“Not another minute to lose, and the sale again deferred! All the lots
marked, and the handbills out, and the particulars and conditions
ready; and then some paltry pettifogging, and another fortnight will
be required to do ‘justice to my interests.’ Justice to my interests!
How they do love round–mouthed rubbish! The only justice to me is,
from a legal point of view, to string me up, and then quick–lime me;
and the only justice to my interests is to rob my children, because I
have robbed them already. Robbed them of their birth and name, their
power to look men in the face, their chance of being allowed to do
what God seems chiefly to want us for—to marry and have children, who
may be worse than we are; though, thank Him, mine are not. Robbed them
even of their chance to be met as Christians (though I have increased
their right to it), in this wretched, money–seeking, servile, and
contemptuous age. But who am I to find fault with any, after all my
wasted life? A life which might, in its little way, have told upon
the people round me, and moved, if not improved them. Which might, at
least, have set them thinking, doubting, and believing. Oh the loss
of energy, the loss of self–reliance, and the awful load of fear and
anguish—I who might have been so different! Pearl is at the window
there. I know quite well who loves her—an honest, upright, hearty
man, with a true respect for women. But will he look at her when he
knows——Oh God, my God, forsake me, but not my children!—Bob, what are
you at with those cabbages?”
“Why, they are clubbed, donʼt you see, father, beautifully clubbed
already, and the leaves flag directly the sun shines. And I want to
know whether it is the larva of a _curculio_, or _anthomyia brassicæ_;
and I canʼt tell without pulling the plants up, and they canʼt come to
any good, you know, with all this ambury in them.”
“I know nothing of the sort, Bob. I know nothing at all about it. Go
into the house to your sister. I canʼt bear the sight of you now.”
Bob, without a single word, did as he was told. He knew that his father
loved him, though he could not guess the depth of that love, being
himself so different. And so he never took offence at his fatherʼs odd
ways to him, but thought, “Better luck next time; the governor has got
red spider this morning, and he wonʼt be right till dinner–time.”
Bull Garnet smiled at his sonʼs obedience, with a mighty fount of pride
in him; and then he sighed, because Bob was gone—and he never could
have enough of him, for the little time remaining. He loved his son
with a love surpassing that of woman, or that of man for woman. Men
would call him a fool for it. But God knows how He has made us.
Thinking none of this, but fretting over fierce heart–troubles, which
now began to be too many even for his power of life—as a hundred
wolves kill a lion—he turned again down the espalier–walk, where the
apple–trees were in blossom. Pinky shells spread to the sun, with the
little close tuft in the middle; some striped, some patched, some
pinched with white, some streaking as the fruit would be, and glancing
every gloss of blush—no two of them were quite alike, any more than two
of us are. Yet the bees knew every one among the countless multitude,
and never took the wrong one; even as the angels know which of us
belongs to them, and who wants visitation.
Bull Garnet, casting to and fro, and taking heed of nothing, not even
of the weeds which once could not have lived before his eyes, began
again in a vague loose manner (the weakness of which would have angered
him, if he had been introspective) to drone about the lawʼs delays, and
the folly of institution. He stood at last by his wicket gate, where
the hedge of Irish yew was, and there carried on his grumbling.
“Lawyers indeed! And cannot manage a simple thing of that sort! Thank
God, I know nothing of law.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Garnet. It is possible that you may want to know
something of law, shortly.”
“By what right, sir, dare you break in upon my privacy like this?”
Pale as he was, and scorning himself for the way in which his blood
shrunk back, Bull Garnet was far too strong and quick ever to be
dumb–foundered. Chope looked at him, with some admiration breaking
through the triumph of his small comprehensive eyes.
“Excuse me, Mr. Garnet. I forgot that a public man like you must have
his private moments, even at his own gate. I am sorry to see you so
hot, my dear sir; though I have heard that it is your character. That
sort of thing leads to evil results, and many deplorable consequences.
But I did not mean to be rude to you, or to disturb you so strangely.”
“You have not disturbed me at all, sir.”
“I am truly happy to hear it. All I meant, as to knowledge of law, was
to give you notice that there is some heavy trouble brewing, and that
you must be prepared to meet some horrible accusations.”
“May I trespass further upon your kindness, to ask what their subject
is?”
“Oh, nothing more than a very rash and unfounded charge of murder.”
Mr. Chope pronounced that last awful word in a deeply sepulchral
manner, and riveted his little eyes into Bull Garnetʼs great ones. Mr.
Garnet met his gaze as calmly as he would meet the sad clouded aspect
of a dead rabbit, or hare, in a shop where he asked the price of them,
and regarded their eyes as the test of their freshness. Chope could not
tell what to make of it. The thing was beyond his experience.
But all this time Bull Garnet felt that every minute was costing him a
year of his natural life, even if he ever got any chance of living it
out.
“How does this concern me? Is it any one on our estates?”
“Yes, and the heir to ‘your estates.’ Young Mr. Cradock Nowell.”
Bull Garnet sighed very heavily; then he strode away, and came back
again, with indignation swelling out the volume of his breast, and
filling the deep dark channels of brow, and the turgid veins of his
eyeballs.
“Whoever has done this thing is a fool; or a rogue—which means the
same.”
“It may be so. It may be otherwise. We always hope for the best. Very
likely he is innocent. Perhaps they are shooting at the pigeon in order
to hit the crow.”
“Perhaps you know best what their motives are. I see no use in
canvassing them. You have heard, I suppose, the rumour that Mr. Cradock
Nowell has left England?”
“I know very little about it. I have nothing to do with the case; or
it might have been managed differently. But I heard that the civil
authorities, being called upon to act, discovered, without much
trouble, that he had sailed, under a false name, in a ship called the
_Taprobane_, bound direct for Ceylon. And that, of course, told against
him rather heavily.”
“Ah, he sailed for Ceylon, did he? A wonderful place for insects. I had
an uncle who died there.”
“Yes, Ceylon, where the flying foxes are. Not so cunning, perhaps,
as our foxes of the Forest. And yet the fox is a passionate animal.
Violent, hot, and hasty. Were you aware of that fact?”
“Excuse me; my time is valuable. I will send for the gamekeeper, if you
wish to have light thrown upon that question; or my son will be only
too glad——”
“Ah, your son! Poor fellow!”
Those few short words, pronounced in a tone of real feeling, with no
attempt at inquiry, quite overcame Bull Garnet. First extrinsic proof
of that which he had so long foreseen with horror—the degradation of
his son. He dropped his eyes, which had borne, till now, and returned
the lawyerʼs gaze; and the sense of his own peril failed to keep the
tears from moving. Up to this time Mr. Chope had doubted, and was even
beginning to reject his shrewd and well–founded conclusion. Now he saw
and knew everything. And even he was overcome. Passion is infectious;
and lawyers are like the rest of us. Mr. Chope had loved his mother.
Bull Garnet gave one quick strange glance at the eyes of Simon Chope,
which now were turned away from him, and then he looked at the ground,
and said,
“Yes; I have wronged him bitterly.”
Simon Chope drew back from him mechanically, instinctively, as our
skin starts from cold iron in the arctic regions. He could not think,
much less could he speak, though his mind had been prepared for it. To
human nature it is so abhorrent to take the life of another: to usurp
the rights of God. To stand in the presence of one who has done it,
touches our pulse with death. We feel that he might have done it to us,
or that we might have done it to him; and our love of ourselves is at
once accelerated and staggered. And then we feel that “life for life”
is such low revenge; the vendetta of a drunkard. Very slowly we are
beginning to see the baseness of it.
Bull Garnet was the first to speak, and now he spoke quite calmly.
“You came with several purposes. One of them was, that I should break
to Sir Cradock Nowell these tidings of new trouble; the news of the
warrant which you and others have issued against his luckless son. I
will see to it to–day, and I will try to tell him. Good God, he does
not deserve it—I have watched him—he is no father. Oh, I wish you had
a son, Chope; then you could feel for me.”
Mr. Chope had two sons, not to be freely discoursed of; whom he meant
to take into the office, pseudonymously, some day; and he was rather
inclined to like the poor little _nullius filii_. First, because they
were his own; secondly, because they had big heads; thirdly, because
they had cheated all the other boys. Nevertheless, he was in no hurry
to be confidential about them. Yet without his knowing it, or at least
with only despising it, this little matter shaped its measure upon his
present action. The lawyer lifted his hat to Bull Garnet in a very
peculiar manner, conveying to the quick apprehension, what it would not
have been safe to pronounce—to wit, that Mr. Chope quite understood
all that had occurred; that he would not act upon his discovery until
he had well considered the matter, for, after all, he had no evidence;
lastly, that he was very sorry for Mr. Garnetʼs position, but would
rather not shake hands with him.
The steward watched him walking softly among the glad young leaves,
and down the dell where the sunlight flashed on the merry leaps of
the water. Long after the lawyer was out of sight, Bull Garnet stood
there watching, as if the forest glades would show him the approaching
destiny. Strong and firm as his nature was, he had suffered now such
wearing, wearying agonies, that he almost wished the weak manʼs wish—to
have the mastery taken from him, to have the issue settled without his
own decision.
“Poor Cradock sailed in the _Taprobane_! What an odd name,” he
continued, with that childishness to which sometimes the overtaxed
brain reverts, “tap, tap–root, tap–robin! Tush, what a fool I am! Oh
God, that I could think! Oh God, that I could only learn whether my
first duty is to you, or to my children. I will go in and pray.”
In the passage he met his son, and kissed his forehead gently, as if to
atone for the harshness with which he had sent him away.
“Father,” said Bob, “shall you want me to–day? Or may I be from home
till dark? I have so many things, most important things, to see to.”
“Birds’ nests, I suppose, and grubs, field–mice, and tadpoles. Yes, my
son, you are wise. Enjoy them while you can. And take your sister also
for a good run, if you can. You may carry your dinner with you: I shall
do well enough.”
“Oh, itʼs no use asking Pearl; she never will come with me. And I am
sure I donʼt want her. She does much more harm than good; she canʼt
kill anything properly, nor even blow an egg. But Iʼll ask her, as you
wish it, sir; because I know that she wonʼt come.”
Mr. Garnet had not the heart to laugh at his childrenʼs fine sense of
duty towards him; but he saw Bob start with all his tackle, in great
hopes, and high spirits. The father looked sadly after him, wondering
at his enjoyment, yet loving him the more, perhaps, for being so
unlike himself. And as he gazed, he could not help saying to himself,
“Very likely I shall never see him thus again—only look at him when he
will not care to look on me. Yet he must know, in the end, and she,
the poor thing, she must know how all my soul was on them. Now God in
heaven, lead me aright. Half an hour shall settle it.”