Another and a much more reputable Council of Three sat that night in
Miss Tresilyan's apartments. Mr. Fullarton represented the male element
there, and was in great force. The late accession to his flock had
decidedly raised his spirits: he knew how materially it would strengthen
his hands; but, independently of all politic consideration, Cecil's
grace and beauty exercised a powerful influence over him. Do not
misconstrue this. I believe a thought had never crossed his mind
relating to any living woman that his own wife might not have known and
approved; nevertheless was it true, that Mr. Fullarton liked his
penitents to be fair: not a very eccentric or unaccountable taste
either. It is a necessity of our nature to take more delight in the
welfare and training of a beautiful and refined being, than in that of
one who is coarse and awkward and ugly. Even with the merely animal
creation we should experience this; and not above one divine in fifty is
_more_ than human, after all.
So, gazing on the fair face and queenly figure that were then before
him, and feeling a sort of vested interest in their possessor, the heart
of the pastor was merry within him; and he, so to speak, caroused over
the profusely-sugared tea and well-buttered _galette_ with a decorous
and regulated joviality; ever as he drank casting down the wreaths of
his florid eloquence at the feet of his entertainers. In any atmosphere
whatsoever, no matter how uncongenial, those garlands were sure to
bloom. His zeal was such a hardy perennial that the most chilling
reception could not damage its vitality. Principle and intention were
both all right, of course, but they were clumsily carried out, and the
whole effect was to remind one unpleasantly of the clockmaker puffing
his wares. At the most unseasonable times and in the most incongruous
places, Mr. Fullarton always had an eye to business, introducing and
inculcating his tenets with an assurance and complacency peculiar to
himself. Sometimes he would adopt the familiarly conversational,
sometimes the theatrically effective style; but it never seemed to cross
his mind that either could appear ridiculous or grotesque. Some absurd
stories were told of his performances in this line. On one occasion,
they say, he addressed his neighbor at dinner, to whom he had just been
introduced, abruptly thus: "You see, what we want is--more faith," in
precisely the manner and tone of a _gourmet_ suggesting that "the soup
would be all the better for a little more seasoning;" or of Mr. Chouler
asserting, "the farmers must be protected, sir." On another, meeting for
the first time a very pious and wealthy old man (I believe a joint-stock
bank director), he proceeded to sound him as to his "experiences." The
unsuspecting elder, rather flattered by the interest taken in his
welfare, and never dreaming that such communications could be any thing
but privileged and confidential, parted with his information pretty
freely. Mr. Fullarton was so delighted at what he had heard that he
turned suddenly round to the mixed assembly and cried out. "Why, here's
a blessed old Barzillai!" His face was beaming like that of an
enthusiastic numismatist who stumbles upon a rare Commodus or an
authentic Domitian. There were several people present of his own way of
thinking; but some, even among those, felt very ill afterward from their
efforts to repress their laughter. The miserable individual thus endued
with the "robe of honor" would have infinitely preferred the most
scandalously abusive epithet to that fervid compliment. He would have
parted with half his bank shares at a discount (they were paying about
14 per cent. then--you can get them tolerably cheap now) to have been
able to sink into his shoes on the spot; indeed these were almost large
enough to form convenient places of refuge. It had a very bad effect on
him: he never again unbosomed himself on any subject to man, woman, or
child. Even in his last illness--though he must have had one or two
troublesome things on his mind, unless he had peculiar ideas, as to the
propriety of ruining widows and orphans--he declined to commit himself,
But locked the secret in his breast,
And died in silence, unconfessed.
On that Saturday night, to one of the party at all events, Mr.
Fullarton's presence was very welcome. Mrs. Danvers was somewhat of a
hard drinker in theology, and, like other intemperate people, was not
over particular as to the quality of the liquors set before her,
provided only that they were hot and strong, and unstinted. The
succulent and highly-flavored eloquence to which she was listening
suited her palate exactly, besides which, the chaplain's peculiar
opinions happened to coincide perfectly with her own. As the evening
progressed she got more and more exhilarated; and at length could not
forbear intimating "how sincerely she valued the privilege of sitting
under so eminent a divine."
The latter made a scientific little bow, elaborated evidently by long
practice, expressive at once of gratification and humility.
"A privilege, if such it be, dear Mrs. Danvers, that some of my
congregation estimate but very lightly. You would hardly believe how
many members of my flock I scarcely know, except by name. It is a sore
temptation to discouragement. I fear that Major Keene's pernicious
example is indeed contagious, and that his evil communications have
corrupted many--alas! too many." He rounded off the period with a
ponderous professional sigh.
Miss Tresilyan was leaning back in her arm-chair: as the wood-fire
sprang up brightly and sank again suddenly, her great deep eyes seemed
to flash back the fitful gleams. It was long since she had spoken. In
truth, she had been drawing largely upon her piety at first, to make
herself feel interested, and, when this failed, upon her courtesy, to
appear so; but she was conscious of relapses more and more frequent into
the dreary regions of Boredom. Every body _would_ agree with every body
else so completely! A bold contradiction, a stinging sarcasm, or a
caustic retort, would have been worth any thing just then to take off
the cloying taste of the everlasting honey. She roused herself at these
last words enough to ask languidly, "What has he done?"
There could not be a simpler question, nor one put more carelessly; but
it was rather a "facer" to Mr. Fullarton, who dealt in generalities as a
rule, and objected to being brought to book about
particulars--considering, indeed, such a line of argument as indicative
of a caviling and narrow-minded disposition in his interlocutor.
"Well," he said, not without hesitation, "Major Keene has only once been
to church; and, I believe, has spoken scoffingly since of the discourse
he heard delivered there. Yet I may say I was more than usually
'supported' on that occasion." The man's thorough air of conviction
softened somewhat the absurd effect of his childish vanity.
Cecil would have been sorry to confess how much excuse she felt inclined
to admit just then for the sins both of commission and omission--sins
that, at another time, when her faculties were fresh and her judgment
unbiassed, she might have looked upon as any thing but venial. Ah! Mr.
Fullarton, the seed you have scattered so profusely to-night is
beginning to bear fruit already you never dreamed of. Beet-root and
turnips will not succeed on _every_ soil. It must be long before a
remunerative crop of these can be gathered from the breezy upland which
for centuries, till the heather was burned, has worn a robe of
uncommercial but imperial purple.
Nevertheless, Miss Tresilyan frowned perceptibly. It looked very much as
if Keene had been amusing himself at her expense when he affected an
interest in her leading the choir. Unwittingly to "make sport for the
men of war in Gath" by no means suited the fancy of that haughty ladye.
"It is very wrong of him not to come to church," she observed after a
pause (for the sin of sarcasm disapproval was not so ready, and she made
the most of scanty means of condemnation). "Yet I scarcely think he can
be actively hostile. You know he almost lives with the Molyneuxs, and
has great influence with them. Do they not attend regularly?"
Mr. Fullarton admitted that they did. "But," said he, "constant
intercourse with such a man must ere long have its injurious effect.
Indeed, I felt it my bounden duty to warn Mrs. Molyneux on the subject.
I grieve to say she treated my admonition with a very unwarrantable
levity."
Mrs. Danvers's sympathetic groan was promptly at the service of the
speaker; fortunately, turning to thank her for it by a look, he missed
detecting her pupil's smile. She could fancy so well Fanny's little
_moue_, combining amusement, vexation, and impertinence, while
undergoing the ecclesiastical censure.
"You must be merciful to Mrs. Molyneux," she remarked, with a demure
gravity that did her credit under the circumstances. "She is my greatest
friend, you know. When a wife is so very fond of her husband, surely
there is some excuse for her adopting his prejudices for and against
people?"
The pastor brightened up suddenly: he had just recollected another fact
to fire off against the _bête noir_.
"I forgot to tell you that Major Keene is much addicted to play, and,
besides, is intimate with the Vicomte de Châteaumesnil. _Noscitur a
sociis._" The reverend man was an indifferent classic, but he had a way
of flashing scraps out of grammars and _Analecta Minora_ before women
and others unlikely to be down upon him, as if they were quotations from
some recondite author.
"You can not mean that cripple who is drawn about in a wheel-chair?"
Cecil asked. "We saw him to-day, only for a moment, for he drew his
cloak over his face as we passed. I never saw such a melancholy wreck,
and I pitied him so much that I fear he will haunt me."
Far deeper would have been the compassion had she guessed at the pang
that shot straight to Armand's heart as he veiled his blasted features
and haggard eyes, feeling bitterly that such as he were not worthy to
look upon her in the glory of her brilliant beauty.
"A notorious atheist and profligate," was the reply. "We can not regard
his sore affliction in any other light than a judgment--a manifest
judgment, dear Miss Tresilyan."
There was grave disapproval and just a shade of contempt in the face of
one of his hearers as she said, "The hand of God is laid so heavily
there that man may surely forbear him." But Mrs. Danvers struck in to
her favorite's rescue, rejoicing in an opportunity of displaying her
partisanship.
"A judgment, of course. It would be sinful to doubt it. Besides, do not
_others_ suffer?" (She cast up her eyes here pointedly, as though she
said, "There may be more perfect saints, but if you want a fair specimen
of the fine old English martyr--_me voici_.") "Cecil, my love, I wonder
you did not perceive Major Keene's true character at once. You were
talking to him a good deal the other day."
"He did not favor me with any remarkably heretical opinions," Miss
Tresilyan replied, carelessly. "Perhaps they have been exaggerated. At
all events, he is not likely to do us much harm. Don't you think _we_
are safe, Bessie? Dick does not care much for play; and his ideas on
religious subjects are so very simple that it would be hard to unsettle
them."
Clearly she thought the topic was exhausted, but it had a strange
fascination for Mr. Fullarton. One of the many good-natured people, who
especially abound in those semi-English Continental towns, had been kind
enough to quote or misquote to him a remark of Royston's about that
sermon; and on this topic the chaplain was very vulnerable. He would
have forgiven a real substantial injury far sooner than a depreciation
of his discourses.
Was he one whit weaker or more susceptible than his fellows? I think
not. All the philosophy on earth will not teach us to endure without
wincing a mosquito's bite. The hardiest hero bears about him one spot
where an ivy-leaf clinging intercepted the petrifying water--a tiny
out-of-the-way spot, not very near the head or heart, but palpable
enough to be stricken by Paris's arrow or Hagen's spear. Cæsar is very
sensitive about that bald crown of his, and fears lest even the laurel
wreath should cover it but meagrely. Many wars, since that which brought
Ilium to the dust, might have been traced to slighted vanity, and many
excellent Christians have waxed quite as wroth as the queen of
heathenish heaven about the _spretæ injuria formæ_. (Do you think this
is a peculiarly feminine failing? I have seen a first-class man and
Ireland scholar look massacres at the child of his bosom friend, when
the unconscious innocent made disagreeable remarks on his personal
appearance, alluding particularly to the shape of his nose, which was
_not_ Phidian. He has since been heard to speak of that terrible deed in
Bethlehem as a painful but justifiable measure of political expediency;
and is inclined, on many grounds, to excuse and sympathize with the stem
Idumean.) The insult offered to the embassador in Tarentum was only the
outbreak of a single drunkard's brutality, but all the wealth of the
fair city of Phalanthus did not suffice to pay the account for washing
the soiled robe white again; and blood enough ran down her streets to
have quenched some blazing temples before the Romans would give her a
receipt in full.
Arguing from these _data_, we may conclude that Mr. Fullarton was
laboring under a slight delusion in believing (which he did sincerely)
that only a pure and disinterested zeal for the welfare of his flock
impelled him to say, "I shall make it my business to inquire more fully
into Major Keene's antecedents. I am convinced there is something
discreditable in the background, and it may be well to be armed with
proofs in case of need."
Though _he_ may have deceived himself completely as to the nature of the
spirit that possessed him, Cecil Tresilyan was more clear-sighted. She
had not failed to remark a certain vicious twinkle in the speaker's eye
and a deeper flush on his ruddy countenance, betokening rather a mundane
resentment. Her lip began to curl.
"How very disagreeable some of your duties must be. No doubt you
interpret them correctly, but in this case perhaps it would be well to
be _quite_ sure before acting on the offensive. If I were a man--even a
clergyman--I don't think I should like to have Major Keene for my
declared enemy."
The text with which the chaplain enforced his reply--expressive of a
determination to keep his own line at all hazards, strong in the
rectitude of his cause--had better not be quoted here, especially as it
was not apposite enough to "lay" the contradictory spirit that was alive
in his fair opponent. (How very angry Cecil would have been if she had
been told ten minutes ago that such an expression would apply to her!)
The temptation to answer sharply was so powerful that she took refuge in
distant coldness.
"You quite misunderstand me, Mr. Fullarton. I never dreamed of offering
advice; it would have been excessively presumptuous in me, especially as
I have not the faintest interest in the subject we have been talking
about. Need we discuss it any longer? I think Major Keene has been too
highly honored already."
That weary look was so manifest now on the beautiful face that even the
chaplain, albeit tenacious of his position as a sea-anemone, felt that,
for once, he had overstaid his time and was periling his popularity. So,
after an expansive benediction, and an entreaty that they would be early
at church on the morrow, he went "to his own place."
With a sigh of admiration--"What an excellent man, and how well he
talks!" said Bessie Danvers.
With a sigh of relief--"He talks a great deal, and it is very late,"
said Cecil Tresilyan.