"I tell you this, Gwladys," continued David, "because I really believe
it is in your power to help Owen. Nay, more, I want you to help him."
Still I said nothing, the idea suggested by David's words might be
flattering, but it was too startling to be taken in its full
significance at first. What did it mean? In all my dreams of Owen I
had never contemplated his requiring help from me; but David had said
that my ideas were false, my dreams mistaken. I woke up into full and
excited listening, at his next words.
"And now I mean to tell you why you have not seen Owen for so long--why
he has been away from us all these years."
"Four years, now," I said. "Yes, David, I have often wondered why you
gave me no reason for his long, long absence. I said nothing, but I
felt it a good bit--I did indeed."
"It was a story you could hardly hear when you were a little child.
Even now I only tell it to you because of Owen's unlooked-for and
unexpected return; because, as I say, I want you to help Owen; but even
now I shall only tell you its outline."
"David, you speak of Owen's return as if you were not glad--as if it
were not quite the happiest news in the world."
"It is not that, my dear."
"But why? Do you not love him?"
"Most truly I love him."
"Well, what is the story? How mysterious you are!"
"Yes, I am glad," continued David, speaking more to himself than to me.
"I suppose I ought to be _quite_ glad--to have no distrust. How
faithless Amy would call me!"
When he mentioned Amy, I knew he had forgotten my presence--the name
made me patient. I waited quietly for his next remark.
As I have said, he was a man of few words. His ideas moved slowly, and
his language hardly came fluently.
"There are two kinds of love," he began, still in his indirect way.
"There is the love that thinks the object it loves perfection, and will
see no fault in it."
"Yes," I interrupted, enthusiastically; "I know of that love--it is the
only kind worth having."
"I cannot agree with you, dear. That love may be deep and intense, but
it is not great. There is a love which sees faults in the object of its
love, but loves on through all. Such--"
"Such love I should not care for," I interrupted.
"Such love I could not live without, Gwladys. Such is the Divine love."
"But God's love is not like ours," I said.
"No, dear; and I have only made the remark to justify myself--for,
Gwladys, I have loved Owen through his faults."
I started impatiently; but David had now launched on his tale, and would
not be interrupted.
"Yes," he continued, "I loved and love Owen through his faults. I know
that mother thought him perfect, and so did you. I am not surprised at
either of your feelings with regard to him--he was undoubtedly very
brilliant, and on the surface, Gwladys, you might almost have said that
so noble a form must have held a noble soul. I do not say this will
_never_ be so; but this was not so when you knew him last."
I would have spoken again, but David laid his hand on my arm, to silence
me.
"He had much of good in him; but he was not noble; he had one great
weakness--pleasure was dearer to him than duty. Even when a little lad
he would leave his tasks unlearned, to play for half an hour longer with
you; this was a small thing, but it grew, Gwladys--it grew. And he had
great temptations. It was much harder for him to do the right than for
me; he was so brilliant--so--so, not clever--but so ready-witted. He
was a great favourite in society, and society brought with it heaps of
temptations. He struggled against the temptations, but he did not
struggle hard enough; and his natural weakness, his great love for
pleasure, grew on the food he gave it.
"We were in different colleges, and did not see each other every day.
He made some friends whose characters--well, they were not men he ought
to know. I spoke to him about this; poor fellow! it has lain on my
heart often, that I may have spoken harshly, taking on myself elder
brother airs, and made myself a sort of mentor. I _could_ not do this
intentionally, but it is possible I may have done it unintentionally. I
felt hot on the subject, for the fellows I spoke against seemed to me
low, in every sense beneath his notice. I did not know that even then,
they had a hold on him which he could not, even if he would, shake off.
He got angry, he--quarrelled with me. After this, I did not see him for
some time. I blame myself again here, for I might have gone to him, but
I did not. He had said some words which hurt me, and I stayed away."
David paused. "Yes," he continued, taking up his narrative without any
comment from me, "I remember, it was the middle of the term. I was
sitting with some fellows after dinner; we were smoking in my rooms. I
remember how the sun looked on the water, and how jolly I felt. We were
talking of my coming of age, and I had asked all these fellows to help
me to celebrate the event at Tynycymmer, when suddenly a man I knew came
to the door, and called me out; he was a great friend of mine, he looked
awfully white and grave; he put his arm inside mine, and we went down
through Christ Church meadows to the edge of the river. There, as we
stood together looking down into the river, and nodding, as if nothing
were the matter, to some men of our college as they rowed past us;
there, as we stood and listened to the splash of the oars, my friend
told me about Owen. A long story, Gwladys. Shall I ever forget the
spot where I stood and listened to it? As I said, I am not going to
tell you the tale; it was one of disgrace--weakness--and sin. Evil
companions had done most of it, but Owen had done some. It was a long
story, dating back from the day of his first arrival; but now the climax
had come--Owen had fallen--had sinned. I never knew until my friend
spoke, how much I loved Owen. I blamed myself bitterly. I was his
elder brother. I might have so treated him as to win his confidence,
and to save him from this. He had fallen by means of the very
temptations that must assail such a nature as his, and I, instead of
holding out a helping hand, had stood aloof from him. In this moment of
agony, when I learned all about his sin, I blamed myself as much as him.
I started off at once to find him, I could not reproach him. I could
only blame myself. When I did this, he burst into tears."
Here David paused, and I tried to speak, but could not.
"Owen had sinned," he continued, "and in such a way that the most public
exposure seemed inevitable. To avoid this, to give him one chance for
the future, I would do anything. There was one loophole of escape, and
through that loophole, if any strength of mine could drag him, I was
determined Owen should come. I could not leave Oxford, but I wrote to
my mother. Her assistance was necessary, but I felt little doubt of her
complying. I was not wrong. She helped me, as I knew she would. Nay,
I think she was more eager than I. Between us we saved Owen."
Here David paused, and taking out his handkerchief, he wiped some
moisture from his brow.
His words were hardly either impassioned or eloquent; but no one knew,
who did not hear them, with what pain they came slowly up from his
heart.
Then I ventured to put the question which was hanging on the top of my
lips--
"What was his sin?"
"The sin of weakness, Gwladys. The sad lacking of moral courage to say
no, when no should be said. The putting pleasure before duty, that was
the beginning of it. Then evil companions came round; temptation was
yielded to, and, at last, the very men who had ruined and tempted him,
managed to escape, and he was left to bear the brunt of everything.
However, my dear, this is a story you need not know. I have told you
the little I have, because, now that Owen is coming home, I want you to
have a truer idea of his character, so that you may help him better. I
need and want you to help him, Gwladys. I have said all this to you
to-day for no other reason."
I said nothing. David looked into my face, and I looked into his, then
he went on.
"After that dreadful time at Oxford he went abroad, and I came home.
Now he, too, is coming home."
"To live with us at Tynycymmer?" I asked.
"No, no, my dear; he is coming home with a definite purpose; I have had
a long letter from Owen, I must tell you some of it. He always wrote to
me while he was away, but his letters, though tolerably cheerful, and
fairly hopeful, were reserved, and seemed always to have something
behind. I used to fear for him. Dear fellow, dear, dear fellow, my
weak heart fears for him still, and yet with it all, I am proud and
thankful. There _is_ something great in Owen, otherwise this would
never have so weighed on his mind.
"I must tell you that to save Owen, I had to spend money; that really
was no sacrifice to me, a thing not worth mentioning, but it seems to
have weighed much on him. In his letter, he told me that he has never
ceased working hard at his profession, learning all he can about it. He
says that he is now nearly qualified to work as a mechanical engineer;
and in that particular department he has made mining engineering his
special study. In his letter he also said that he had done this with a
definite hope and object.
"There is a large coal mine on my property, a mine that has never been
properly worked. Owen believes that out of this mine he can win back
the gold I have spent on him; he has begged me to allow him to take the
management of the mine; to live at Ffynon until this object is effected.
I hesitated--I thought--at last I yielded."
"Why did you hesitate? David."
"Because, Gwladys, the object with which Owen works is worthless to me.
I am glad he is coming to manage the mine, I have no doubt whatever as
to his ability in the matter. I know in his profession he has much
talent. Had he not written to me, I should have been obliged to ask a
London engineer to take his place for a time. Yes, Gwladys, I like his
work, but not his motive. The mine at Ffynon yields me little money,
that is nothing; it also is dangerous, that is much; many accidents have
taken place there, many lives have been lost. I want Owen to make the
mine safe, as far as man can make it safe: I don't care for the money.
And this is the object I want you to help me in, Gwladys, not in words,
but in a thousand ways in which a loving and true sister can. I want
you to show to Owen that we none of us care for the money."
"You lay upon me an impossible task," I said; "you forget that I shall
not be with Owen."
"You said last night you were tired of Tynycymmer?"
"So I am, very often."
"You are going to leave it, at least for a time; you and mother are to
live with Owen at Ffynon."