it was more of a strain to Donovan than the stiffest campaign +could have been. + +Charles Osmond, coming one evening to inquire after the patient, met +Donovan on the doorstep. + +"You are not afraid of me?" he inquired. "I've just changed." + +"Not a bit," said the clergyman, taking his arm. "Let us have a turn +together. Do you think I've been a parson all these years without +coming nearer small-pox than this? How is your cousin getting on?" + +"Exceedingly well up till this morning," replied Donovan; "the +disease has about run its course, but I'm afraid a serious +complication has just arisen. There's to be a consultation +to-morrow." + +"You look rather done up; are you taking care of yourself?" + +"Oh! I shall do very well; but between ourselves it has been"--he +hesitated for words--"about the saddest business I ever saw, from the +very first." + +"Do you mean his remorse?" + +"Yes, the sort of abject misery of it, and his agony of fear. I wish +he had some one else with him, some one who was at least sure in his +own mind one way or the other. If the poor fellow asks me anything, +I can tell him absolutely nothing, but that I do not know--that all +is unknown and unknowable." + +"I will gladly come to see him," said Charles Osmond, "if you think +he would not object; but"--looking attentively at the singularly pure +and noble face of his companion--"I fancy, Donovan, you are helping +him better than anyone else could; service from you must be to him +what no other service could be." + +"'Coals of fire,' according to his own account," said Donovan, with a +little humorous smile playing about his grave lips. "But he does +seem to like it nevertheless." + +Their conversation was cut short by a warning clock which reminded +Donovan that he must return. Charles Osmond watched him as he walked +rapidly up the square, and disappeared into the darkened house, the +house in which such a strange bit of life was being lived. How those +two cog-wheels would work together the clergyman did not feel sure, +but he was sure they would in some way work the good. Ay! and that +without his interference! He was human enough to long to have his +share in helping this soul, honest enough to recognise that another +had been called to the work--that other being an agnostic. As he +walked down into the main road a verse from one of his favourite +poems rang in his head. + + "And nerve his arm, and cheer his heart; + Then _stand aside_, and say 'God speed!'" + + +"Standing aside!" the hardest of tasks to a warm-hearted man, very +conscious of his own power! To a surface observer it would surely +have seemed right that Charles Osmond and Donovan should change +places. + +The sick man not being a surface observer, however, but an actor in +this life drama, would strongly have objected to such a change. Very +slowly and gradually his sullenness had disappeared, and in his heart +a strange, helpless, dependent love was growing up--almost the first +love he had ever known. He was quite himself now, and could think +clearly; he had already formed his plan, his poor, wretched bit of +restitution, and how to carry it out. + +When Donovan returned that evening from his walk with Charles Osmond, +and took his usual place in the peculiarly oppressive sick-room, he +found Ellis much exhausted, his hoarse voice sounded hoarser than +usual, his inflamed eyelids were suggestive of voluntary tears, he +seemed rather to shrink from Donovan's gaze. + +For in his thin, wasted hand he held tightly the paper which +contained his brief confession. With infinite difficulty he kept it +out of Donovan's sight, with almost childish impatience he waited for +the morning, when, before the two doctors, he intended to make his +declaration. He was too eager to gain the relief to care very much +what they thought of him. Perhaps he half hoped, too, that he could +make a sort of compact with Heaven, and by the act of restitution +secure a few more years in the world; or perhaps, having lived +guilty, he desired to die innocent, or as nearly innocent as might +be. Undoubtedly there was a certain amount of selfishness in the +action, but there was, too, a very genuine sorrow, and that strange +glimmer of love for the man whom he had injured, the enemy who had +come to him in his need. + +Donovan could not understand why he was so anxious to get rid of him +the next day; he humoured him, however, and was not present when the +two doctors arrived. After the consultation was over he was too much +troubled to think of anything but their verdict. He had known that +Ellis's recovery was doubtful, but he was startled and shocked to +hear that he could not possibly live more than two or three days. To +him, too, was left the task of breaking the news to the patient. +Never had he felt more unfitted for his work, never had he so keenly +felt his own incompleteness. To make matters worse, Ellis seemed +quite suddenly to have taken the greatest dislike to him. + +"I know quite well what you have to say," he interrupted, when +Donovan tried to lead up to the doctors' opinion. "I know that I'm +dying, and that you'll soon be well rid of me. I tell you I won't +have you in the room, get out and leave me to the nurse. Isn't it +enough that I had you all last night?" + +Till now it had been difficult to be absent even for a few hours from +the room, for Ellis had always begged not to be left to the nurse, +whom he greatly disliked. This sudden change was perplexing and +disappointing. Donovan went away discouraged and wretched, and tried +in vain to sleep. Late in the evening he again went to relieve +guard. Ellis did not actually object this time to his presence, but +he was alternately sullen and irritable, in great pain, and, in spite +of his confession signed and witnessed, in terrible mental distress. + +Donovan never forgot that night. It seemed endless! There was not +very much to be done; to quiet Ellis was impossible, to reason with +him was useless; he could only listen to his irritable remarks, and +make answer as guardedly as he could. + +"What are you here for?" grumbled Ellis "What made you come? Why do +you stay? You know you hate me!" + +"Nonsense," replied Donovan. "Should I stay here if I did?" + +"You have some evil purpose," cried Ellis. "You have come for your +revenge. Why did you come?" + +"Because it was right," said Donovan, shortly. + +"Right! Do you think I shall believe that? All very fine when you +knew quite well I'd ruined you. Didn't you know, I say? Didn't you +know well enough?" + +"Of course," said Donovan. "But you were ill and alone." + +"Oh! yes, it's all very fine; but you won't get me to believe it. +It's a very likely story, isn't it? I tell you," he added, in a +querulous voice, "you're a fool to try to gull me like that--it's +against all reason--you can't prove to me that you don't hate me--you +can't prove to me that you didn't mean to poison me!" + +"No, I can't prove it in words," said Donovan; "I can only flatly +deny. But we have been so long together, surely you can believe in +me now?" + +He still murmured that it was impossible--against reason; but, +perhaps exhausted by his own vehemence, fell at length into a sort of +restless sleep. + +Donovan too dozed for a few minutes in his chair, only however to +carry on the argument. He woke with the words--"Quite against +reason" in his mind, and his own answer--"Surely you can believe in +me now!" + +He got up, went to the bed, and looked at Ellis; he was still +sleeping, an expression of great distress on his worn face. Donovan +sighed, and crossed the room to the window. The night was wearing +on; he drew up the blind and saw that the first faint grey of dawn +was stealing over the horizon. Everything looked inexpressibly +dreary; the room was at the back of the house; he could see the bare +trees waving in the wind, and the grim, white tombstones in the +Unitarian burial-ground stood out forlornly in the dim light. Death +was certain, all too certain, but the beyond was dark and unknown. +Yet here in the very room with him was one who must soon pass through +those gloomy portals--to what? Was there a hereafter to complete +this fearfully barren existence? Would that wretched life have a +chance of growth and change? Or was it just ended here? Had this +man, with all his gifts and talents, just wasted his life? Was there +no future for him? He had done no good works to live after him, he +had left no memory to be revered, he had done no good to his +generation, had left nothing for posterity. Was all ended? When Dot +had died, Donovan had dreamed of no possible hereafter, but now all +seemed different. His creed was no longer a positive one, and +besides, the idea of the wasted life dying out for ever was less +tolerable than the idea of the little child passing from terrible +pain to the "peace of nothingness." + +What was the Truth? Did this awfully mysterious life end with what +was called Death? + +And still a voice repeated his own words--"Surely you can believe in +me now!" + +Then again he looked at the sleeping man, and again a miserable sense +of failure weighed down his heart. He had tried hard to show no +trace of remembrance of the past, never in look or word to remind +Ellis of the wrong he had done him, yet his forgiveness had been +rejected, insolently, contemptuously rejected. He might just as well +have gone out to the war and left Ellis to his fate, for he evidently +would not even believe that his motive had not been one of +self-interest. "Against all reason," a "likely story!" Evidently he +could not bring himself to believe, and how was it possible to give +him. proof! The most wounding sense of rejection and disappointment +filled his heart. + +And still the voice repeated, "Surely you can believe in me now!" + +Then for the first time in his life Donovan became conscious of a +Presence mightier than anything he had ever conceived possible. He +realised that his pain about Ellis was but the shadow of the pain +which he himself had given to "One better than the best conceivable." +He saw that for want of logical proof he too had rejected Him whose +ways are above and beyond proof. The veil was lifted, and in the +place of the dim Unknown stood One who had loved him with everlasting +love, who had drawn him with loving-kindness. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +APPREHENSION. + +Life has two ecstatic moments, one when the spirit catches sight of +Truth, the other when it recognises a kindred spirit....... Perhaps +it is only in the land of Truth that spirits can discern each other; +as it is when they are helping each other on, that they may best hope +to arrive there. + _Guesses at Truth._ + + +If rapture means the being carried away, snatched out of self to +something higher--if ecstasy means the state in which corporeal +consciousness is made to stand aside, to give place to a higher and +perfectly satisfying consciousness--then Donovan knew for the first +time both rapture and ecstasy. But real spiritual rapture is the +quietest thing in the world. It is only when the senses are appealed +to that superstition and fanaticism win devotees and evoke noisy and +excited zeal. The man who, after long search and hard labour, is at +length rewarded by some grand discovery, will be very calm because of +his rapture, very still, because his feelings are true and deep. + +It was characteristic of him that he stood upright. After a time the +beauty of the scene without made itself felt. The sun had just +risen--the window looked westward--all the land was bathed in the +rosy glow of sunrise. The wind had gone down, the bare trees no +longer waved dismally to and fro, the white graves in the +burial-ground were softened and mellowed in the glorious flood of +light. It was not unlike the change in his own life--the darkness +past, the sun changing all the scene. For was not the mystery of +life solved? had not even the grave "its sunny side"? It was when +the prophet realised the everlastingness of God that the conviction +came to him--"we shall not die." + +And Dot's confident "you will know" came to pass, and she was, as it +were, given back to him once more. + +The sick man stirred. Donovan went to the bedside. There too he was +conscious of change. The realisation of immortality brings relief, +but it brings too a strange sense of awe. + +The sleep had refreshed Ellis. He was a little better, and not quite +so irritable, his assumed dislike too was put aside. Once more his +only anxiety was to keep Donovan beside him. As the day advanced he +grew weaker, however. He was not in great pain, but very restless +and weary, and in an agony of fear. At last, to relieve himself, he +began to talk to Donovan. + +"Do you remember what you said when you left the Manor?" he began, +hurriedly, "about hoping I'd remember to my dying day? This is my +dying day, and you've got your wish." + +"I have unwished it," said Donovan, quietly. + +"I believe you have," said Ellis, looking at him steadily for a +minute. "But how can I forget? The sin is the same whether you +forgive or not. And I've not even enjoyed it--do you hear? I've not +been able to enjoy it!" + +"No? Then God has been very good to you," said Donovan. + +"Good! What do you mean?" groaned Ellis. + +"That the greatest curse you can have is enjoyment of wrong," replied +Donovan. "I know only too bitterly what it means." + +Ellis seemed to muse over the words, then he continued--"I've done +what I could. I've got it signed and witnessed. See!" and he drew a +folded paper from beneath the pillow. "But it's no good, it's not a +bit of good. It's made me feel no better." + +Donovan glanced at the confession and put it aside. + +"Don't let it be lost, don't leave it about," cried Ellis, nervously. +"Without it you won't get your rights, and if not, I couldn't rest in +my grave." + +Just at that moment Donovan felt supremely indifferent as to the +property, but to please Ellis he put the paper in a safe place. + +"It was all that wretched will that ruined me!" cried the miserable +man. "If it hadn't been so small, if I hadn't been alone, there'd +have been no temptation. I wasn't such a bad fellow before then. +And now I'm ruined, lost! Do you hear what I say? I've lost my +soul! How can you sit there so quietly, when in a few hours I shall +be dead? Don't you believe in hell?" + +"Yes," said Donovan, slowly. "And I think that you and I have +already spent most of our lives there." + +"That wasn't what they used to teach; I believe you're half a sceptic +still," groaned Ellis. "I'm sure there was a way of getting it all +set right at the last, if only I could remember." + +"Would you like to see a clergyman?" asked Donovan. + +"No, no, no," cried Ellis, vehemently; "I've been a hypocrite all my +life before them, I can at least speak the truth to you--you who know +just what I am." + +"Then," said Donovan, very diffidently, urged to speak only by the +extremity of the case, "if you want one who knows all, you can go +straight to God who is nearer you than anyone else can be." + +"That's nothing new!" exclaimed Ellis, petulantly. "I've known that +all my life." + +"How did you know it?" asked Donovan. + +"I don't know how; they told me--my mother, and at church and school." + +Conventional acceptance was a thing which Donovan could not +understand. + +"I think we must learn differently from that," he said, slowly, as if +feeling his way on new ground. "Before you can really know, must you +not be conscious of God's presence?" + +"I've had that," groaned Ellis, "it's dogged me through everything--a +dreadful text that was up in the old nursery, it used to make me +shiver then--great black letters--'Thou God seest me;' I can see it +now, and the horrid feeling after one had told a lie. Do you think +there's no way out of it? They used to say something--I forget what, +it never seemed to me very real. Do you think one must be punished?" + +"Yes, I do," said Donovan. + +"Oh! is there no way of getting off?" groaned Ellis. + +"I don't think you'll wish to 'get off,'" replied Donovan. + +"Not wish! How little you know! What would you do if you were lying +as I am, with only a few hours more to live?--would you not wish to +get off?" + +"I think I should wish--I do wish to be saved from selfishness," said +Donovan, slowly, "and to give myself unreservedly into God's keeping." + +Death has a strange way of breaking down the strongest barriers of +reserve; afterwards it seemed almost incredible to Donovan that he +and Ellis, of all people in the world, should have spoken with such +perfect openness to each other. It was a little hard on him perhaps +to be called upon so soon to speak of the truths he had so lately +grasped, but the very freshness of his conviction gave his words a +peculiar power, the very slowness and diffidence of his humility +touched Ellis when glib, conventional utterances would have passed by +him unheeded. And yet the sick man did not gather from his words one +grain of selfish comfort. Donovan evidently did not believe in any +charm for converting the death-bed of a wrong-doer into that of a +saint, he seemed perfectly convinced that punishment did await him, +purifying punishment. And Ellis who had all his life hoped to set +things right at the last, was much more terrified at the idea of +certain punishment even with his ultimate good in view than of +everlasting punishment, which, by some theological charm, he might +hope altogether to escape. The inevitable loss of even some small +possession is much more keenly felt than the possible loss of all, +which we hope to avert, and the very idea of which we can hardly take +into our minds. + +The one only comfort of that terrible day was in the realisation of +Donovan's forgiveness. By degrees this began to work in the poor +man's mind, almost imperceptibly to alter his grim notions of the +stern, inexorable Judge in whom he believed, and before whom he +trembled. + +It was night again, the room was dim and quiet, but beside the bed +the dying man could see the face of his late enemy, the strong, pure, +strangely powerful face which, in his helplessness, he had learnt to +love. + +"Do you think God's as forgiving as you are?" he faltered. "Do you +think He's better than they say?" + +Donovan was dismayed. Did the poor fellow know what he was saying? +could he have such a terribly low ideal? He would not allow his +surprise to show itself, however. He drew nearer. + +"See," he said, at the same time raising his cousin's head so that it +rested on his shoulder in the way which gave the sick man most +relief. "I know very little of what they say, and am at the +beginning of everything, but I am sure that whatever love I have for +you is but the tiniest ray of His love; and if you persist in +shutting out all but one ray when the whole sun is ready to light +you, you will find it, as I have found it, very dark." + +And then in the silence that followed Donovan fell into a reverie. +Why was it that this man found it so hard to believe? He had +evidently no such difficulties as he himself had had--no intellectual +perplexities. Had he believed in some terrific phantom? or had the +long selfishness of years brought him to a state in which he could +not reach the idea of love? Yet he could reach the idea of human +love and pity; he clung now almost like a child to Donovan. + +"Who would have thought that you would be the only one with me at the +last?" he murmured. "But I shall have to leave even you; I must go +alone to face God, to stand before the Judge. I wish I'd never been +born, I tell you!" + +Donovan felt almost choked; he would have given worlds to have had +Charles Osmond there at that moment. But there was no chance of +getting a better man to speak to Ellis then, nor, had the greatest +saints upon earth been present, would they have had as much influence +with him as the man whom he had wronged. + +The clock struck three. There was a long silence. Donovan seemed to +have gained what he wanted in the waiting, for his face was strangely +bright when he turned once more to Ellis. + +"I am going to tell you something about my father," he began. And +then, much in the way in which he used to soothe Dot's restless +nights with stories, Donovan told faithfully and graphically the +whole story of his school disgrace. How he had cared not a rush for +all the blame, how he had braved opinion, how the gauntletting had +hardened and embittered him; then of his return to the house, of the +way in which his father had received him, of the forgiveness which +had first made him repentant, of the fatherly grief which had made +him just for his father's sake care for the punishment. + +His voice got a little husky towards the end. Ellis, too, was +evidently much moved. + +"Do you think God is at all like your father?" he faltered. + +It hurt Donovan a little, this bald anthropomorphism, but recognising +that Ellis was really feeling after the underlying truth, he answered, + +"I think my father was, as it were, a shadow of God--a shadow of the +great Fatherhood--and the shadow can't be without the reality." + +Ellis seemed satisfied. After that he slept at intervals, murmuring +indistinctly every now and then fragments of the story he had just +heard, or wandering back to recollections of his childhood. + +Just as the dawn was breaking, he came to himself once more, speaking +quite clearly. + +"I should like you to say the Lord's Prayer," he said. + +So together Donovan and the dying man said the "Our Father," and +sealed their reconciliation. + +Then, tremblingly and fearfully, Ellis entered the valley of the +shadow of death. Truly there are last which shall be first, and +first last! The conventionally religious man, the man whose +orthodoxy had always been considered beyond dispute, would have died +in black darkness had not one ray of love been kindled in his cold +heart by the forgiveness he so little deserved, had not a gleam of +truth been given to him by one who but yesterday had been an agnostic. + +At sunrise he passed away into the Unseen. + + +For thirty-six hours Donovan had been in constant attendance on his +cousin. When all was over he could no longer resist the craving for +air which had for some time made the sick-room almost intolerable to +him. In the stillness of that early winter morning he left the house +and made his way into the park. The ground was white with frost, the +sky intensely blue, the air sharp and exhilarating. The outer world +suited his state of mind exactly. He was awed and quieted by the +death-bed he had just quitted, but above the stillness and above the +awe there was that marvellous sense of the Eternal which had so +lately dawned for him, a consciousness which widened the whole +universe, which gave new beauty to all around. He walked on rapidly +into the bleakest, most open part of the park, a peculiar elasticity +in his step, a light in his eyes. + +It took him back to a day in his childhood, when his tutor had first +given him some idea of the most recent solar discoveries. He could +clearly remember the sort of exultant glow of wonder and awe which +had taken possession of him; how the whole world had seemed full of +grand possibilities; how he had rushed out alone on to the downs near +the Manor, and in every blade of grass, in every tiny flower, in +every wayside stone had seen new wonders, strange invisible workings +which no one could fathom or grasp. The very wind blowing on his +heated brow had been laden with the marvellous; nothing could be +common, or small, or ordinary to him again. + +That had been his feeling when he first realised the physical unseen; +his first realisation of the spiritual unseen was a little like it, +only deeper and more lasting, and that while the child's delight had +had an element of wildness in it, the man's rapture was all calmness. + +The park seemed deserted. The sole creature he met was an +organ-grinder setting out on his daily rounds. Involuntarily they +exchanged a _buon giorno_. His very dreams of "liberty, equality, +fraternity" took a wider and deeper meaning in the breadth and light +of that morning. + +There are more resurrection days than the world dreams of--Easters +which are not less real because the church bells do not ring--which, +though chanted of by no earthly choir, cause joy in the presence of +the angels of God. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +TREVETHAN SPEAKS. + + But Thou wilt sin and grief destroy; + That so the broken bones may joy, + And tune together in a well-set song, + Full of His praises, + Who dead men raises. + Fractures well cured make us more strong. + GEORGE HERBERT. + + +The years had wrought very little visible change in Gladys. +Outwardly her life had been very quiet and uneventful since her last +meeting with Donovan, and whatever anxiety or inward trouble she had +had was not registered on her fair, open brow, or in her clear, +quiet, blue-grey eyes. That time was passing quickly, and that years +had elapsed since Donovan had been at Porthkerran, was shown much +more clearly by the change in Nesta, who, from a remarkably small +child, had shot up into a slim little girl of eight years. The two +sisters were walking together along the Porthkerran cliffs one winter +afternoon, Nesta telling an endless fairy tale for the joint benefit +of her doll and her sister, Gladys listening every now and then for a +few minutes, but a good deal engrossed with her own thoughts. + +The Caustons were spending a few days with them, and Stephen's +presence was rather tiresome and embarrassing. She had really come +out chiefly to escape his company, for the afternoon was not at all +tempting. A strong west wind was blowing, the sky was dull and +leaden, the sea grey, and restless, and stormy. Gladys was not +easily affected by weather, but to-day the dulness seemed to tell on +her. There was something depressing in the great, grey expanse of +sea heaving and tossing restlessly, in the long white fringe of foam +along the coastline, in the heavy, gloomy sky. Only one boat was in +sight, a little pilot-boat which had just left Porthkerran Bay. It +was tossing fearfully; every now and then a great gust of wind +threatened to blow it quite over. She watched it bending and swaying +beneath the blast, but still making way, until at length it +disappeared in the grey mist which shrouded the distance. + +Gladys sighed as it passed away out of sight. It reminded her--why +she scarcely knew--of a life which for a little while had touched her +life very nearly, of a strong, determined, resolute man struggling +hard with adverse circumstances under a leaden sky of doubt. He, +too, had passed away into a grey mist. For years she had heard +absolutely nothing of him; their lives were quite severed. Was he +still under the leaden sky? she wondered. Was all still so fearfully +against him? Was he still toiling on against wind and tide? A +little rift in the clouds made way for a gleam of sunlight, and it so +happened that the gleam fell, on the horizon-line in one golden +little spot of brightness. Right in the centre of it she could +clearly make out the dark sail of the pilot-boat. It brought to her +mind a line of George Herbert-- + + "The sun still shineth there or here." + + +And she walked on more hopefully, strangely inspirited by that +momentary glimpse of sunlight. What right had she to doubt that the +sun would shine for him sooner or later! Might not he, too, have +even now reached the brightness? lived out his bit of grey? + +"We will go and see Trevethan," she said to little Nesta. "It is +quite a long time since we've heard anything about him." + +They passed the place where Donovan had climbed down after the lost +hat, and before many minutes reached the forge, where Trevethan was +hammering away at his anvil, the sparks springing up from the red-hot +metal like fireflies. Standing beside the blazing fire was a little +pale-faced girl. + +"Good day, miss," said the blacksmith, glancing round and laying +aside his hammer. "I'm right glad to see ye, miss. I was a-coming +up to the house this very night to tell ye our good news." + +"News of your son?" asked Gladys, feeling certain that nothing less +could have called out such radiant satisfaction in Trevethan's face. + +"Not news of him, Miss Gladys, but himself; he's come, he's here now, +and this is his little one, miss, called after you. Jack was +determined she should have a good Cornish name; He be out now, more's +the pity, but we be both a-coming to-night to see the doctor, to tell +him of Mr. Farrant, and how it's all his doing." + +"Mr. Farrant?" questioned Gladys, her colour deepening. + +"Yes, miss, Mr. Donovan as was here three years gone by. He promised +to look out for Jack, and you'd never think, miss, what he's been to +my poor lad, a-nursing of him his own self, and a-persuading of him +to come home when Jack was frightened whether I'd give him a welcome +or not." + +"Was your son at St. Thomas's?" asked Gladys. + +"Yes, miss, but Mr. Farrant he found him out in his own place. You +tell, little one, how you fetched him to see father." + +So little Gladys told shyly, yet graphically, too, how she had gone +one rainy evening to fetch Donovan, how he had made her sit by his +fire, how he had held his umbrella over her on the way back, and had +done all he could to help them. The tears would come into Gladys' +eyes for very happiness. Had she not known that the truth would come +out at last! Had she not been right to believe in him without the +slightest proof! + +"Will Mr. Dono come to stay with us again?" asked Nesta, as they +walked home. + +"I don't know, darling," she replied. "Some day perhaps." + +But her heart was dancing with happiness, that "perhaps" had a good +deal of assurance in it. + +The two Trevethans had a long interview with the doctor that evening. +Such an unexpected opportunity of hearing about Donovan was not to be +neglected, and Dr. Tremain made the most minute inquiries. Jack +Trevethan was a very shrewd fellow; from the most trifling +indications he had long ago guessed all the facts of the case. He +had seen Donovan flush quickly at the mention of Miss Tremain, had +found that he was no longer on speaking terms with Stephen Causton, +had put two and two together in the quick way common to observant +people, especially when they are watching life in a circle above +them. He was thoroughly devoted to Donovan, and very eager to do him +service. Very carefully and minutely he told Dr. Tremain of their +first meeting in the billiard saloon. Then for the first time +Donovan's true relation to Stephen transpired. The doctor could +hardly believe that he heard rightly. It was such an entire +reversing of all that he had feared, all that he had unwillingly +believed. Could it indeed be that Donovan had only tried to keep +Stephen out of evil? Could he possibly have gone with him to the +Z---- races merely to prevent his going with the set which Trevethan +very graphically described? The ex-billiard-marker disclosed several +very damaging facts; Stephen had often visited the saloon with the +same set of students, but Donovan had never again entered the place. + +Gladys could not understand why her father looked so worried and +perplexed when he came back to the drawing-room that evening. Did he +not believe the good news? Must he not be infinitely relieved? A +sudden light was thrown on her perplexity, however, when her father +spoke. + +"I want a word with you, Stephen, will you come into the study?" + +Of course whatever proved Donovan's innocence must at the same time +convict Stephen! She had not thought of that! + +Stephen had a sort of presentiment that his time was come. He +followed the doctor into the next room. + +"I have nothing pleasant to tell you," began Dr. Tremain, speaking +rather quickly, and in the tone of one who fears he may lose his +temper. "I have just had an interview with a man who was present at +a certain billiard saloon in Villiers Street at the time you were in +the habit of frequenting it. The man was one of the markers, he has +described to me the one evening when Donovan met you there and +persuaded you to leave. Is that what you call being led into +temptation by him?" + +Stephen turned pale. + +"It is exceedingly hard that you take the word of a mere stranger +before mine," he said. "This man, whoever he may be, has no doubt +been instigated by Farrant? Why should you believe him?" + +"Because he has truth written on his face," said Dr. Tremain, "and +you have not. Stephen, I do not wish to be hard on you, I will try +not to prejudge you, but I implore you to tell me the whole truth." + +To tell the whole truth was unfortunately not at all in Stephen's +line; he began to excuse himself. + +"Farrant is as hard as nails, he judges everyone by himself; because +he had once been a regular gambler was no reason that I should follow +his example. He'd no business to spy on me." + +"Take care," said the doctor, quickly, "your own words are condemning +you." + +"It is you who force me to condemn myself," said Stephen, sullenly. +Then after a pause he all at once broke down and buried his face in +his hands. "If Gladys could have loved me," he sobbed, "it would all +have been different; it's been my love for her that has undone me, +made me want to seem better than I was." + +The doctor, at once sorrowful and angry, paced the room in silence, +but there was something so selfish in Stephen's confessions that, in +spite of himself, the anger would predominate. + +"You call by the name of love what was nothing more than mere selfish +desire," he said, sternly. "How could you dare to ask any woman to +be your wife when to gain her you had acted one continual lie! Do +you realise that all these years an innocent man has been suffering +for your guilt? Do you realise that one word from Donovan, the word +he was too generous to speak, would have brought all your falseness +to the light! What do you expect him to think of Christianity if +that is the way you behave. You have brought shame to your religion! +You have disgraced your name! And not only that, but you have +utterly misled me, caused me entirely to misjudge the man of all +others I would have treated with greatest delicacy--greatest justice. +How could you tell me such lies? Had you no generosity--no sense of +gratitude?" + +Stephen cowered under the storm, but kept silence. + +Presently, in the saddening consciousness of his own grievous +mistake, the doctor's anger died away. + +"I will say no more, it is scarcely fair to reproach you with my own +hastiness of judgment, my own want of insight," he said, in a voice +full of sorrow, which reproached Stephen far more than his anger; +"but when I think of what Donovan has borne in silence, from the very +people too who should have been his best friends, it is almost more +than I can endure." + +Stephen's better nature began to show itself at last, his heart smote +him as he realised all the pain his deceit had caused. He left off +excusing himself, and somewhat falteringly told the story from the +very beginning, revealing the sort of double life he had led for so +many years, wild and self-indulgent when alone, falsely religious and +proper when with his mother. The doctor was very good to him, +promised to help him as far as he could by speaking to Mrs. Causton, +and perhaps for the first time thoroughly awakened Stephen's love and +respect. Before they parted that night they had discussed the future +as well as the past, and Stephen had made up his mind to go abroad, +to try with all his might to redeem his name. + +Trevethan had after all been detained at St. Thomas's later than +Donovan had expected. He had learnt at the hospital that his friend +had not gone out to the war, that instead he was nursing some +relation. This was all he could tell Dr. Tremain, but of course the +impulsive doctor, even with such slight information, prepared to go +up to London at once. Letters had failed so signally before that he +would no longer trust them, he must see Donovan to explain matters +fully, to apologise as he wished. + +Some cruel fate seemed to have ordained that he should always have to +endure a most irksome time of waiting in the York Road lodging-house. +Donovan was of course not at home; the old captain was out, but was +expected in an hour's time, he was the only person who knew Mr. +Farrant's address. The landlady invited the doctor to come in and +wait. The room seemed very dull and quiet, the only trace of Donovan +which it bore was in a sheet of writing-paper pinned up in a +conspicuous place over the mantelpiece, whereon was inscribed a +high-flown but affectionate declaration that John Frewin, late +captain of the _Metora_, bound himself hereby to touch no alcoholic +drink until the return of his friend Donovan Farrant. + +Apparently the old man had kept his pledge, for he came in before +long looking exceedingly respectable and sober. Dr. Tremain had to +listen to the whole account of the drawing up of the paper, the +surprise it was to be to the captain's "dear friend and benefactor," +and the dreariness of the place without him before he could elicit +Donovan's address from the talkative old gentleman. Even then Rouge +tried to scare him with terrific accounts of the small-pox. + +At length, however, he was really on his way to Connaught Square; by +this time it was evening, and when he reached the house it seemed +dark and deserted. He rang, and after a long delay, was admitted. +Phœbe eyed him with some suspicion, but hearing that he was a +doctor, she let him come in and showed him into the dining-room, +lighting the gas for his benefit. Then for the first time they +discovered that Donovan was stretched on the sofa fast asleep. + +"Don't wake him," said the doctor, "I am in no hurry and will wait. +I suppose he has had very hard work. Is Mr. Farrant any better?" + +"You have not heard, sir? He died early this morning," replied +Phœbe, gravely. "Mr. Donovan should have rested before, but we +couldn't persuade him; there has been many things to see to to-day, +for they say the funeral must be to-morrow." + +Neither the lights nor the voices roused the sleeper; by-and-by +Phœbe went away, and the doctor waited with eagerness not unmixed +with anxiety for the awaking, remembering with a pang their last +parting at the station, recalling painfully the last words which even +then had touched him, "All I ask is that you will just forget me." + +At last a noise in the square roused Donovan, he started up, rubbed +his eyes, caught sight of Dr. Tremain, and sprang to his feet. + +"You here!" he exclaimed, in astonishment, and then a sudden shade +passed over his face, and the same peculiar expression of doubt, +almost of annoyance, showed itself, which had so grievously hurt the +doctor at their last meeting. He understood it well enough now, +however. + +"Yes, I am here at last," he said, grasping Donovan's hand. "Here to +ask your forgiveness, to tell you that we all know now how much we +have been misled." + +Donovan's eyes lighted up, but he waited in questioning silence, +careful still not to compromise Stephen in the slightest degree. + +"I learnt all from Trevethan's son," continued the doctor. "And then +a very few questions brought out the whole truth from Stephen. Can +you forgive us, Donovan, for misjudging you so abominably?" + +"It was my own fault--my own doing, at any rate," said Donovan, +smiling. "You were very slow to judge me at all, and it seemed best +all round that you should believe me to be in the wrong." + +"It shielded Stephen, of course," said the doctor, "but he did not +deserve shielding, and it gave the rest of us a great deal of pain. +It was very generous of you, but surely mistaken." + +"I asked you to forget me," said Donovan. "I hoped and believed you +would do so. It was not only or chiefly for Stephen's sake. I +believed that it would be better in every way." + +"You said so when we last saw each other," said the doctor, "but even +now I cannot see why it was necessary. And why did you refuse to +come to us that summer, and then tell me you invented an excuse? Was +that in any way connected with Stephen? Can you not tell me now why +you could not come?" + +"Yes," replied Donovan, with a strange thrill in his voice, "I can +tell you even that now. I could not come because I loved your +daughter. I was not sure that I could help showing it; I thought--it +may have been presumptuous to think so--that she might possibly care +for me. It was right, I think, to go away, and I hoped that +she--that you all--would forget me." + +"And little Gladys was the one who told me from the very first that I +must be mistaken, that I had judged you wrongly," said the doctor, +rather huskily. "We have all been very poor hands at forgetting you, +Donovan; do you want us to go on with the dreary farce any longer? +Will you not come back to us?" + +"You must yourself give me the power of saying 'Yes' to that +question," said Donovan, his colour rising a little. "A few days ago +I must still have refused; but if you could trust Gladys to me, if +she can possibly love one who has lived the life I have lived--who +has but seen, as it were, one ray of the light in which she has lived +all her life--then I will come to you." + +The two men wrung each other's hands. + +"Gladys must speak for herself," said the doctor. "For my part, I +would trust my little girl to you unreservedly. I will not thank you +for the way in which you have acted, but"--he struggled with his +emotion--"it has made you very dear to me, Donovan. No man in the +world would I so gladly call my son." + +Then being Englishmen, and not caring to trust themselves to talk +more on a subject which moved them so much, they plunged rather +abruptly into other topics, discussed Ellis Farrant's illness, the +legality of his duly-witnessed confession, the great increase of +small-pox in London. + +It was not until after the funeral, late in the following day, that +Donovan had time to go to the Osmonds, and then it was only to take a +hurried farewell, for Dr. Tremain had made light of all fear of +infection, and had insisted on his returning with him to Trenant. + +"So you see," he added, after briefly alluding to all that had passed +since the night he and Charles Osmond had last met, "life is +beginning to open out for me in all sorts of unexpected ways. I can +hardly realise yet--I have hardly tried to think--that Oakdene is +really mine. How am I ever to turn myself into the respectable +country gentleman?" + +Charles Osmond laughed. + +"I am not much afraid for you," he replied, quietly. "It will be a +more difficult life than the hard-working surgeon-life you had +planned for yourself; but I fancy you can make a great deal of it." + +"It would be hard to face," said Donovan, "if I had not a hope that +the truest of helpers, the sweetest and best woman in the world, may +possibly begin the new life at Oakdene with me. It is nothing but a +hope--to-morrow I shall know; but I could not help telling you of +it--you who have helped me through these black years." + +"I wish you good speed," said Charles Osmond, conveying somehow in +tone and look and touch a great deal more than the mere words. + +Then the two parted. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +"MY HOPES AND THINE ARE ONE." + + O we will walk this world, + Yoked in all exercise of noble end, + And so through those dark gates across the wild + That no man knows. Indeed I love thee; come, + Yield thyself up! My hopes and thine are one: + Accomplish thou my manhood and thyself; + Lay thy sweet hands in mine and trust to me. + _The Princess._ + + +In spite of the inevitable excitement and anxiety, Donovan slept +almost the whole way from London to St. Kerrans; he had large arrears +of sleep to make up, and the doctor was glad enough to see him settle +himself in a corner seat and take the rest he so much needed. By the +time they reached St. Kerrans he was quite himself again, quiet +rather, and not much inclined to talk, but with an unusual light in +his dark eyes. Star and Ajax were waiting for them at the station; +they drove through the little Cornish town, with its grey houses, and +out into the narrow winding lanes, which Donovan remembered so well. +It seemed almost a lifetime since the Sunday evening when he had +first spoken unreservedly with Dr. Tremain--long years ago since +their last drive to St. Kerrans, when he thought he had parted with +Gladys for ever. His heart beat high with hope; every step was +bringing him nearer the woman he loved! the very trees and hedgerows +seemed to welcome him as he passed, even the cross-grained old man at +the turnpike had a friendly greeting for him. + +It was dark by the time they reached Porthkerran; the stars were +shining brightly through the frosty air, the ponies' feet rang +sharply on the hard road, in all the quaint, irregular houses shone +friendly lights; he could see them climbing far up the hill, old +Admiral Smith's house forming the apex. She was here in this +home-like little fishing village! in a few minutes he should see her +again! every pulse in him beat at double-quick time as he thought of +it. They drove on through the quaint market-place, with its stone +fountain, surrounded now with rows of boats drawn up from the beach +into winter quarters. A blaze of light came from the little inn +where he had stayed with his father, where he had first met Dr. +Tremain; lights shone, too, from the windows of the school-house, and +children's voices rang out clearly into the street--they were singing +Dot's favourite old carol--the refrain reached him distinctly: + + "O tidings of comfort and joy, + Comfort and joy, + O tidings of comfort and joy!" + + +The doctor made the ponies draw up. + +"Gladys must be at her choir practice," he said. "We will see if she +is ready to come home." + +He gave the reins to the groom, and Donovan followed him into the +school-room. + +There was Gladys surrounded with little blue-eyed Cornish children, +sitting queen-like in a sort of bower of holly, and ivy, and laurel +branches, for the next day was to be the children's winter +school-treat. It had been postponed once or twice, but though +somewhat late in the season, they were to celebrate it in Christmas +fashion, and would not dispense with either carols or greenery. + +She was not the least altered; it was just the same sweet, pure, +sunshiny lace, the remembrance of which had so often kept him. from +evil. They greeted each other in the most ordinary way. Then she +turned to speak to her father, but Donovan was quite content, +scarcely wished for more than the sight of her just then. + +"Shall we drive you home?" said the doctor. "Is your practice over?" + +"It is just finished, but I wanted rather to see old Mrs. Carne--she +seems worse again." + +"I will take back Jackie and Nesta then," said the doctor. "Donovan +will see you safely home, I've no doubt." + +Donovan, inwardly blessing the doctor, carried off Nesta to the +pony-carriage, impatient to have them all out of the way. Was not +each minute wasted which did not bring that perfect mutual +understanding which he so longed for! She might not care for him, +still they would understand each other, make an end of the miserable +silence and doubt of these long years. + +The pony-carriage drove off, the last carol was sung; with curtsies +and salutes the small singers ran noisily out of the school. +Donovan, whose "duteous service" had so long consisted in silence and +absence, now made the most of his opportunity; raked out the fire, +tidied the school, turned out the lamps, then with, in spite of +himself, a certain sweet sense of possession--possession if only for +these few minutes--he turned to Gladys, who for once seemed a little +shy and silent. + +They went out into the market-square, closely followed by Waif. + +"It is a house down on the shore I want to go to," said Gladys, +wishing her heart would not beat so uncomfortably. But somehow, when +Donovan next spoke, there was that in his manner which calmed her. + +"I am so glad to have this walk with you. It was good of your father +to give me this time with you at once. I want, Gladys, to know how I +am to come back to Porthkerran this time. The first time I came to +you it was as a penniless outcast; the second as a friend; the next +as one who loved you, but dared not speak. I have come this time +ready to speak to you, if you will hear me; to ask if you can give me +more than friendship--whether you care to take a love which has +always been yours. May I go on? Will you hear me?" + +She seemed to speak an assent, but her voice trembled, he took her +hand in his, made her lean on his arm, still holding the little hand +in his strong grasp. + +"You see," he continued, "ever since I was a mere boy you have been +my ideal. In a very strange way I had three passing glimpses of you, +the first just after my father died, when I was miserable and +disgraced, then again those two meetings when I was wronged and +revengeful. Oh! Gladys, you little know what you did for me, what +depths you saved me from. I think I am glad you saw me at my worst, +without it I should hardly have dared to speak to you like this. You +know all that I was, you were my friend when others shrank from me as +an atheist, you have taught me what love is, and now that I am +beginning to learn something of the everlastingness of love, I want +your help more and more. Gladys, will you be my wife?" + +"I think I have always loved you," she answered, quite simply and +quietly. "And I was always sure the Light would come to you." + +"Yes," said Donovan, holding her hand more closely, "you could look +at things from another point of viewr, you believed in a higher +power; I, you see, only knew myself, and how could I dare to think of +you as my wife? My darling, even now I half tremble at the thought. +Can you trust yourself to one who is at the beginning of everything? +I have spent my life in learning what you have always known. Can you +put up with such incompleteness? Can you trust me?" + +"After trusting in the darkness it is easy to trust in the light," +said Gladys, softly. + +"You did believe in me then, though I tried so hard that you should +not," said Donovan, half smiling. + +"You are not a good deceiver or concealer," replied Gladys. "That +day at Z---- on the staircase when you said you could explain +nothing, I could see by your face that you had never led Stephen into +harm. I couldn't help believing you." + +"I should have thought I was flinty enough," said Donovan, smiling +now, though the remembrance of that parting still brought a cold +chill to his heart. + +"Yes," said Gladys, "in one way. I mean," she added, shyly, "that I +thought you did not care for me." + +"That was because I did love you. Will you take that silence now, +darling, as a proof of the love I cannot speak even when I may. I +thought it would only make you wretched then. I knew so bitterly +what a difference of faith means between those who are very dear to +each other." + +Gladys looked up at him, a beautiful light in her face. How much he +had thought of her! how true and unselfish his love was! she could +not help contrasting it with Stephen's blindly selfish love and +strangely different proposal. + +"Directly you came into the school just now," she said, "I thought +how like you had grown to the picture of little Dot--it is your eyes +that have changed so. Oh! Donovan, how glad she will be!" + +He pressed her hand, but did not speak. They walked along the shore +in silence; presently reaching the little cottage where the sick +woman lived, Gladys went in, and Donovan waited for her outside, not +sorry for a minute's pause in which to realise his happiness. + +In a little while she joined him again, and for a minute they stood +still looking out sea-wards. A faint streak of yellow lingered in +the west, but above the stars were shining brightly, while across the +dark rolling sea there gleamed from the light-house two long tracks +of light athwart each other. The same thought came to each of them, +the sweet old saying--"Via crucis, via lucis." Neither of them +spoke, but to each came the longing that their love might always be +that self-sacrificing love which alone can lead into the light. It +seemed to Gladys like a sort of sacrament when Donovan stooped down +and with a grave reverence pressed his lips to hers. + +"You will teach me," he said, after a time, as they walked back along +the beach. + +She felt like a baby beside him as he spoke, in his humility, in his +grand self-denying nobleness he seemed to tower above her. + +"Teach you!" she said, smiling. "I should as soon think of teaching +papa! And yet papa always says the little ones do teach him. +Perhaps in that way, Donovan--can you be content with that sort of +child-wife who cannot understand half the great things you think of?" + +"My darling, how can you use such a word?" he exclaimed. "Content! +And have you not been teaching me all these years? How little the +world knows its true teachers! How little the pure-hearted ones +think of the lessons they teach!" + +"We will learn together," said Gladys, softly. + +"There is one thing I should like to tell you now," said Donovan. "I +had arranged, you know, to go out to the war, and I find there is +still a vacancy in one of the ambulances. You will not mind my going +out, darling? I feel in a measure bound to go, and I should like, at +any rate, a few months of good stiff work. Some time must pass +before the legal matters are settled and the Manor really becomes my +own, and I should like to be doing something in the waiting-time. +You will not mind my going?" + +Gladys did of course shrink from the thought, but she knew that in +marrying such a man as Donovan she must make up her mind to much +sacrifice. The delight of even now being able to share his work +helped to lessen the pain. + +"I think," she replied, "you would not have been Donovan if you had +not wanted to go." + +"And then with you," said Donovan, "I shall be strong to begin what I +feel fearfully unequal to--the life as master of Oakdene. There is +plenty of work for us at Greyshot, and you must help me to love the +neighbours, who perhaps may not hate me now so much as they did. I +almost fancy even Mrs. Ward may be civil now that I have found a +woman brave enough to be my wife! Are you ready, darling, to be the +wife of a radical?--to be looked down on perhaps as the wife of a +some-time atheist?" + +"To be your wife," said Gladys, gently. + +They had made their way up the steep winding street and were in sight +of Trenant, the dear old gabled house with its ivy-covered walls and +welcoming lights. + +"This is the place where I first saw you," said Donovan, glancing in +at the drawing-room window. On the very spot on which he now stood +with Gladys, he had once stood lonely and despairing, watching with +bitterness a glimpse of home life. Some thought of the infinite +possibilities of the future, of the limited view of the present, came +to him. + +"How glorious life is!" he exclaimed. "How different from what one +used to think it! Oh! Gladys, if we can but do half we long to do! +What a grand old working-place the world is!" + +"You will be a grand worker," thought Gladys, but she did not reply +in direct words. + +They had reached the porch, some one had heard their steps, and as +they drew near the door was thrown open. Donovan saw in a blaze of +friendly light a sweeter home drama than the one he remembered long +ago. There they all were--a welcoming group. Nesta, Jackie, Dick +just home from sea, the father with indescribable content written on +his face, and before all the mother--the truest mother Donovan had +ever known--her soft grey eyes shining into his with loving welcome +and understanding. + +"Home at last!" she said smiling; and then seeing all, she gave a +mother's greeting to both "children." + + + +THE END. + + + +LONDON: PRINTED BY DUNCAN MACDONALD, BLENHEIM HOUSE. + + + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78458 *** |