“It would be a great satisfaction to me,” said Lauderdale, “to have some
understanding about their relations. There’s few folk so lonely in this
world but what they have some kin, be they kind or not. It’s awfu’ to
look at this poor bit thing, and think how forlorn she’ll be by and by,
when----”
“When?” said Colin--“what do you mean? Meredith is not worse that I can
see. Is _that_ what you are thinking of?”
“It’s an awfu’ gradual descent,” said Lauderdale; “nae precipices
there--and pitiful to behold; but he’s making progress on his way. I’m
no mistaken, callant; a man like me has seen such sights before. It
looks as if it could go on for ever, and nae great difference
perceptible from day to day; but the wheel’s aye turning and the thread
spinning off, and nobody can say for certain what moment it may break,
like glass, and the spinning come to an end. Ay, it’s an awfu’ mystery.
You may break your heart thinking, but you’ll come to no solution. I’ve
tried it as much as most men, and should ken;--but that’s no the matter
under consideration. I would be glad to know something about their
friends.”
“I don’t suppose they have any friends,” said Colin, who had by this
time forgotten the suggestion of his English acquaintances. “He would
never have brought his sister here with him if he had had anyone to
leave her with--that is, if he believed, as he says he does, that he was
going to die,” said the young man, with a pang of fellow-feeling and
natural pity, “which are terrible words to say.”
“I’m no so sure about either of your propositions,” said Lauderdale;
“I’ve very little objection to die, for my part. No to speak of hopes a
man has as a Christian--though I maybe canna see them as clear as that
poor callant thinks he does--it would be an awfu’ satisfaction to ken
what was the meaning of it all, which is my grand difficulty in this
life. And I cannot say I am satisfied, for that matter, that he brought
his sister here for want of somebody to leave her with; she’s a kind of
property that he wouldna like to leave behind. He was not thinking of
her when they started, but of himsel’; nor can I see that his mind’s
awakening to any thought of her even now, though he’s awfu’ anxious, no
doubt, about her soul, and yours, and mine. Whisht! it’s temperament,
callant. I’m no blaming the poor dying lad. It’s hard upon a man if he
cannot be permitted to take some bit female creature that belongs to him
as far as the grave’s mouth. She maun find her way back from there the
best way she can. It’s human nature, Colin, for a’ you look like a
glaring lion at me.”
“I prefer your ordinary manner of expounding human nature,” said Colin.
“Don’t talk like this; if Miss Meredith is left so helpless and
solitary, at all events, Lauderdale, she can rely on you and me.”
“Ay,” said the philosopher shortly; “and grand protectors we would be
for the like of her. Two men no her equals in the eye of the world--I’m
no heeding your indignant looks, my freend; I’m a better judge than you
of some things--and one of us no of an age to be over and above
trusted. A lad like you can take care of a bit thing like her only in
one way; and that’s out of the question under present
circumstances--even if either of you were thinking of such vanities, of
which I see no sign.”
“None whatever,” said Colin, with momentary heat. “She is not in my way;
and, besides, she is greatly too much occupied to think of any such
vanities, as you say.”
Lauderdale cast a half-amused, suspicious look at his companion, whose
face was flushed a little. Colin was thinking only of Alice’s want of
comprehension and sympathy on the previous night; but the touch of
offence and mortification was as evident as if she had been unkind to
him in more important particulars.
“Being agreed on that point, it’s easier to manage the rest,” Lauderdale
resumed, with the ghost of a smile; “and I dinna pretend, for my own
part, to be a fit guardian for a young leddy. It’s a’ very well for
Telle-machus to wander about the world like this, but I’m no qualified
to keep watch and ward over the princess. Poor thing!” said the
philosopher, “it’s awfu’ early to begin her troubles; but I would be
easy in my mind, comparatively, if we could find out about their
friends. She’s no so very communicative in that particular; and she has
her bit woman’s whiles, innocent as she looks. She’ll give me no
satisfaction, though I’m awfu’ cunning in my questions. What was it yon
silly woman said about some Meredith of some place? I’m no without
suspicions in my own mind.”
“What sort of suspicions?” said Colin. “She said Meredith of Maltby. I
wrote it down somewhere. There was a row about him in the papers--don’t
you remember--a few years ago.”
“Oh ay, I remember,” said Lauderdale; “one of them that consume widows’
houses, and for a pretence make long prayers. The wonder to me is how
this callant, if he should happen to be such a man’s son, did not take a
sickening at religion altogether. That’s the consequence in a common
mind. It gives me a higher notion of this poor lad. He has his faults,
like most folk I ken,” said Lauderdale. “He’s awfu’ young, which is the
chief of all, and it’s one that will never mend in his case in this
life; but, if he’s yon man’s son, no to have abandoned a’ religion, no
to have scorned the very name of preaching and prayer, is a clear token
to me that the root of the matter’s in him; though he may be a wee
unrighteous to his ain flesh and blood”--the philosopher went on
philosophically--“that’s neither here nor there.”
“If religion does not make us righteous to our own flesh and blood, what
is the good of it?” said Colin. “To care for souls, as you say, but not
to care for leaving his sister so helpless and desolate, would be to me
as bad as his father’s wickedness. Bah! his father!--what am I saying?
He is no more his father than the Duke is mine. It is only a coincidence
of name.”
“I’m making no assertions,” said Lauderdale. “It may be or it may not
be; I’m no saying: but you should aye bear in mind that there’s an awfu’
difference between practice and theory. To have a good theory--or, if ye
like, a grand ideal--o’ existence, is about as much as a man can attain
to in this world. To put it into full practice is reserved, let us aye
hope, for the life to come. However, I wouldna say,” said Colin’s
guardian, changing his tone, “but that kind of practical paradox might
run in the blood. Our friend Arthur, poor man! has no meaning of neglect
to his sister. Do no man injustice. Maybe the other had as little
intention of cheating them that turned out his victims. An awfu’
practical accident like that might be accompanied by a beautiful theory.
Just as in the case of his son--”
“Stuff!” said Colin, who thought his friend prosy. “Why will you insist
on saying ‘his son?’ Meredith is not an uncommon name. You might as well
say Owen Meredith was his brother.”
“There’s nothing more likely,” said the philosopher, composedly;
“brothers aye take different roads, especially when they come out of
such a nest; but listen now to what I’ve got to say----”
What Lauderdale had to say was still upon the subject of which Colin by
this time had got tired--the supposed connexion of the brother and
sister with the famous, or rather notorious Meredith of Maltby, who was
one of the great leaders of that fashion of swindling so prevalent a few
years ago, by means of which directors of banks and joint-stock
companies brought so many people to ruin. Of these practitioners Mr.
Meredith of Maltby had been one of the most successful. He had passed
through one or two disagreeable examinations, it is true, in Insolvent
Courts and elsewhere; but he had managed to steer clear of the law, and
to retain a comfortable portion of his ill-gotten gains. He was a pious
man, who subscribed to all the societies, and had, of course, since
these unpleasant accidents occurred, been held up to public admiration
by half the newspapers of Great Britain as an instance of the natural
effect produced upon the human mind by an assumption of superior piety;
and more than one clever leading article, intended to prove that lavish
subscriptions to benevolent purposes, and attendance at prayer meetings,
were the natural evidences of a mind disposed to prey on its
fellow-creatures, had been made pointed and emphatic by his name.
Lauderdale’s “case” was subtle enough, and showed that he, at least, had
not forgotten the hint given in the Pantheon. He told Colin that all his
cunning inquiries could elicit no information about the father of the
forlorn pair. Their mother was dead, and, so far as she was concerned,
Alice was sufficiently communicative; and she had an aunt in India whom
Lauderdale knew by heart. “A’ that is so easy to draw out that the other
is all the more remarkable,” said the inquisitor; “and it’s awfu’
instructive to see the way she doubles out when I think I’ve got her in
a corner--no saying what’s no true, but fencing like a little Jesuit;
that is, speaking proverbially, and no vouching for my premises, for I
ken nothing about Jesuits in my ain person. I would like to be at the
bottom of a woman’s notions on such subjects. The way that bit thing
will lift up her innocent face, and give me to understand a lee without
saying it--”
“Be civil,” interrupted Colin; “a lie is strong language, especially as
you have no right whatever to question her so closely.”
“I said nothing about lies,” said Lauderdale; “I say she gives me to
understand a _lee_ without saying a word that’s no true; which is not
only an awfu’ civil form of expression on my part, but a gift of
womankind that, so far as I ken, is just unparalleled. If it werna
instinct it would be genius. She went so far as once to say, in her bit
fine way, that they were not quite happy in a’ their connexions--‘There
are some of our friends that Arthur can’t approve of,’ said she, which
was enough to make a man laugh or cry--whichever he might be most
disposed to. A bonnie judge Arthur is, to be believed in like that. But
the end of the whole matter is that I’m convinced the hot-headed callant
has carried her off from her home without anybody’s knowledge, and that
it’s an angry father you and me will have to answer to when we are left
her protectors, as you say.”
“I hope I am not afraid to meet anybody when I have justice on my side,”
said Colin, loftily. “She is nothing more to me than any other helpless
woman; but I will do my best to take care of her against any man
whatsoever, if she is trusted to me.”
Lauderdale laughed with mingled exasperation and amusement. “Bravo,” he
said; “the like of that’s grand talking; but I’ll have no hand, for my
part, in aiding and abetting domestic treason. I’m far from easy in my
mind on the subject altogether. It’s ill to vex a dying man, but it’s
worse to let a spirit go out of the world with guilt on its head. I’m in
an awfu’ difficulty whether to speak to him or no. If you would but come
down off your high horse and give me a little assistance. It’s a braw
business, take it all together. A young woman, both bonnie and good, but
abject to what her brother bids her, even now when he’s living--and us
two single men, with nae justification for meddling, and an indignant
father, no doubt, to make an account to. It’s no a position I admire,
for my part.”
“It was I that drew you into it,” said Colin, with some resentment.
“After all, they were my friends to begin with. Don’t let me bring you
into a responsibility which is properly mine.”
“Ay, ay,” said Lauderdale, calmly, “that’s aye the way with you
callants. If a man sees a difficulty in anything concerning you, off you
fling, and will have no more to do with him. I’m no one to be dismissed
in that fashion--no to say that it would be more becoming to consider
the difficulty, like reasonable creatures, and make up our minds how it
is to be met.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Colin, repentant; “only, to be sure, the
imprudence, if there was any imprudence, was mine. But it is hard to be
talking in this manner, as if all was over, while Meredith lives, poor
fellow. Such invalids live for ever, sometimes. There he is, for a
miracle, riding! When summer comes he may be all right.”
“Ay,” said Lauderdale, “I make no doubt of that; but no in your way.
He’ll be better off when summer comes.” Meredith turned a corner close
upon them as he spoke. He was riding, it is true, but only on a mule,
jogging along at a funeral pace, with Alice walking by his side. He
smiled when he met them; but the smile was accompanied by a momentary
flush, as of shame or pain.
“The last step but one,” he said. “I have given up walking for ever. I
did not think I should ever have come to this; but my spirit is proud,
and needs to be mortified. Campbell, come here. It is long since we have
had any conversation. I thought God was dealing with your soul when I
last talked to you. Tell me, if you were as far gone as I am--if you
were reduced to _this_”--and the sick man laid his thin white hand upon
the neck of the animal he was riding--“what consolation would you have
to keep you from sinking? It may come sooner than you think.”
“It is not easy to imagine how one would conduct oneself under such
circumstances,” said Colin; “let us talk of something else. If it were
coming--and it may be, for anything I can tell--I think I should prefer
not to give it too much importance. Look at that low blaze of sunshine,
how it catches St. Peter’s. These sunsets are like dramas--but nobody
plans the grouping beforehand,” said the young man, with an involuntary
allusion which he was sorry for the next moment, but could not recall.
“That is an unkind speech,” said Meredith; “but I forgive you. If I
could plan the grouping, as you say, I should like to collect all the
world to see me die. Heathens, papists, Mahometans, Christians of every
description--I would call them to see with what confidence a Christian
could traverse the dark valley, knowing Him who can sustain, and who has
preceded him there.”
“Yes, that was Addison’s idea; but his was an age when people did things
for effect,” said Colin: “and everything I have heard makes me believe
that people generally die very composedly upon the whole. The best and
wisest are scarcely superior in that respect to the ignorant and
stupid--scarcely even to the wicked. Either people have an infinite
confidence in themselves and their good fortune; or else absolute faith
in God is a great deal more general than you think it. I should like to
believe that last was the case. Pardon me for what I said. You who
realize so strongly what you are going to, should certainly die, when
that time comes, a glorious and joyful death.”
At these words a cloud passed over the eager, hectic countenance which
Meredith had turned to his friend. “Ah, you don’t know,” he said, with a
sudden depression which Colin had never seen in him before. “Sometimes
God sees fit to abandon His servants even in that hour; what, if after
preaching to others I should myself be a castaway?” This conversation
was going on while Alice talked to Lauderdale of the housekeeping, and
how the man at the Trattoria had charged a scudo too much in the last
weekly bill.
“Meredith,” said Colin, laying his hand on his friend’s arm, and
forgetting all the discussion with Lauderdale which had occupied the
afternoon, “when you say such words as Father and Saviour you put some
meaning in them, do you not? You don’t think it depends upon how you
feel to-day or to-morrow whether God will stand by his children or not?
I don’t believe in the castaway as you understand it.”
“Ah, my dear friend, I am afraid you don’t believe in any castaways;
don’t fall into that deadly error and snare of the devil,” said the sick
man.
“We must not discuss mysteries,” said Colin. “There are men for whom no
punishment is bad enough, and whom no amount of mercy seems to benefit.
I don’t know what is to become of them. For my own part I prefer not to
inquire. But this I _know_, that my father, much less my mother, would
not altogether abandon their son for any crime; and does not God love us
better than our fathers and our mothers?” said Colin, with a moisture
gathering in his brown eyes and brightening his smile. As for Meredith,
he snatched his hand away, and pushed forward with a feverish impulse. A
sound, half sigh, half groan, burst from him, and Colin could see that
this inarticulate complaint had private references of which he knew
nothing. Then Lauderdale’s suggestion returned to his mind with singular
force; but it was not a time to make any inquiries, even if such had
been possible. Instinctively, without knowing it, Meredith turned from
that subject to the only other which could mutually interest men so
unlike each other; and what he said betrayed distinctly enough what had
been the tenor of his thoughts.
“_She_ has no mother,” said Meredith, with a little wave of his hand
towards his sister. “Poor Alice! But I have no doubt God has gracious
purposes towards her,” he continued, recovering himself. “_This_ is in
the family, and I don’t doubt she will follow me soon.”
It was thus he disposed of the matter which for the strangers to whose
care he was about to leave her, was a matter of so much anxious thought.