AN OMINOUS CONFLICT AND A FINAL RESOLVE
‘I HAVE come, sir,’ James Gillan said, raising his eyes modestly, ‘in
consequence of the letter from yourself which I received to-day. If I
had not received it you may be sure that I should not have ventured to
intrude upon you.’
He made the statement quietly, and with apparent self-possession,
although he knew that a conflict was raging in his heart, from the
remembrance of another plan, and of very different hopes, which had
nearly reached their fulfilment by the time the letter came. ‘_Oh,
would it have been better_,’ this was the cry of the conflict, ‘_if I
had made up my mind to that, and had not come here at all?_’
‘Oh, ah, ye speak well, sir, ye express yourself very well,’--the uncle
was only half-pleased with his readiness--‘ye’ll have been educated, I
make no doubt of it, and are able to have opinions for yourself. When
my poor sister would go off with a stranger it was never my thought
that she went to luxury, but ye and the girl seem to have been brought
up easy-like, and to have had your share of the pleasures o’ the world.
I hope as ye’ve had some real instruction too, to which ye can turn
your heads and hands to-day.’
‘My sister, and myself,’ said James Gillan, quietly, ‘have had a
wandering life, and an unsettled education, from which we have gathered
such knowledge as we could. My father was a man of talent, I may say of
many talents, but he did not meet with steady professional success; and
I know that he regretted his inability to give us as much instruction
as he wished. I think I may say, for my sister and myself, that we
would like a less unsettled and securer life; but it is not yet a year
since the death of both our parents, and we have not had time to find
employment for ourselves. If you, being a relation, could give us any
assistance, you may be certain at least of our gratitude.’ He spoke
with the smile that disarms hostility giving pleasant lines to his
lips, though it scarcely touched his eyes--the rarely lifted eyes
which, being blue in colour, had more distinct beauty than any other
feature in his face. Mr Lee was not insensible to the charm of glance
and smile, but he was also aware that he did not know their meaning
yet.
‘Oh, ah, industrious!’ he said, not without sarcasm, with the raillery,
rough if not rude, that was peculiar to him; ‘you would make me into an
office or a registry, to find you places that you may go an’ work.
That’s very fine; I’m glad of that sort o’ spirit, it isn’t too common
in these idle days. But tell me, nephy, an’ speak for my niece as well,
is that all that ye think ye may expect from me?’
Before his keen glance the young man’s eyelids fell; but that
discomfiture was only momentary, and with renewed assurance he raised
his eyes again. A fine tact, a tact that is not common in the world,
can make even an essentially timid nature brave at times, for it is
able to be aware of the fitting moment when secret purposes may be
helped by honesty. If James Gillan were open-hearted his countenance
belied him, but at this moment his words were direct enough.
‘I think, sir,’ he said, with a little hesitation, but not more than
was natural in so young a man, ‘I think .... if you ask me .... that I
must reply that if we cannot expect we yet might hope for more.’ And
then, feeling rather than seeing his uncle’s gaze upon him, he went on
with resolution, although his colour rose; ‘We have no parents .... I
believe you have no children .... there are many ways in which you
might do well by us.’ The sense of his daring almost stopped his
breath--on the issue of those few words he had staked his future.
Mr Lee was staggered; he rose up from his seat; he walked with firm
paces straight across the room; he stood by the window as if he were
looking at the valley on which already the evening radiance fell. In
spite of himself his nephew’s words had pleased him, the challenge he
had flung had been accepted courageously; whatever might be this young
man’s faults and failings, it was obvious that he was not without
qualities. And then, the readiness, the refinement of his visitor, were
beginning at length to impress him favourably; if he had been partly
repelled by them during the first few minutes, he felt the reaction in
their favour now. It needed the remembrance of all he had seen and
heard during his visit to the Manor Farm in the absence of his
relations, to recall to him the caution which, although it was habitual
to him, he felt for once almost disposed to drop. For he was a lonely
man .... he did not know how to spend his money .... and if these young
relations would submit to him ....
With a decided movement--but then his movements were always decided--he
turned away from the window, and the evening glow on the valley: and
with a few strides crossed the room, and stood by the table near which
his nephew sat. He stood with his hands resting on it, a favourite
attitude, looking down on the young man, his harsh features furrowed
and rugged with an agitation, which rendered it difficult for him to
speak at once. There was no sign of emotion, however, in his hard, dry
voice, when at length he spoke.
‘Nephy Gillan,’ he said, ‘I’ll deal direct by ye, as ye, on your part,
have dealt direct by me; I’ve got some money--I’ve got a deal o’
money--an’ I’d as lieve waste it on ye as on charities. But then, ye
see, I don’t know ye well eno’, and I’m not quite satisfied with
all I’ve heard on ye--I don’t want to give money, as ye’ll well
understand, for a girl to flurret, an’ a boy to gamble with.’
It was a home-thrust, and the young man’s head bent again, although
less in surprise than in perplexity; for it was not easy to decide in
the first instant in what manner these accusations should be met. He
was not aware of the extent of his uncle’s information, and it might be
dangerous to attempt denials; and, moreover, the past scrapes of
himself and Tina were subjects on which he did not wish questions to be
asked. It appeared safer, therefore, to assume humility--the humility
that disarms opposition and in that way defends itself.
‘I think I told you,’ he said after a pause--a pause not long enough to
give suspicion time to wake--‘that we have had a wandering life and an
unsettled education; and I don’t doubt that to you that sounds like
idleness. But it is our wish to find work for ourselves--assisted, if
you will, by your generosity; and I am sure I may say that if you will
consent to help us you will not find that you have any reason to
complain.’ There was a slight sound of hesitation in his voice; but, in
spite of that, he got through the words well enough.
‘Ye are meaning to tell me,’ Mr Lee looked at him fixedly, ‘that, if I
were to take ye into my house to-day, ye wouldn’t waste money, an’ your
sister wouldn’t flurret, an’ ye’d give up your old acquaintances, an’
be all as I could wish.’ A sudden, sharp pang pierced to the young
man’s heart; for a moment it contracted his features, then he looked up
and smiled. That smile meant assent, and he knew it meant assent; in
that moment, for the sake of his ambition, he renounced his love.
‘Hum--hum--’ said the old man, and sat down, and got up again, and
stood by the window, and then walked about the room; and then, pausing
once more by the side of the table, remained with his head bent,
absorbed in thought. His companion was aware that on the issue of those
moments depended the lives of his sister and himself, but he sat
quietly waiting the event, and only clenched the nails of his hands
into the palms. Five minutes passed--ten--in that strained, breathless
silence, and then Mr Lee sat down once more and spoke.
‘Well, well,’ he said, ‘I’ve been glad to hear all ye say, an’ to have
this opportunity of knowing more o’ ye; we’ll have occasion to talk on
these things again, an’ I’ll happen be able to make up my mind next
time. I’ve got many calls, ye see, on me just now, but I’ll pay for the
board and lodgin’ as before; an’ ye an’ your sister must come to me
some day, so as we may be learnin’ to know more of each other. I’ve an
engagement, so I’ll wish ye good-day; but if ye stay for refreshment
I’ll have some sent to ye. Good-bye to ye now, an’ many thanks for thy
visit; we’ll learn to be acquainted soon, I doubt--good-bye.’
‘The old snake,’ muttered James Gillan, in a fury, by the window
to which he strode as his uncle left the room; ‘he thinks himself
clever, no doubt, to put me off, and to bind me with promises whilst he
himself is free. At any rate, I need make no alteration now; I
certainly will not give up my plans and hopes for _him_--a fine thing
indeed it would be to lose the girl I love for the sake of an old
rapscallion who gives words instead of coin!.... And yet if I lost his
favour .... but that is not inevitable .... we will keep things dark
for a while and bide our time; she ought really to consent to a little
secrecy when I have shown myself willing to do so much for her .... And
I shall have her, I shall at least be sure of that; and it may be that
all things will turn out for the best.’ The sound of the opening door
disturbed his meditations; he declined all refreshment, ordered his
horse, and rode away.
That night, a dark night, when all was indistinct, and even the stars
were not brilliant in the sky, and the outlines of trees made dim and
gloomy masses, and the village had closed its blinds and locked its
doors--on that night, whilst the wide meadows lay beneath the stars,
two shadowy figures met in the Thackbusk field. And as they stood
there, with their arms round each other, they whispered to each other
that all was arranged at last.