Richard Frere listened to the somewhat grandiloquent remark with which
the last chapter concluded, muttering to himself, “‘Compel destiny,’
indeed; it strikes me you’ll find ‘destiny,’ as you call it, will have
the best of it at that game;” then turning to his companion, he observed
more gravely, “Now, listen to me, Lewis. What you have just said is no
doubt true enough; you _are_ about as unfit in tastes and habits for the
life that is before you as a man well can be, but for that reason it is
exactly the very best thing for you. For what purpose do you suppose we
are sent into this world? Most assuredly not only to please ourselves,
and by following out our own desires and caprices, create a sphere for
the exercise and increase of our natural faults. No; the only true view
of life is as a school, wherein our characters are to be disciplined,
and all the changes and chances, sorrows, trials, and temptations we
meet with are the agents by which the education of the soul is carried
on.”
“And a low, wretched view of life it is,” replied Lewis bitterly; “a
seventy years’ pupilage under the rod of destiny. The heathen sage was
right who said that those whom the gods love die early. If it were not
for Rose and my mother, I would join some regiment bound for India,
volunteer into every forlorn hope, and trust that some Sikh bullet
would rid me of the burthen of life without my incurring the guilt of
suicide.”
“In fact, you would die like an idiot, because you lack moral courage
to face the evils of life like a man,” returned Frere. “But wait a bit:
your argument, such as it is, is founded on a fallacy, or on that still
more dangerous thing, a half-truth. Granting that life were one scene of
bitter experiences,--which would be granting a very large lie,--for what
is this discipline intended to fit us? That is the question. You are
ambitious--how would you regard obstacles in your path to greatness? You
would rejoice in them, would you not, as opportunities for bringing
out the high qualities you fancy you possess? fortitude, courage,
indomitable perseverance, ready wit, aptitude to lead and govern
your fellow-men, and fifty other magnanimous attributes; and deem the
greatness unworthy your notice could it be obtained without a struggle.
But what is human greatness? A triumph for the hour, bringing its
attendant cares and evils with it--mark that,--a bauble, which some
other ambitious genius may possibly wrest from your grasp, which old
age would unfit you to retain, of which death must deprive you in a
few years more or less. Now take the true, the Christian’s view of
life--obstacles to overcome, demanding all our strength of mind,
and then proving too mighty for us without the assistance of a Power
superior to that of man, but which will be given us if we seek it
properly. And the victory won, what is the prize we shall obtain? A
position, according to our advance in righteousness, among the spirits
of just men _made perfect_ intercourse (with reverence be it spoken)
with the Source of all good, Omniscience our teacher, Omnipotence our
only ruler, Perfect Justice our lawgiver, Perfect Wisdom our director,
the Powers of Heaven for our associates, and our own souls, freed
from the trammels of mortality, fitted to appreciate and enjoy these
inestimable blessings; and all this, not for time, but for eternity.
Lewis, you are a reasonable being, and to your own reason I will leave
the question.”
There was silence for some minutes. At length Lewis raised his head,
revealing features on which the traces of deep emotion were visible, and
stretching out his hand to his friend, said in a voice which trembled
from excess of feeling, “God bless you, Frere; you are indeed a
true friend!” He paused; then added suddenly, “Frere, promise me one
thing,--promise me that whatever I may do, whatever rash act or evil
deed my feelings may hurry me into, you will not give me up; that while
we both live you will act by me as you have done to-day--that you will
preserve me from myself, stand between me and my fiery nature; then
shall I feel that I am not utterly deserted--you will be the link that
shall still bind me to virtue.”
“Well, if you fancy it will make you any happier, or better, or more
reasonable, I will promise it,” returned Frere; “more particularly as I
should most probably do it whether I promise it or not.”
“You promise, then?” asked Lewis eagerly.
“I do,” replied Frere.
Lewis once more wrung his friend’s hand with such eagerness as to elicit
a grimace of pain from that excellent individual, and then continued--
“A conversation of this nature regularly upsets me; I must go out and
walk off the excitement before I shall be fit for anything. Come, Faust,
good dog! I spoke up for Faust to-day, Frere, and the General accorded
a dignified assent: ‘A dog more or less will make little difference in
such an establishment as Broadhurst.’”
“Did he say that?” inquired Frere.
“Word for word,” returned Lewis.
“Well, I thought better things of him! ‘Folks is sich fools!’ as my old
lady downstairs says. Are you off? Mind you are at home in good time
for dinner, for I have been seduced into accepting another evening
engagement for us.”
“Any more fighting?” asked Lewis anxiously.
“No; thank goodness for that same!” returned Frere.
“I wish I could meet that long Chartist,” continued Lewis, shaking his
fist; “not that I bear him any ill-will, but it would be such a
relief to me just now to knock somebody down. Mayn’t I set Faust at a
policeman?”
“Not unless you prefer Brixton to Broadhurst, and the treadmill to the
tutorship,” returned Frere.
“Well, good-bye till dinner-time,” responded Lewis, leaving the room. “I
won’t punish your carpet any longer. Come, Faust!”
“That is a most singular young man,” soliloquised Frere as he took down
and unrolled a Persian manuscript; “very like an excitable steam-engine
with an ill-regulated safety-valve in disposition; I only hope he won’t
blow up bodily while I have the care of him. He is a fine fellow,
too, and it’s impossible not to be very fond of him; but he’s an awful
responsibility for a quiet man to have thrust upon him.”
Meanwhile Lewis, walking hurriedly up one street and down another, with
the design of allaying the fever of his mind by bodily exercise, found
himself at length in the neighbourhood of Hyde Park, and, tempted by
the beauty of the afternoon, he continued his stroll till he reached
Kensington Gardens. Here, stretching himself on one of the benches,
he watched the groups of gaily-dressed loungers and listened to the
military band, till he began to fear he might be late for Frere’s
dinner; and retracing his steps, he proceeded along the bank of the
Serpentine towards Hyde Park Corner. As he arrived nearly opposite the
receiving-house of the Humane Society, his attention was attracted
by the lamentations of a small child, whom all the endearments of a
sympathising nursery-maid were powerless to console. The child, being
a fine sturdy boy, and the maid remarkably pretty, Lewis was moved by a
sudden impulse of compassion to stop and inquire the cause of the grief
he beheld. It was soon explained. Master Tom had come to sail a little
boat which his grandpapa had given him; the string by which the length
of its voyage was to have been regulated had broken, and the boat had
drifted farther and farther from its hapless owner, until at last it
had reached a species of buoy, to which the park-keeper’s punt was
occasionally moored, and there it had chosen to stick hard and fast. In
this rebellious little craft was embarked, so to speak, all Master
Tom’s present stock of earthly happiness; thence the sorrow which Mary’s
caresses were unable to assuage, and thence the lamentations which had
attracted Lewis’s attention.
“Don’t cry so, my little man, and we’ll see if we can’t find a way
of getting it for you,” observed Lewis encouragingly, raising the
distressed shipowner in his arms to afford him a better view of his
stranded property. “We must ask my dog to go and fetch it for us. Come
here, Mr. Faust. You are not afraid of him? he won’t hurt you--that’s
right, pat him; there’s a brave boy; now ask him to fetch your boat for
you. Say, ‘Please, Mr. Faust, go and get me my boat!’ say so.” And the
child, half-pleased, half-frightened, but with implicit faith in the
dog’s intellectual powers, and the advisability of conciliating its good
will and imploring its assistance, repeated the desired formula with
great unction.
“That’s well! Now, nurse, take care of Master--what did you say?--ay,
Master Tom, while I show Faust where the boat is.” As he spoke he took
up a stone, and attracting Faust’s attention to his proceedings, jerked
it into the water just beyond the spot where the boat lay, at the same
time directing him to fetch it.
With a bound like the spring of a lion the noble dog dashed into the
water and swam vigorously towards the object of his quest, reached it,
seized it in his powerful jaws, and turned his head towards the bank in
preparation for his homeward voyage, while the delighted child laughed
and shouted with joy at the prospect of regaining his lost treasure.
Instead, however, of proceeding at once towards the shore, the dog
remained stationary, beating the water with his forepaws to keep himself
afloat, and occasionally uttering an uneasy whine.
“Here, Faust! Faust! what in the world’s the matter with him?” exclaimed
Lewis, calling the dog and inciting him by gestures to return, but in
vain; his struggles only became more violent, without his making the
slightest progress through the water.
Attracted by the sight, a knot of loungers gathered round the spot,
and various suggestions were hazarded as to the dog’s unaccountable
behaviour. “I think he must be seized with cramp,” observed a
good-natured, round-faced man in a velveteen jacket, who looked like one
of the park-keepers. “The animal is suicidally disposed, apparently,”
remarked a tall, aristocratic-looking young man, with a sinister
expression of countenance, to which a pair of thick moustaches imparted
a character of fierceness. “Anxious to submit to the cold-water cure,
more probably,” remarked his companion. “It will be kill rather than
cure with him before long,” returned the former speaker with a half
laugh; “he’s getting lower in the water every minute.”
“He is caught by the string of the boat which is twisted round the
buoy!” exclaimed Lewis, who during the above conversation had seized
the branch of a tree, and raising himself by his hands, had reached a
position from which he was able to perceive the cause of his favourite’s
disaster; “he’ll be drowned if he is not unfastened. Who knows where the
key of the boat-house is kept?”
“I’ll run and fetch it,” cried the good-natured man; “it’s at the
receiving-house, I believe.”
“Quick! or it will be of no use!” said Lewis in the greatest excitement.
The man hurried off, but the crowd round the spot had now become so
dense--even carriages filled with fashionably-dressed ladies having
stopped to learn the catastrophe--that it was no easy matter for him to
make his way through it, and several minutes elapsed without witnessing
his return. In the meantime the poor dog’s struggles were becoming
fainter and fainter; his whining had changed to something between a
hoarse bark and a howl, a sound so clearly indicative of suffering as to
be most distressing to the bystanders; and it was evident that if some
effort were not speedily made for his relief he must sink.
“He shall not perish unassisted!” exclaimed Lewis impetuously; “who will
lend me a knife?”
Several were immediately offered him, from which he selected one with a
broad blade.
“May I inquire how you propose to prevent the impending catastrophe?”
asked superciliously the moustached gentleman to whom we have before
alluded.
“You shall see directly,” returned Lewis, divesting himself of his coat,
waistcoat, and neckcloth.
“I presume you are aware there is not one man in a hundred who could
swim that distance in his clothes,” resumed the speaker in the
same sneering tone. “Do you actually--I merely ask as a matter of
curiosity--do you really consider it worth while to peril your life for
that of a dog?”
“For such a noble dog as that, yes!” replied Lewis sternly. “I might
not take the trouble for a _mere puppy_;” and he pronounced the last two
words with a marked emphasis, which rendered his meaning unmistakable.
The person he addressed coloured with anger and slightly raised his
cane, but he read that in Lewis’s face which caused him to relinquish
his intention, and smiling scornfully he folded his arms and remained to
observe the event.
This was Lewis’s introduction to Charles Leicester’s elder brother, Lord
Bellefield, the affianced of Annie Grant.
Having completed his preparations, Lewis placed the knife between his
teeth, and motioning to the crowd to stand on one side, gave a short
run, dashed through the shallow water, and then, breasting the stream
gallantly, swain with powerful strokes towards the still struggling
animal. As he perceived his master approaching, the poor dog ceased
howling, and seemingly re-animated by the prospect of assistance,
redoubled his efforts to keep himself afloat.
In order to avoid the stroke of his paws, Lewis swam round him, and
supporting himself by resting one hand upon the buoy, he grasped the
knife with the other, and at one stroke severed the string. The effect
was instantly perceptible: freed from the restraint which had till now
paralysed his efforts, the dog at once rose higher in the water; and
even in that extremity his affection for his master overpowering his
instinct of self-preservation, he swam towards him with the child’s boat
(of which, throughout the whole scene, he had never loosened his hold)
in his mouth.
Merely waiting to assure himself that the animal had yet strength enough
remaining to enable him to regain the shore, Lewis set him the example
by quitting the buoy and striking out lustily for the bank; but now the
weight of his clothes, thoroughly saturated as they had become, began to
tell upon him, and his strokes grew perceptibly weaker, while his breath
came short and thick.
Faust, on the contrary, freed from the string which had entangled him,
proceeded merrily, and reached the shore ere Lewis had performed half
the distance. Depositing the boat in triumph at the feet of one of the
bystanders, the generous animal only stopped to shake the wet from his
ears, and then plunging in again swam to meet his master. It was perhaps
fortunate that he did so, for Lewis’s strength was rapidly deserting
him, his clothes appearing to drag him down like leaden weights.
Availing himself, of the dog’s assistance, he placed one arm across
its back, and still paddling with the other, he was partly dragged and
partly himself swam forward, till his feet touched ground, when, letting
the animal go free, he waded through the shallow water and reached the
bank, exhausted indeed, but in safety.
Rejecting the many friendly offers of assistance with which he was
instantly overwhelmed, he wrang the water from his dripping hair,
stamped it out of his boots, and hastily resuming his coat and
waistcoat, was about to quit a spot where he was the observed of all
observers, when Lord Bellefield, after exchanging a few words with
his companion, made a sign to attract Lewis’s attention, and having
succeeded in so doing, said, “That is a fine dog of yours, sir; will you
take a twenty pound note for him?”
Lewis’s countenance, pale from exhaustion, flushed with anger at these
words; pausing a moment, however, ere he replied, he answered coldly,
“Had he been for sale, sir, I should scarcely have risked drowning in
order to save him; I value my life at more than twenty pounds.” Then
turning on his heel, he whistled Faust to follow him, and walked away at
a rapid pace in the direction of Hyde Park Corner.
Amongst the carriages that immediately drove off was one containing two
ladies who had witnessed the whole proceeding; and as it dashed by him,
Lewis, accidentally looking up, caught a glimpse of the bright eager
face of Annie Grant!